THE GOLD TRAIL

by

HAROLD BINDLOSS

Author of The Cattle Baron's Daughter, The Greater Power, Winston of thePrairie, Etc. 

New YorkGrosset & DunlapPublishers

Copyright, 1910, byFrederick A. Stokes CompanyAll rights reservedMay, 1910

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. BOTTOMLESS SWAMP II. THE PACKER III. THE MODEL IV. IDA'S FIRST ASCENT V. IDA'S CONFIDENCE VI. KINNAIRD STRIKES CAMP VII. GRENFELL'S MINE VIII. IN THE RANGES IX. A FRUITLESS SEARCH X. THE HOTEL-KEEPER XI. IN THE MOONLIGHT XII. THE COPPER-MINE XIII. STIRLING LETS THINGS SLIDE XIV. IDA ASSERTS HER AUTHORITY XV. THE ROCK POOL XVI. ON THE LAKE XVII. SCARTHWAITE-IN-THE-FOREST XVIII. WESTON'S ADVOCATE XIX. ILLUMINATION XX. IDA CLAIMS AN ACQUAINTANCE XXI. THE BRÛLÉE XXII. GRENFELL GOES ON XXIII. THE LODE XXIV. A QUALIFIED SUCCESS XXV. STIRLING GIVES ADVICE XXVI. THE JUMPERS XXVII. SAUNDERS TAKES PRECAUTIONS XXVIII. WESTON STANDS FAST XXIX. THE FIRE XXX. DEFEAT XXXI. HIGH-GRADE ORE XXXII. GRENFELL'S GIFT

THE GOLD TRAIL

CHAPTER I

BOTTOMLESS SWAMP

It was Construction Foreman Cassidy who gave the place its name whenhe answered his employer's laconic telegram. Stirling, the greatcontractor, frequently expressed himself with forcible terseness; butwhen he flung the message across to his secretary as he sat onemorning in his private room in an Ottawa hotel, the latter raised hiseyebrows questioningly. He knew his employer in all his moods; and hewas not in the least afraid of him. There was, though most of thosewho did business with him failed to perceive it, a vein of almostextravagant generosity in Stirling's character. 

"Well, " said the latter, "isn't the thing plain enough?"

The secretary smiled. 

"Oh, yes, " he said. "Still, I'm not sure they'll send it over thewires in quite that form. "

His employer agreed to the modification he suggested, and the messageas despatched to Cassidy read simply, "Why are you stopping?"

After that the famous contractor busied himself about other mattersuntil he got the answer, "No bottom to this swamp. "

Then his indignation boiled over, as it sometimes did, for Stirlingwas a thick-necked, red-faced man with a fiery temper and anindomitable will. He had undertaken a good deal of difficult railroadwork in western Canada and never yet had been beaten. What was more tothe purpose, he had no intention of being beaten now, or even delayed, by a swamp that had no bottom. He had grappled with hard rock andsliding snow, had overcome professional rivals, and had made hisinfluence felt by politicians; and, though he had left middle-agebehind, he still retained his full vigor of body and freedom ofspeech. When he had explained what he thought of Cassidy he turnedagain to his secretary. 

"Arrange for a private car, " he said. "I'll go along to-morrow andmake them jump. "

The secretary, who fancied there would be trouble in the constructioncamp during the next few days, felt inclined to be sorry for Cassidyas he went out to make the necessary arrangements for his employer'sjourney west. 

Stirling had spent a busy morning when he met his daughter Ida and herfriends at lunch. He did not belong to Ottawa. His offices were inMontreal; but as Ottawa is the seat of the government he had visitedit at the request of certain railroad potentates and other magnates ofpolitical influence. With him he had brought his daughter and three ofher English friends, for Ida had desired to show them the capital. Hehad no great opinion of the man and the two women in question. He saidthat they made him tired, and sometimes in confidence to his secretaryhe went rather further than that; but at the same time he was willingto bear with them, if the fact that he did so afforded Ida anypleasure. Ida Stirling was an unusually fortunate young woman, in sofar, at least, as that she had only to mention any desire that it wasin her father's power to gratify. He was a strenuous man, whose workwas his life; subtle where that work was concerned when force, whichhe preferred, was not advisable, but crudely direct and simple asregards almost everything else. 

