It was a quiet evening, nearly a fortnight after the arrival of the sloop, and pale sunshine streamed into the cove. Little glittering ripples lapped lazily along the shingle, and the placid surface of the inlet was streaked with faint blue lines where wandering airs came down from the heights above. Now and then an elfin sighing fell from the ragged summits of the tall black firs, but it died away again, and afterwards the silence was only broken by the pounding of a heavy hammer and the crackle of a fire.
Carroll sat beside the latter, alternately holding a stout plank up to the blaze and dabbing its hot surface with a dripping mop. A big sea canoe lay drawn up near the spot, and one of its copper-skinned Siwash owners sat amongst the shingle, stolidly watching the white men. His comrade was inside the sloop, holding a big stone against one of her frames, while Vane crouched outside her, swinging a hammer.
Vane, who was stripped to shirt and trousers, had arrived from Comox across the Strait at dawn that morning in the sea canoe. It was a long trip and they had had wild weather on the outward journey, but he had set to work with characteristic energy as soon as he landed. Now, though the sun was low, he was working rather harder than ever, with the flood tide, which would shortly compel him to desist, creeping up to his feet.
Carroll, who watched him with quiet amusement, was on the whole content that the tide was rising, because his comrade had firmly declined to stop for dinner, and he was conscious of a sharpened appetite. It was comforting to reflect that Vane would be unable to get the plank into place before the evening meal, because if there had been any prospect of his doing so, he would certainly have postponed the latter.
By and by he stopped a moment and turned to Carroll. “If you were any use in an emergency, you’d be holding up for me instead of that wooden image inside,” he remarked. “He will back the stone against any frame except the one I’m nailing.”
“The difficulty is that I can’t be in two places at the same time,” Carroll pointed out. “Shall I leave this plank? You can’t get it in to-night.”
“I’m going to try,” Vane answered grimly.
He turned round to direct the Siwash and then cautiously hammered in one of the wedges a little farther, after which, swinging back the hammer, he struck a heavy blow. The result was disastrous, for there was a crash and one of the shores shot backwards, striking him on the knee. He jumped with a savage cry, and next moment there was a sharp snapping, and the end of the plank sprang out. Then another shore gave way, and when the plank fell clattering at his feet he whirled the hammer round his head, and hurled it violently into the bush. This appeared to afford him some satisfaction, and he strode up the beach, with the blood dripping from the knuckles of one hand.
“That’s the blamed Siwash’s fault,” he said. “I couldn’t get him to back up when I put the last spike in.”
“Hadn’t you better tell him to come out?” Carroll suggested.
“No,” said Vane. “If he hasn’t sense enough to see that he isn’t wanted, he can stay where he is all night. Are you going to get supper, or must I do that, too?”
Carroll set about preparing the meal, which the two Siwash partook of and afterwards departed, with some paper currency. Then Vane, walking down the beach, came back with the plank, and after lighting his pipe, pointed to one or two broken nails in it.
“That’s the cause of the trouble,” he said. “It cost me a week’s journey to get the package of galvanised spikes—I could have managed to split a plank or two out of one of these firs. The storekeeper fellow assured me they were specially annealed for heading up. If I knew who the manufacturers were, I’d have pleasure in telling them what I think of them. If they set up to make spikes, they ought to make them, and empty every keg that won’t stand the test on to the scrap heap.”
Carroll smiled. The course his partner had indicated was the one he would have adopted. He was characterised by a somewhat grim idea of efficiency, and never spared his labour to attain it, though the latter fact had now and then its inconveniences for those who had co-operated with him, as Carroll had discovered. The latter had no doubt that Vane would put the planks in, if he spent a month over the operation.
“I wouldn’t have had this trouble if you’d been handier with tools,” he resumed.
“My abilities aren’t as varied as yours, and the thing is bad economy,” Carroll replied. “Skill of the kind you mentioned is worth about three dollars a day.”
“You were getting two dollars for shovelling in a mining ditch, when I first met you.”
“I was,” Carroll assented good-humouredly; “I believe another month or two of it would have worn me out. It’s considerably pleasanter and more profitable to act as your understudy; but a fairly proficient carpenter might have bungled the latter.”
Vane looked embarrassed. “Let it pass; I’ve a pernicious habit of expressing myself unfortunately. Anyhow, we’ll start again on those planks first thing to-morrow.”
He stretched out his aching limbs beside the fire, and languidly watched the firs grow dimmer and the mists creep in ghostly trails down the steep hillside, until Carroll broke the silence.
“Wallace,” he said, “wouldn’t it be wiser if you met that fellow Horsfield to some extent?”
“No,” said Vane decidedly. “I have no intention of giving way an inch. It would only encourage the man to press me on another point, if I did. I’m going to have trouble with him, and the sooner it comes the better. There’s only room for one controlling influence in the Clermont mine.”