"I'm going west across the Rockies to-morrow, " he said. "We'll have aprivate car on the Pacific express. You'd better bring these folkalong and show them the Mountain Province. "

Ida was pleased with the idea; and Stirling and his party started weston the morrow. 

In the meanwhile, Construction Foreman Cassidy was spending an anxioustime. He was red-haired and irascible, Canadian by adoption andHibernian by descent, a man of no ideas beyond those connected withrailroad building, which was, however, very much what one would haveexpected, for the chief attribute of the men who are building up thewestern Dominion is their power of concentration. Though there weregreater men above Cassidy who would get the credit, it was due chieflyto his grim persistency that the branch road had been blasted out ofthe mountainside, made secure from sliding snow, and flung on dizzytrestles over thundering rivers, until at last it reached the swampwhich, in his own simple words, had no bottom. 

There are other places like it in the Mountain Province of BritishColumbia. Giant ranges, whose peaks glimmer with the cold gleam ofnever-melting snow, shut in the valley. Great pine forests clothetheir lower slopes, and a green-stained river leaps roaring out of themidst of them. The new track wound through their shadow, a doubleriband of steel, until it broke off abruptly where a creek that pouredout of the hills had spread itself among the trees. The latterdwindled and rotted, and black depths of mire lay among their crawlingroots, forming what is known in that country as a muskeg. There was adeep, blue lake on the one hand, and on the other scarped slopes ofrock that the tract could not surmount; and for a time Cassidy and hismen had floundered knee-deep, and often deeper, among the roots whilethey plied the ax and saw. Then they dumped in carload after carloadof rock and gravel; but the muskeg absorbed it and waited for more. Itwas apparently insatiable; and, for Cassidy drove them savagely, themen's tempers grew shorter under the strain, until some, who had drawna sufficient proportion of their wages to warrant it, rolled up theirblankets and walked out reviling him. Still, most of them stayed withthe task and toiled on sullenly in the mire under a scorching heat, for it was summer in the wilderness. 

Affairs were in this condition when Clarence Weston crawled out of theswamp one evening and sat down on a cedar log before he followed hiscomrades up the track, though he supposed that supper would shortly belaid out in the sleeping-shanty. The sunlight that flung lurid flecksof color upon the western side of the fir trunks beat upon hisdripping face, which, though a little worn and grim just then, wasotherwise a pleasant face of the fair English type. In fact, though hehad been some years in the country, Englishman was unmistakablystamped upon him. He was attired scantily and simply in a very oldblue shirt, and trousers, which also had once been blue, of duck; andjust then he was very weary, and more than a little lame. 

He had cut himself about the ankle when chopping a week earlier, andthough the wound had partly healed his foot was still painful. Therewere also a good many other scars and bruises upon his body, for thecost of building a western railroad is usually heavy. Still, he had anexcellent constitution, and was, while not particularly brilliant as arule, at least whimsically contented in mind. His comrades called himthe Kid, or the English Kid, perhaps on account of a certain delicacyof manner and expression which he had somehow contrived to retain, though he had spent several years in logging camps, and his age wasclose onto twenty-five. 

While he sat there with the shovel that had worn his hands hard lyingat his feet, Cassidy, who had not recovered from the interview he hadhad with Stirling that morning, strode by, hot and out of temper, andthen stopped and swung round on him. 

"Too stiff to get up hustle before the mosquitoes eat you, whensupper's ready?" he said. 

Weston glanced down at his foot. 

"I was on the gravel bank all afternoon. It's steep. Seemed to wrenchthe cut. "

"Well, " said Cassidy, "I've no kind of use for a man who doesn't knowenough to keep himself from getting hurt. You have got to get thatfoot better right away or get out. "

He shook a big, hard fist at the swamp. 

"How'm I going to fill up that pit with a crowd of stiffs anddeadbeats like those I'm driving now? You make me tired!"

He did not wait for an answer to the query, but plodded away; andWeston sat still a few minutes longer, with a wry smile in his eyes. He resented being over-driven, though he was more or less used to it, and now and then he found his superior's vitriolic comments upon hisefforts almost intolerably galling. Still he had sense enough torealize that the remedy open to him was a somewhat hazardous one, because, while it would be easy to walk out of the construction camp, industrial activity just then was unusually slack in the MountainProvince. Besides, he was willing to admit that there were excuses forCassidy, and there was a certain quiet tenacity in him. He was alsoaware that the man with little money has generally a good deal tobear, for Weston was one who could learn by experience, though thatfaculty was not one that hitherto had characterized the family fromwhich he sprang. 

None of the Westons had ever been remarkable for genius--a fact ofwhich they were rather proud than otherwise. They had for severalgenerations been content to be men of local importance in a secludednook of rural England, which is not the kind of life that is conduciveto original thought or enterprising action. They had chosen wives likethemselves from among their neighbors, and it was perhaps in severalrespects not altogether fortunate for Clarence Weston that his motherhad been ultra-conservative in her respect for traditions, since hehad inherited one side of her nature. Still, in her case, at least, the respect had been idealistic, and the traditions of the highest;and though she had died when he was eighteen she had instilled intohim a certain delicacy of sentiment and a simple, chivalrous code thathad somewhat hampered him in the rough life he had led in the CanadianDominion. 

As a very young man he had quarreled with his father over a mattertrifling in itself, but each had clung to his opinions with theobstinacy of men who have few ideas to spare, and Clarence had goneout to seek his fortune in western Canada. He had naturally failed tofind it, and the first discovery that there was apparently nobody inthat wide country who was ready to appraise either his mentalattainments or his bodily activity at the value of his board was apainful shock to the sanguine lad. That first year was a bad one tohim, but he set his teeth and quietly bore all that befell him; theodd, brutal task, paid for at half the usual wages, the frequentrebuffs, the long nights spent shelterless in the bush, utterweariness, and often downright hunger. It was a hard school, but ittaught him much, and he graduated as a man, strong and comely of body, and resolute of mind. What was more, he had, though he scarcelyrealized it, after all, only left behind in England a cramped lifeembittered by a steady shrinkage in the rent roll and as steady anincrease in taxation and expenses. His present life was clean, andgoverned by a code of crude and austere simplicity. His mother'sspirit was in him, and, being what he was, there were things he couldnot do. He did not attempt to reason about them. The knowledge wasborne in upon him instinctively. 

He rose, by and by, and, for he was hungry, limped on to thesleeping-shanty of the construction gang. It was built of logs androofed with rough cedar shingles hand-split on the spot. The sun beathot upon them, and they diffused a faint aromatic fragrance, refreshing as the scent of vinegar, into the long, unfloored room, which certainly needed something of the kind. It reeked with staletobacco-smoke, the smell of cookery, and the odors of frowsy clothes. A row of bunks, filled with spruce twigs and old brown blankets, randown one side of it, a very rude table down the other, and a doublerow of men with bronzed faces, in dusty garments, sat about thelatter, eating voraciously. Fifteen minutes was, at the outside, thelongest time they ever wasted on a meal. 

That evening, however, they were singularly short of temper, forCassidy had driven them mercilessly all day, and, though not usuallyfastidious, the supper was not to their liking. The hash was burnt;the venison, for one of them had shot a deer, had been hung too long;while the dessert, a great pie of desiccated fruits, had been baked toa flinty hardness. That was the last straw; for in the MountainProvince the lumber and railroad gangs as a rule work hard and livewell; and when the cans of green tea had been emptied the growlsculminated in a call for the cook. 

He came forward and stood before them, a little, shaky, gray-hairedwreck of a man, with the signs of indulgence plain upon him. Whisky isscarce in that country, but it is obtainable, and Grenfell generallyprocured a good deal of it. The man was evidently in a state ofapprehension, and he shrank back a little when a big, grim-facedchopper ladled out a great plateful of the burnt stew from a vessel onthe stove. 

"Now, " he said, "you've been spoiling supper too often lately, and Iguess we've got to teach you plain, cookery. Sit right down and getthat hash inside you. "

The man protested that he had had his supper before they came in;whereupon the other seized him by the shoulders and thrust him downroughly into a seat at the table. 