“In that case it might be as well to stay in Vancouver as much as possible and keep your eye on him.”
“The same idea has struck me since we sailed,” Vane said. “The trouble is that until I’ve decided about the pulp mill he’ll have to go unwatched, for the same reason that prevented you from holding up for me and steaming the plank.”
“If any unforeseen action of Horsfield’s made it necessary, you could let this pulp project drop.”
“No,” said Vane, “You ought to understand why that’s impossible. Drayton, Kitty and Hartley count upon my exertions. They’re poor folks and I can’t go back on them. If we can’t locate the spruce or it doesn’t seem likely to pay for working up, there’s nothing to prevent my abandoning the undertaking; but I’m not at liberty to do so just because it would be a convenience to myself. Hartley got my promise before he told me where to search.”
He strolled away to the tent they had pitched on the edge of the bush, but Carroll sat a while smoking beside the fire. He was suspicious of Horsfield, and foresaw trouble, more particularly now his comrade had undertaken a project which seemed likely to occupy a good deal of his attention. Hitherto, Vane had owed part of his success to his faculty of concentrating all his powers upon one object.
They rose at dawn next morning, and by sunset had fitted the new planks. Two days later, they sailed to the northwards, and eventually found the rancherie Hartley had mentioned, where they had expected to hire a guide. The rickety wooden building, however, was empty, and Vane pushed on again. He had now to face an unseen difficulty because there were a number of openings in that strip of coast, and Hartley’s description was of no great service in deciding which was the right one.
During the next day or two, they looked into several bights, and seeing no valleys opening out of them, went on again, until one evening they ran into an inlet with a forest-shrouded hollow at the head of it. Here they moored the sloop close in with a sheltered beach, and after a night’s rest got ready their packs for the march inland.
They had a light tent without poles, which could be cut when wanted; two blankets, an axe, and one or two cooking utensils, besides their provisions.
In front of them a deep trough opened up in the hills, but it was filled with giant forest, through which no track led, and only those who have traversed the dim recesses of the primeval bush can fully understand what this implies. The west winds swept through that gateway, reaping as they went, and here and there tremendous trees lay strewn athwart each other with their branches spread abroad in horrible tangles. Some had fallen amidst the wreckage left by previous gales, which the forest had partly made good, and there was scarcely a rod of the way that was not obstructed by half rotten trunks. Then there were thick bushes, and an undergrowth of willows where the soil was damp with thorny brakes and matted fern in between. In places, the growth was almost like a wall, and the men, who skirted the inlet, were glad to scramble forward among the rough boulders and ragged driftwood at the water’s edge for some minutes at a time, until it was necessary to leave the beach behind.
After the first few minutes, there was no sign of the gleaming water. They had entered a region of dim green shade, where the moist air was heavy with resinous smells. The trunks rose about them in tremendous columns; thorns clutched their garments, and twigs and brittle branches snapped beneath their feet. The day was cool, but the sweat of tense effort dripped from them, and when they stopped for breath at the end of an hour, Vane estimated that they had gone a mile.
“I’ll be content if we can keep this up,” he said.
“It isn’t likely,” Carroll, who glanced down at a big rent in his jacket, replied with a trace of dryness.
A little farther on, they waded with difficulty through a large stream, and Carroll, who stopped, glanced round at a deep rift in a crag on one side of them.
“I don’t know if that could be considered a valley, but we may as well look at it,” he suggested.
They scrambled towards it, and reaching gravelly soil, where the trees were thinner, Vane surveyed the opening. It was very narrow, and appeared to lose itself among the rocks. The size of the creek which flowed out of it was no guide, because those ranges are scored by running water.
“We won’t waste time over that ravine,” he said. “I noticed a wider one farther on, and we’ll see what it’s like, though Hartley led me to understand that he came down a straight and gently-sloping valley. The one we’re in answers the description.”
It was two hours before they reached the second opening, and then Vane, unstrapping his packs, clambered up the steep face of a crag. When he came back his face was thoughtful and, sitting down, he lighted his pipe.
“This search seems to take us longer than I expected,” he said. “To begin with, there are a number of inlets, all of them pretty much alike, along this part of the coast; but I needn’t go into the reasons for supposing that this is the one Hartley visited. Taking it for granted that we’re right, we’re up against another difficulty. So far as I could make out from the top of that rock, there’s a regular series of ravines running back into the hills.”
“Hartley told you he came straight down to tidewater, didn’t he?”
“That’s not much of a guide,” Vane replied. “The slope of every fissure seems to run naturally from the inland watershed to this basin. Hartley was sick, and it was raining all the time; and coming out of any of these ravines he’d only have to make a slight turn to reach the water. What’s more, he could only tell me he was heading roughly west and allowing that there was no sun visible, that might have meant either north-west or south-west, which gives us the choice of searching the hollows on either side of the main valley. Now, it strikes me as most probable that he came down the latter; but we have to face the question whether we should push straight on, or search every opening that might be called a valley?”