"Well, " he said, "you've got to have a little more. If it's goodenough for us, boys, it's not going to hurt him. "

There was a murmur of concurrence when he looked around at the rest;and the cook, seeing no help for it, made a valiant attempt to eat alittle of the greasy mess. Then he revolted from it and glanced at hiscompanions supplicatingly. 

"I can't do it, boys. You'll let me off?" he pleaded. 

None of the rest showed any sign of relenting. They were inclined tobe pitiless then, and the rude justice of the chopper's idea appealedto them. 

"When you've cleaned up that plate, " said one. 

The victim made a second futile attempt, and, after waiting someminutes for him to proceed, they decided that it was too hot in theshed, so, conveying him outside, they seated him on a great fir stumpsawed off several feet above the ground, with the plate beside him. Then they took out their pipes and sat around to enjoy the spectacle. As a rule there is very little cruelty in men of their kind; but theywere very human, and the cook had robbed them of a meal somewhatfrequently of late. Besides, they had smarted all day under Cassidy'sbitter tongue, and they felt that they must retaliate upon somebody. No one said anything for several minutes, and then the big chopperonce more approached his victim. 

"Now, " he said, "since you have to go through with it, you may as wellstart in. If you don't, I'll put the blame stuff down your throat. "

It was, perhaps, no more than justice, for the cook was paid well; butthere was one man in the assembly to whom this did not altogetherappeal. The victim was frail and helpless, a watery-eyed, limp bundleof nerves, with, nevertheless, a pitiful suggestion of outward dignitystill clinging to him, though his persecutors would have described himaptly as a whisky tank. The former fact was sufficient for Weston, whodid not stop to think out the matter, but rose and strode quietlytoward the fir stump. 

"I think this thing has gone far enough, boys. You'll have to let himoff, " he said. 

"No, sir, " said the big chopper. "He's going right through. Anyway, it's not your trouble. Light out before we rope you in too. "

Weston did not move until three or four more strode forward hastily, when he stooped for an ax that lay handy and swung it round his head. It came down with a crash on the plate, and the hash was scatteredover the withered redwood twigs. Then, while a growl expressive ofastonishment as well as anger went up, the chopper scraped up part ofthe stew with red soil and fir twigs mixed in it. 

"He has got to eat it, and then I'll tend to you. You'll see that theydon't get away, boys, " he said. 

Weston clearly had no intention of attempting to do so, and the cookwould have found it hopeless, for the rest closed round the stump in acontracting ring. While they knew that Cassidy had been summoned toStirling's car, they were unaware that there were other spectators ofthe little drama. Two young women had, however, just emerged fromamong the towering firs that hemmed in the muskeg. One was attiredelaborately in light garments and a big hat that appeared very muchout of place in that aisle of tremendous forest, but there was adifference between her and her companion. The latter knew the bush, and was dressed simply in a close-fitting robe of gray. She heldherself well, and there was something that suggested quietimperiousness in her attitude and expression. This was, perhaps, notaltogether unnatural, for hitherto when Ida Stirling desired anythingthat her father's money could obtain her wish was gratified. She laidher hand warningly on her companion's arm, and drew her back into theshadow of the firs. 

"I really don't think we need go away, " she said. "They won't noticeus, and you will probably see something that is supposed to becharacteristically western, though I'm not sure that it really is. "

The meaning of the scene was tolerably plain to both of them. Thelittle cleared space formed a natural amphitheater walled in by somberranks of pines; and, standing higher, they could see over the heads ofthe clustering men. There was no difficulty in identifying the victim, the persecutor and the champion, for Weston stood stripped to blueshirt and trousers, with the big ax in his hand and his head thrownback a trifle, gazing with curiously steady eyes at the expectantfaces before him. Then as two or three of the men drew in closer heraised his free hand. 

"This thing lies between Jake and me, and I'm open to deal with him, "he said. "Still, I've got the ax here if more of you stand in. "

The man scarcely raised his voice, but it was clear that he wasquietly and dangerously resolute. Indeed, his attitude rather pleasedsome of the rest, for there was a fresh murmuring, and a cry of, "Givethe Kid a show!"

Then, and nobody was afterward quite certain who struck first, thetrial by combat suddenly commenced. There are very few rules attachedto it in that country, where men do not fight by formula but with theone purpose of deciding the matter in the quickest way possible; andin another moment the two had clinched. They fell against the treestump and reeled clear again, swaying, gasping, and striking when theycould. It is probable that the Canadian was the stronger man, but, asit happened, his antagonist had been born among the dales of northernEngland, where wrestling is still held as an art. In a few minutes hehurled the chopper off his feet, and a hoarse clamor went up, throughwhich there broke a shout:

"The Kid has him!"

Then the two men went down together, heavily, and rolled over andover, until Cassidy came running down the track and burst through thering of onlookers. In one hand he carried a peevie, a big wooden leverwith an iron hook on it, such as men use in rolling fir logs. Hebelabored the pair with it impartially, and it was evident that he wasnot in the least particular as to whether he hurt them or not. Loosingtheir hold on each other they staggered to their feet with the reddust thick on their flushed faces. 

Cassidy flourished the peevie. 

"Now, " he cried, "is it fighting ye want?"

There was a burst of laughter; and the assembly broke up when Cassidyhustled the chopper off the field. The cook, with commendablediscretion, had slipped away quietly in the meanwhile, and the twoyoung women, whom nobody had noticed, turned back among the firs. Thegirl in the elaborate draperies laughed. 

"I suppose it was a little brutal, and we shouldn't have stayed, " shesaid. "Still, in a sense the attitude of the one they called the Kidwas rather fine. I could have made quite a striking sketch of him. "

Ida Stirling made no direct reply to this, but, as she foundafterward, the scene had fixed itself on her memory. Still it was notthe intent men or the stately clustering pines that she recalled mostclearly; it was the dominant central figure, standing almoststatuesque, with head tilted slightly backward, and both handsclenched on the big ax haft. 

"The man they were tormenting must have done something to vex them. They really are not quarrelsome, " she said. 

CHAPTER II

THE PACKER

Weston was engaged with several others flinging gravel into a flat carwith a long-hafted shovel the next morning when Cassidy strode up thetrack; and, though the men already had been working hard, theyquickened the pace a little when they saw him. He could tell at aglance whether a man were doing his utmost, and nothing less wouldsatisfy him. He knew also exactly how many cubic yards of soil orgravel could be handled by any particular gang. If the quantity fellshort, there was usually trouble. However, he said nothing to theothers that morning, but beckoned Weston aside, and stood a moment ortwo looking at him, with a grimly whimsical twinkle in his eyes. 

Weston had not suffered greatly during the struggle of the previousevening, but there was a discolored bruise on one of his cheeks and abig lump on his forehead. He was glad to stand still a moment, for hehad been shoveling gravel for several hours, and that is an occupationthat conduces to an unpleasant stiffness about the waist. He was, however, somewhat puzzled by the red-haired Cassidy's sardonic grin. 

"Well, " said the latter, with an air of reflection, "I guess you mightdo if you got a piece of raw steak from the cook and tied it aroundyour face. "

"For what?" asked Weston, sharply. 

"For a packer. The boss's friends are going camping in the bush. "

Weston did not answer immediately, for in that country, where roadsare still singularly scarce, packing usually means the transporting ofheavy loads upon one's back. The smaller ranchers are as a rule adeptat it, and when it is necessary, as it sometimes is, will cheerfullywalk over a mountain range with a big sack of flour or other sundriesbound upon their shoulders. Four or five leagues is not considered toogreat a distance to pack a bushel or two of seed potatoes, or even atable for the ranch, and Weston, who had reasons for being aware thatwork of the kind is at least as arduous as shoveling gravel, did notfeel greatly tempted by the offer. Cassidy seemed to guess what he wasthinking. 