“What’s your idea?” Carroll rejoined.
“That we ought to go into the thing systematically and look at every ravine we come to.”
“I guess you’re right, but I don’t move another step to-night.”
“I’ve no wish to urge you. There’s hardly a joint in my body that doesn’t ache.” Vane flung down his pack and stretched himself with an air of relief. “That’s what comes of civilisation and soft living. It would be nice to sit still while somebody brought me my supper.”
As there was nobody to do so, he took up the axe and set about hewing chips off a fallen trunk, while Carroll made a fire. Then he cut the tent poles, and a few armfuls of twigs for a bed, and in half an hour the camp was pitched and a meal prepared. They afterwards lay a while, smoking and saying little, beside the sinking fire, the red light of which flickered upon the massy trunks and fell away again. Then they crawled into the tent and wrapped their blankets round them.
When Vane rose early next morning, there was frost in the air, and when breakfast was ready the men ate hastily, eager for the exertion that would put a little warmth into them.
“We had it a good deal colder on other trips; I suppose I’ve been getting luxurious, since I seem to resent it now,” said Vane. “There’s no doubt that winter’s beginning earlier than I expected up here; As soon as you can strike the tent, we’ll move on.”
The valley grew wilder and more rugged as they proceeded. In places, its bottom was filled with muskegs, cumbered with half-submerged, decaying trunks of fallen trees; and when they could not spring from one falling log to another they sank in slime and water to the knee. They entered transverse valleys, and after hours of exhausting labour, abandoned the search of each in turn and plodded back to the one they had been following. Their boots and clothing suffered; their packs were rent upon their backs, and, since men engaged in such work must be generously fed, their provisions diminished rapidly.
At length, one lowering afternoon, they were brought to a standstill by the river, which forked into two branches, one of which came foaming out on a cleft in the rocks. This would have mattered less had it flowed across the level; but just there it had scored itself out a deep hollow, from which the roar of its turmoil rose in long reverberations. Carroll, who was aching all over, stood upon the brink, and first of all gazed ahead. He surmised from the steady ascent and the contours of the hills that the valley was dying out, and that they should reach the head of it in another day’s journey. The higher summits, however, were veiled in leaden mist, and there was a sting in the cold breeze that blew down the hollow and set the ragged firs wailing. Then he glanced dubiously at the dim, green water, which swirled in deep eddies and boiled in white confusion among the fangs of rock sixty or seventy feet below. Not far away the stream was wider and he supposed in consequence shallower, though it ran furiously.
“It doesn’t look encouraging, and we have no more food left than will take us back to the sloop if we’re economical,” he said. “Do you think it’s worth while going on?”
“I haven’t a doubt about it,” Vane declared. “We ought to reach the head of the valley and get back here in two or three days.”
“Three days will make a big hole in the provisions.”
“Then we’ll have to put up with short rations,” Vane rejoined.
“If you’re determined, we may as well get on.”
He stepped cautiously over the edge of the descent, and went down a few yards with a run, while loosened soil and stones slipped away under him. Then he clutched a slender tree, and proceeded as far as the next on his hands and knees. After that, it was necessary to swing himself over a ledge, and he was on the whole astonished when he alighted safely on one below, from which he could scramble down to the narrow strip of gravel between rock and water. He was standing, breathless, looking at the latter, when Vane joined him. The stones dipped sharply, and two or three large boulders, ringed about with froth, rose near the middle of the stream, which seemed to be running slacker on the other side of them.
There was nothing to show how deep it was, but Carroll braced himself for an effort and sturdily plunged in.
Two steps took him up to the waist, and he had trouble in finding solid bottom at the next, because the gravel rolled and slipped away beneath his feet in the strong stream. The current also dragged hard at his limbs, and he set his lips tight when it crept up to his ribs. Then he lost his footing, and was washed away, plunging and floundering, with now and then one toe resting momentarily upon the bottom, until he was hurled against the first of the boulders with a crash that almost drove the little remaining breath out of his body. He clung to it desperately, gasping hard; and then with a determined struggle contrived to reach the second stone, against which the stream pressed him, without finding any support for his feet. A moment or two later, Vane was washed down towards him, and grabbing at the boulder held on by it. They said nothing to each other, but they looked at the sliding water between them and the opposite bank. Carroll was getting horribly cold, and felt the power ebbing out of him; he thought if he must swim across he had better do so at once.