"It's a soft thing I'm putting you on to, as a special favor, " heexplained. "It will be up-river most of the way, and I've got a coupleof Siwash to pole the canoes. All you have to do is the cooking, makecamp, and tend to Miss Stirling's friends when they go fishing. " Hewaved his hand, and added, as though to clinch the argument, "I'veknown people of that kind to give a man that pleased them tendollars. "

Weston's face flushed a little, but he said he would go; and the nextday the party started up-river in two Indian canoes. Besides Westonand the dark-skinned Siwash packers, it consisted of four: a tall, elderly man called Kinnaird, with the stamp of a military trainingplain upon him; his little, quiet wife; his daughter, who was somewhatelaborately dressed; and Ida Stirling. Kinnaird and his daughtertraveled in the larger canoe with the Indians and the camp gear, andMrs. Kinnaird and Miss Stirling with Weston in the other. 

Though Weston was more or less accustomed to the work, he found thefirst few hours sufficiently arduous. It is not an easy matter topropel a loaded canoe against a strong stream with a single paddle, and it is almost as difficult to pole her alone; while there were twolong portages to make, when the craft and everything in them had to behauled painfully over a stretch of very rough boulders. Kinnaird tookhis share in it, and Weston was quite willing to permit him to do so;but the latter was floundering toward the canoes alone, with a heavyload on his shoulders, when he came to a sharply sloped and slipperyledge of rock. It was very hot in the deep valley, and the whitestones and flashing river flung up a blaze of light into his eyes;while he limped a little under his burden, for his foot was stillpainful. He had no idea that anybody was watching him; and, when heslipped and, falling heavily, rolled down part of the slope, scattering the packages about him, he relieved his feelings with a fewvitriolic comments upon the luxurious habits of the people who hadcompelled him to carry so many of their superfluous comforts throughthe bush. Then he set about gathering up the sundries he had dropped. First of all he came upon a lady's parasol, white outside and linedwith green. He regarded it with a rueful smile when he had tried andfailed to open it. 

"Trouble ahead, " he commented. "It cost eight or nine dollars anyway, and now it's broken. "

Then he came to a rather big valise, which swung open and poured outpart of its contents when he lifted it by the handle. They seemed toconsist of voluminous folds of delicate fabric and lace, and he wasgazing at them and wondering how they were to be got back into the bagwhen he heard a voice behind him. 

"Will you kindly put that down?" it said. 

Weston dropped the bag in his astonishment; and, swinging aroundsuddenly, he saw Miss Stirling standing in the shadow of a greatcedar. He had been too busy during the journey up the river to paymuch attention to her; but now it occurred to him that she was notonly pretty but very much in harmony with her surroundings. Thesimple, close-fitting gray dress which, though he did not know this, had cost a good many dollars, displayed a pretty and not over-slenderfigure, and fitted in with the neutral tinting of the towering fir trunksand the sunlit boulders, while the plain white hat with bent-down brimformed an appropriate setting for the delicately-colored face beneathit. Still, Weston scarcely noticed any particular points in MissStirling's appearance just then, for he was subconsciously impressedby her personality as a whole. There was something in her dress andmanner that he would have described vaguely as style, though it was astyle he had not often come across in the west, where he had for themost part lived in the bush. She was evidently a little younger thanhimself, but she had the quiet air of one accustomed to command, which, as a matter of fact, was the case. 

Then he wondered with a slight uneasiness whether she had heard allthat he said when he fell down. He fancied that she had, for there wasthe faintest trace of amusement in her eyes. They met his ownsteadily, though he was not sure whether they were gray or blue, or avery light brown. Indeed, he was never quite sure of this, for theychanged curiously with the light. 

Then she came toward him and looked at the valise. 

"It was locked when I gave it to you, " she said, with a trace ofseverity. 

"Well, " answered Weston, "it doesn't seem to be locked now. I think Iremember noticing that you left the key in it; but it's gone. It musthave fallen out. I'll look for it. "

He looked for some time, and, failing to find it, walked back to thegirl. 

"I'm afraid it's in the river, " he said. "Still, you see, the bag isopen. "

"That, " replied Miss Stirling, "is unfortunately evident. I want itshut. "

Weston glanced at the protruding garments with which she seemed to bebusy. 

"I'm very sorry, " he said. "I dare say I could squeeze these thingsback into it. "

He was going to do so when Miss Stirling took the bag away from him. 