Launching himself forward, he felt the flood lap his breast, but as his arms went in he struck something violently with one leg and found that he could stand up on a submerged ledge. This carried him a yard or two, and though he stepped over the end of the ledge into deeper water, he reached a strip of shelving shingle, up which he staggered. Vane overtook him, and they scrambled up the slope ahead, which was a little less steep than the one they had descended. The work warmed them slightly, and they needed it, but as they strode on again, keeping to the foot of the hillside where the timber was less dense, a cold rain drove into their faces. It grew steadily thicker; the straps began to gall their wet shoulders, and their saturated clothing clung heavily about their limbs. In spite of this, they went on until nightfall, when it was difficult to make a fire, and after a reduced supper found a little humid warmth in their wet blankets.
The next day’s work was much the same, only that they crossed no rivers and it rained harder; and, when evening came, Carroll, who had burst one boot, was limping badly. They made camp among the dripping firs which partly sheltered them from the bitter wind, and shortly after supper both fell asleep.
At evening next day they reached the head of the valley. It was still raining and heavy mists obscured the summits of the hills, but above the lower slopes of rocks glimmering snow ran up into the vapour. There were a few balsams and hemlocks about them, but no sign of a spruce.
“Now,” said Carroll, “I expect you’ll be satisfied.”
Vane was no nearer to owning himself defeated than he had been when they first set out. “We know there’s no spruce in this valley; and that’s something,” he replied. “When we come back again we’ll try the next one.”
“It has cost us a good deal to make sure of the fact.”
Vane’s expression changed. “We haven’t ascertained the cost just yet. As a rule, you don’t make up the bill until you’re through with the undertaking; and it may be a longer one than either of us think. Now we’ll turn upon our tracks.”
Carroll recalled his speech afterwards, but just then he only hitched his burden a little higher on his aching shoulders as he plodded after his comrade down the rain-swept hollow, and he had good cause to remember the march to the inlet. It rained most of the way, and their clothes were never dry; parts of them, indeed, flowed in tatters about their aching limbs, and before they had covered half the distance their boots were dropping to pieces. What was more important, their provisions were rapidly running out, and they marched on a few handfuls of food, carefully apportioned twice daily. At last one night they lay down hungry, with empty bags, to sleep shelterless in the rain, for they had thrown their tent away; and Carroll had some difficulty in getting on his feet next morning.
“I believe I can hold out until sundown, though I’m far from sure of it,” he said. “You’ll have to leave me behind if we don’t strike the inlet then.”
“We’ll strike it in the afternoon,” Vane assured him.
They set out as soon as they had reslung their packs, and Carroll limped and stumbled. He managed, however, to keep pace with Vane, and some time after noon the latter cried out as a twinkling gleam among the trees caught his eye. Then the shuffling pace grew faster, and they were breathless when at last they stopped and dropped their burdens beside the boat. It was only at the third or fourth attempt they got her down to the water, and the veins were swollen high on Vane’s flushed forehead when at last he sat down, panting heavily, on her gunwale.
“We ran her up quite easily, though we had the slope to face then,” he remarked.
“You could scarcely expect to carry boats about without trouble, after a march like the one we’ve made,” Carroll pointed out.
They ran her in and pulled off to the sloop. When they sat down in the little saloon, in which there was a mirror, Vane grinned.
“I knew you looked a deadbeat, but I’d no idea I was quite so bad,” he said. “Anyhow, we’ll get the stove lighted and some dry things on. The next question is—what shall we have for supper?”
“That’s simple,” Carroll answered. “Everything that’s most tempting and the whole of it.”
Some little time later, they flung their boots and rent garments overboard and sat down to a feast. The plates were empty when they rose, and in another hour both of them were wrapped in heavy slumber.
It was blowing fresh next morning from the south-east, which was right ahead, and Vane’s face was hard when he and Carroll got the boat on deck and set about tying down two reefs in the mainsail.
They got sail upon the sloop and drove her out into a confused head sea, through which she laboured with flooded decks, making very little to windward. When night came, a deluge killed the breeze, and next day she lay rolling wildly in a heavy calm, while light mist narrowed in the horizon and a persistent drizzle poured down upon the smoothly-heaving sea. Then they had light variable winds, and their provisions were once more running out when they drew abreast of a little coaling port. Carroll suggested running in and going on to Victoria by train, but they had hardly decided to do so when the fickle breeze died away, and the tide-stream bore them past to the south. They had no longer a stitch of dry clothing left, and they were again upon reduced rations.
Still bad fortune dogged them, for that night a fresh head wind sprang up and held steadily while they thrashed her south, swept by stinging spray. Their tempers grew shorter under the strain, and their bodies ached from the chill of their soddened garments and sitting hour by hour at the helm. At last the breeze fell, and shortly afterwards a trail of smoke and a half seen strip of hull emerged from the creeping haze astern of them.
“A lumber tug,” said Vane. “She seems to have a raft in tow, and it will probably be for Drayton’s people. If you’ll edge in towards her, I’ll send him word that we’re on the way.”
There was very little wind just then and presently the tug was close alongside, pitching her bows out of the slow swell, while a mass of timber, wonderfully chained together, surged along astern. A shapeless oil-skinned figure stood outside her pilot-house, balancing itself against the heave of the bridge, which slanted and straightened.
“Winstanley?” Vane shouted.
The figure waved an arm, as if in assent, and Vane raised his voice again. “Report us to Mr. Drayton. We’ll come along as fast as we can.”
The man turned and pointed to the misty horizon, astern. “You’ll get it from the north before to-morrow.”
Then the straining tug and long wet line of working raft drew ahead, while the sloop crawled on, close-hauled, towards the south. Late that night, however, the mists melted away, and a keen rushing breeze that came out of the north crisped the water. She sprang forward when the ripples reached her; the flapping canvas went to sleep, and while each slack rope tightened a musical tinkle broke out at the bows. It grew steadily louder, and when the sun swung up red above the eastern hills, she had piled the white froth to her channels and was driving forward merrily, with little sparkling seas tumbling, foam-tipped, after her. The wind fell light as the sun rose higher, but she ran on all day, and the western sky was still blazing with a wondrous green when she stole into Vancouver harbour.
The light faded as they crept across the inlet before a faint breeze, but when they had got the anchor over and the boat into the water, Carroll made out two dim figures standing on the wharf and waved a hand to them.
“It’s Drayton, I think,” he said. “Kitty’s with him.”
They pulled ashore, and Drayton shook hands with them.
“I’ve been looking out for you since noon,” he said. “What about that spruce?”
There was eagerness in his voice, and Vane’s face clouded. “We couldn’t find a trace of it.”
Drayton’s disappointment was obvious, though he tried to hide it. “Well,” he said resignedly, “I’ve no doubt you did all you could.”
“Of course,” Kitty broke in. “We’re quite sure of that.”
Vane thanked her with a glance; he felt sorry for her and Drayton. They were strongly attached to each other, and he had reason for believing that even with the advanced salary the man expected to get they would find it needful to study strict economy.
“I’m going to make another attempt. I expect some of our difficulties will vanish after I’ve had a talk with Hartley,” he said.
Kitty looked grave. “That’s impossible,” she answered softly. “Hartley died a week ago.”
Vane started.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “How’s Celia?”
“She’s very sick.” There was concern in Kitty’s voice. “Hartley got worse soon after you left, and she sat up all night with him after her work for the last two weeks. Now she’s broken down, and she doesn’t seem to know if they’ll take her back again at the hotel.”
“I must go and see her,” said Vane. “But won’t you and Drayton come with us and have dinner?”
Drayton explained that this was out of the question—Kitty’s employer, who had driven in that afternoon, was waiting with his team; and the party left the wharf together. A few minutes later, Vane shook hands with the girl and her companion.
“Don’t lose heart,” he said. “We’re far from beaten yet.”
They separated, and after dinner Vane, who rejoiced in the unusual luxury of clean, dry clothes, walked across to call on Nairn. He was shown into a room where Jessie Horsfield was sitting, but she rose with a slight start when he came in. Vane, who had been preoccupied since he had heard Kitty’s news, did not notice it, and Jessie’s manner was reposeful and quietly friendly when she held out her hand.
“So you have come back?” she said. “Have you succeeded in your search?”
Vane was gratified. It was pleasant to feel that she was interested in his undertaking.
“No,” he confessed. “I’m afraid I have failed.”
“Then,” said Jessie, with reproach in her voice, “you have disappointed me.”
It was skilful flattery, since she had conveyed the impression that she had expected him to succeed, which implied that she held a high opinion of his abilities.
“After all, you must have had a good deal against you,” she resumed consolingly. “Won’t you sit down and tell me about it? Nairn, I understand, is writing some letters, and he sent for Mrs. Nairn just before you came in.”
She indicated a chair beside the open hearth and Vane sat down opposite her, where a low screen cut them off from the rest of the room. Vane, who was still stiff and aching from exposure to the cold and rain, revelled in the unusual sense of comfort. In addition to this, his companion’s pose was singularly graceful, and the ease of it and the friendly smile with which she regarded him somehow implied that they were on excellent terms.
“It’s very nice to be here again,” he said.
Jessie looked up at him languidly. He had spoken as he felt, on impulse, which was more gratifying than an obvious desire to pay her a compliment would have been.
“I suppose you wouldn’t get many comforts in the bush,” she suggested.
“No,” said Vane. “Comforts of any kind are remarkably scarce up yonder. As a matter of fact, I can’t imagine a country where the contrasts between the luxuries of civilisation and the other thing are sharper. But that wasn’t exactly what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I don’t know that it’s worth explaining,” Vane answered with an air of consideration. “We have rather luxurious quarters at the hotel, but this room is somehow different. It’s restful—I think it’s homely—in-fact, as I said, it’s nice to be here.”
Jessie understood that he had been attempting to analyse his feelings, and had failed clearly to recognise that her presence contributed to the satisfaction he was conscious of. She had no doubt that if he were a man of average susceptibility, the company of an attractive woman would have some effect on him after his sojourn in the wilds; but whether she had produced any deeper effect she could not determine. Nor did it appear judicious to prompt him unduly.
“But won’t you tell me your adventures?” she said.
It required a few leading questions to start him, but at length he told the story.
“You see,” he said in conclusion, “it was lack of definite knowledge as much as the natural obstacles that brought us back—and I’ve been troubled about the thing since we landed.”
Jessie’s manner invited his confidence. “I wonder,” she said softly, “if you would care to tell me why?”
“Hartley’s dead, and I understand his daughter has broken down after nursing him. It’s doubtful if her situation can be kept open, and it may be some time before she’s strong enough to look for another.” He hesitated. “In a way, I feel responsible for her.”
“You really aren’t responsible in the least,” Jessie declared. “Still, I can understand the idea troubling you. Would you like me to help you?”
“I can hardly ask it, but it would be a relief to me,” Vane answered with obvious eagerness.
“Then, if you’ll tell me her address, I’ll go to see her, and we’ll consider what can be done.”
Vane leaned forward impulsively. “You have taken a weight off my mind. It’s difficult to thank you properly.”
“I don’t suppose it will give me any trouble. Of course, it must be embarrassing to feel you had a helpless young woman on your hands.”
Then a thought flashed into her mind, as she remembered what she had seen at the station some months ago. “I wonder if the situation is an altogether unusual one to you,” she continued. “Have you never let your pity run away with your judgment before?”
“You wouldn’t expect me to proclaim my charities,” Vane objected humorously which was the only means of parrying the question that occurred to him.
“I think you are trying to put me off. You haven’t given me an answer.”
“I believe I was able to make things easier for somebody else not very long ago,” Vane confessed, reluctantly, but without embarrassment. “I now see that I might have done harm without meaning to do so. It’s sometimes extraordinarily difficult to help folks—which is why I’m so grateful for your offer.”
For the next few moments Jessie sat silent. It was clear that she had misjudged him, for although she was not one who demanded too much from human nature, the fact that Kitty Blake had arrived in Vancouver in his company had undoubtedly rankled in her mind. Now she acquitted him of any blame, and it was a relief to do so. She changed the subject abruptly.
“I suppose you will make another attempt to find timber?” she suggested.
“Yes,” said Vane. “In a week or two.”
He had hardly spoken when Mrs. Nairn came in and welcomed him with her usual friendliness.
“I’m glad to see ye, though ye’re looking thin,” she said. “Why did ye not come straight to us, instead of going to the hotel? Ye would have got as good a supper as they would give ye there.”
“I haven’t a doubt of it,” Vane declared. “On the other hand, I hardly think even one of your suppers would quite have put right the defect in my appearance you mentioned. You see, the cause of it has been at work for some time.”
Mrs. Nairn regarded him with half-amused compassion. “If ye’ll come ower every evening, we’ll soon cure that. I would have been down sooner if Alec, who’s writing letters, had not kept me. There was a matter or two he wanted to ask my opinion on.”
“I think that was very wise of him.”
His hostess smiled. “For one thing, we had a letter from Evelyn Chisholm this afternoon. She’ll be out to spend some time with us in about a month.”
“Evelyn’s coming here?” Vane exclaimed, with a sudden stirring of his heart.
“And why should she not come?” Mrs. Nairn inquired. “I told ye some time ago that we partly expected her. Ye were-na astonished then.”
She appeared to expect an explanation of the change in his attitude, and as he volunteered none she drew him a few paces aside.
“If I’m no betraying a confidence; Evelyn writes that she’ll be glad to get away a while. Now, I’ve been wondering why she should be anxious to leave home.”
She looked at him fixedly, and to his annoyance he felt his face grow hot. Mrs. Nairn had quick perceptions, and was now and then painfully direct.
“It struck me that Evelyn was not very comfortable there,” he replied. “She seemed out of harmony with her people.”
Mrs. Nairn glanced at him again with amusement in her eyes. “It’s no unlikely. The reason may serve—for the want of a better.” Then she changed her tone. “Ye’ll away up to Alec; he told me to send ye.”
Vane went out of the room, but he left Jessie in a thoughtful mood. She had seen him start at the mention of Evelyn, and it struck her as significant, since she had heard that he had spent some time with the Chisholms; On the other hand there was the obvious fact that he had been astonished to hear that Evelyn was coming out, which implied that their acquaintance had not progressed far enough to warrant the girl’s informing him. Besides, Evelyn would arrive for a month, and Jessie reflected that she would probably see a good deal of Vane in the meanwhile. She now felt glad that she had promised to look after Celia Hartley, which would, no doubt, necessitate her consulting with him every now and then.
Nairn was sitting at a writing-table when Vane entered his room, and after a few questions about his journey, he handed the younger man one of the papers that lay in front of him.
“It’s a report from the mine,” he said.
Vane carefully studied the document.
“It only brings us back to our last conversation on the subject,” he remarked when his host glanced at him inquiringly. “We have the choice of going on as we are doing, or extending our operations by an increase of capital. In the latter case, our total earnings might be larger, but I hardly think there would be as good a return on the money actually sunk. Taking it all round, I don’t know what to think; but if it appeared that there was a moral certainty of making a satisfactory profit on the new stock, I should consent.”
Nairn chuckled. “A moral certainty is no a very common thing in mining.”
“I believe Horsfield’s in favour of the scheme. How far would you trust that man?” Vane inquired.
“About as far as I could fling a bull by the tail. The same thing applies to both of them.”
“He has some influence. He’d find supporters.”
Nairn saw that the meaning of his last remark which implied that he had no more confidence in Jessie than he had in her brother, had not been grasped by his companion, but he did not consider it judicious to make it plainer. Instead, he gave Vane another piece of information: “Horsfield and Winter work into each other’s hands.”
“But Winter has no interest in the Clermont.”
Nairn smiled sourly. “He holds no shares in the mine, but there’s no much in the shape of mineral developments yon man has no an interest in. Since ye do not seem inclined to yield Horsfield a point or two, it might pay ye to watch the pair of them.”
Vane, who was aware that Winter was a person of some importance in financial circles, remained silent for a couple of minutes. “Now,” he said, at length, “every dollar we have in the Clermont is usefully employed and earning a satisfactory profit. Of course, if we put the concern on the market, we might get more than it is worth from investors; but that doesn’t greatly appeal to me.”
“It’s unnecessary to point out that a director’s interest is no invariably the same as that of his shareholders,” Nairn rejoined.
“It’s an unfortunate fact. But I’d be no better off if I only got the same actual return on a larger amount of what would be watered stock.”
“There’s sense in that. I’m no urging the scheme—there are other points against it,” answered Nairn.
“Well,” said Vane, “I’ll go up and look round the mine and then we’ll have another talk about the matter.”
They changed the subject, but Vane walked back to his hotel in a thoughtful frame of mind, and finding Carroll in the smoking-room related his conversation with Nairn.
“I’m a little troubled about the situation,” he concluded. “The Clermont finances are now on a sound basis, but it might after all prove advantageous to raise further capital, and in such a case we would, perhaps, lie open to attack. Nairn’s inclined to be cryptic in his remarks; but he seems to hint that it would be advisable to make Horsfield some concession—in other words, to buy him off.”
“Which is a course you have objections to?”
“Yes,” said Vane, “very decided ones.”
“I think that, in a general way, Nairn’s advice is sensible. Where mining and other schemes are floated, there are men who make a good living out of the operations. They’re trained to the business; they’ve control of the dollars; and when a new thing’s put on the market, they consider they’ve the first claim on the pickings.”
“You needn’t elaborate the point,” Vane broke in impatiently.
“You made your appearance in this city as a poor and unknown man with a mine to sell,” Carroll went on. “Disregarding tactful hints, you laid down your terms and stuck to them. Launching your venture without considering their views, you did the gentlemen I’ve mentioned out of their accustomed toll, and I’ve no doubt that some of them were indignant. It’s a thing you wouldn’t expect them to sanction. Now, however, one who has probably others behind him is making overtures to you. You ought to consider it a compliment; a recognition of ability. The question is—Do you mean to slight these advances and go on as you have begun?”
“That’s my present intention,” Vane answered.
“Then you needn’t be astonished if you find yourself up against a determined opposition by and by,” said Carroll.
“I think my friends will stand by me.” Vane looked at him steadily.
“Thanks. I’ve merely been pointing out what you may expect, and hinting at the most judicious course—though the latter’s rather against my natural inclinations. I’d better add that I’ve never been particularly prudent, and the opposite policy appeals to me. If we’re forced to clear for action, we’ll nail the flag to the mast.”
It was spoken lightly; because the man was serious, but Vane knew he had an ally who would support him with unflinching staunchness.
“I’m far from sure it will be needful,” he replied, and they talked about other matters until they strolled off to their rooms.
They spent the next week in the city, where Vane was kept occupied; after which they sailed once more for the north; and pushed inland until they were stopped by snow among the ranges, without finding the spruce. The journey proved as toilsome as the previous one, and both the men were worn out when they reached the coast. Vane was determined on making a third attempt, but he informed Carroll that they would visit the mine before proceeding to Vancouver. They had heavy rain during the voyage down the Strait, and when on the day after reaching port, the jaded horses they had hired plodded up the sloppy trail to the mine, a pitiless deluge once more poured down on them.
The light was growing dim among the dripping firs, and a deep-toned roar came throbbing across their shadowy ranks. By and by Vane; who was leading, turned and glanced back at Carroll.
“I’ve never heard the river so plainly before,” he said. “It must be unusually swollen.”
Since the mine was situated on a narrow level flat between the hillside and the river, Carroll understood the anxiety in his comrade’s voice; and urging the wearied horses they pressed on a little faster. It was almost dark when they reached the edge of an opening in the firs, and saw a cluster of iron-roofed, wooden buildings and a tall chimney stack, in front of which the unsightly ore-dump extended. Wet and chilled and worn out as the men were, there was comfort in the sight; but Vane noticed that a shallow lake stretched between him and the buildings. On one side of it there was a broad strip of tumbling foam, which rose and fell in confused upheavals and filled the forest with the roar it made. Vane drove his horse into the water, and dismounting among the stumps before the ore-dump, found a wet and soil-stained man awaiting him. A long trail of smoke floated away from the iron stack behind him, and through the sound of the river there broke the clank and thud of hard-driven pumps.
“You have got a big head of steam up, Salter,” he said.
The man nodded. “We want it. It’s taking me all my time to keep the water out of the workings. Leave your horses—I’ll send along for them—and I’ll show you what we’ve been doing after supper.”
“I’d sooner go now, while I’m wet,” Vane answered.
They went down into the mine. The approach looked like a canal, and they descended the shallow shaft amidst a thin cascade. The tunnel they reached slanted, for the lode dipped, and the lights that twinkled here and there among the timbering showed shadowy, half-naked figures toiling in water which rose well up their boots. Further streams of it ran in from fissures, and Vane’s face grew grave as he plodded through the flood with a lamp in his hand. He spent an hour in the workings, asking Salter a question now and then, and afterwards went back with him to one of the sheds, where he dressed in dry clothes and sat down to a meal.
When it was over and the table had been cleared, he lay in a canvas chair beside the stove, in which resinous billets snapped and crackled cheerfully. The deluge roared upon the iron roof; the song of the river rose and fell, filling the place with sound; and now and then the pounding and clanking of the pumps broke in.
Vane examined the sheet of figures Salter handed him. Then he carefully turned over some of the pieces of stone the table was partly covered with.
“There’s no doubt those specimens aren’t so promising, and the cost of extraction is going up,” he said at length. “I’ll have a talk with Nairn when I get back, but in the meanwhile it looks as if we were going to have trouble with the water.”
“It’s a thing I’ve been afraid of for some time,” Salter answered. “We can keep down any leakage that comes in through the rocks, though it means driving the pumps hard, but an inrush from the river would beat us.”
Vane let the matter drop, and an hour later he retired to his wooden berth. In a few minutes he was fast asleep, but was awakened by a shrill note, which he recognised as the whistle of the engine. It was sounding the alarm, and next moment he was struggling into his clothing; then the door swung open and Salter stood in the entrance, lantern in hand, with water trickling from him. There was keen anxiety in his expression.
“Flood’s lapping the bank top now,” he said. “There’s a jamb in the narrow place at the head of the rapid, and the water’s backing up. I’m going along with the boys.”
He vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, and Vane dragged on his jacket. If the mine were drowned, operations might be stopped for a considerable time. What was more, it would precipitate a crisis in the affairs of the company and necessitate an increase of its capital, which he would sooner avoid.
He was outside in less than a minute and stood still looking about him, while the deluge lashed his face and beat his clothing against his limbs. He could only make out a blurred mass of climbing trees on one side, and a strip of foam cutting through the black level which he supposed was water, in front of him. His trained ears, however, gave him a little information, for the clamour of the flood was broken by a sharp snapping and crashing, which he knew was made by driftwood driving furiously against the boulders. In that region, the river banks are encumbered here and there with great logs, partly burned by forest fires, reaped by gales, or brought down from the hill-sides by falls of frost-loosened soil. A flood higher than usual sets them floating, and on subsiding sometimes leaves them packed in a gorge or stranded in a shallow to wait for the next big rise. Now they were driving down and, as Salter had said, jambing at the head of the rapid.
Suddenly a column of fierce white radiance leaped up lower down-stream and Vane knew that a big compressed air lamp had been carried to the spot where the driftwood was gathering. Even at a distance, the brightness of the glare dazzled him, so that he could see nothing else when he headed towards it. He collided with a fir stump and struck it with his knee, and in another minute the splashing about his feet warned him that he was entering the water. Having no wish to walk into the main stream, he floundered to one side. He was, however, getting nearer to the blaze, and by and by he made out a swarm of figures scurrying about beneath it. Some of them had saws or axes, for he caught the gleam of steel, and broke into a run; and presently Carroll, whom he had forgotten, came up, calling to him.