"No, " she said a trifle quickly, "I don't think you could. "

Then it occurred to Weston that his offer had, perhaps, not beenaltogether tactful, and he was sensible of a certain confusion, atwhich he was slightly astonished. He did not remember having beenreadily subject to fits of embarrassment when in England, though therehe had never served as porter to people of his own walk in life. Turning away, he collected a waterproof carry-all, a big rubber groundsheet, another parasol, a sketching stool, and a collapsible easel, which also appeared to be damaged. Then as he knelt down and ropedthem and the valise together he looked at the girl. 

"I'm afraid Miss Kinnaird will be a little angry, for I think thateasel thing won't open out, " he said. "I'm awfully sorry. "

Now "awfully sorry" is not a western colloquialism, and the girllooked at him attentively. She liked his voice, and she rather likedhis face, which, since he had not been called the Kid for nothing, wasingenuous. She laughed a little. Then she remembered something she hadnoticed. 

"Well, " she observed, "I suppose you couldn't help it. That load wastoo heavy; and aren't you a little lame?"

"Not always, " said Weston. "I cut my foot a little while ago. If ithadn't been for that I shouldn't have fallen down and broken MissKinnaird's things. "

"And mine!"

"And yours, " admitted Weston. "As I said, I'm particularly sorry. Still, if you will let me have the bag afterward I can, perhaps, mendthe lock. You see, I assisted a general jobbing mechanic. "

Ida Stirling flashed a quick glance at him. He had certainly apleasant voice, and his manner was whimsically deferential. 

"Why didn't you stay with him?" she asked. "Mending plows and wagonsmust have been easier than track-grading. "

Weston's eyes twinkled. 

"He said I made him tired; and the fact is I mended a clock. That is, I tried--it was rather a good one when I got hold of it. "

The girl laughed, and the laugh set them on good terms with eachother. Then she said:

"That load is far too heavy for you to climb over these boulders withwhen you have an injured foot. You can give me the valise, at least. "

"No, " said Weston, resolutely, "this is a good deal easier thanshoveling gravel, as well as pleasanter; and the foot really doesn'ttrouble me very much. Besides, if I hadn't cut it, Cassidy wouldn'thave sent me here. "

He was, however, mistaken in supposing that the construction foremanhad been influenced only by a desire to get rid of a man who was tosome extent incapacitated. As a matter of fact, Miss Stirling, who hadbeen rather pleased with the part he had played two days ago, had, when her father insisted on her taking a white man as well as theIndians, given Cassidy instructions that he should be sent. Still, shenaturally did not mention this, and indeed said nothing of any accountwhile they went on to the canoes. 

It was slacker water above the rapid; and all afternoon they slidslowly up on deep, winding reaches of the still, green river. Sometimes it flashed under dazzling sunshine, but at least as oftenthey moved through the dim shadow of towering pines that rolled, rankon rank, somber and stately, up the steep hillside, while high abovethem all rose tremendous ramparts of eternal snow. Then, as the sundipped behind the great mountain wall, the clean, aromatic fragranceof pine and fir and cedar crept into the cooling air, and a stillnessso deep that it became almost oppressive descended upon the lonelyvalley. The splash of pole or paddle broke through it with a startlingdistinctness, and the faint gurgle at the bows became curiouslyintensified. The pines grew slower, blacker and more solemn; filmytrails of mist crawled out from among the hollows of the hills; andthe still air was charged with an elixir-like quality when Weston ranhis canoe ashore. 

While he and the Indians set about erecting a couple of tents, he sawMiss Kinnaird standing near him and gazing up across the misty pinestoward the green transparency that still hung above the blue-whitegleam of snow. 

"This, " she said to Miss Stirling, "is really wonderful. One can't gethold of it at once. It's tremendous. "

The smallest of the pines rose two hundred feet above her; and theyran up until they dwindled to insignificance far aloft at the foot ofa great scarp of rock that rose beyond them for a thousand feet or soand then gave place in turn to climbing fields of snow. 

The girl, who was an artist, drew in her breath. 

"Switzerland and Norway. It's like them both--and yet it grips youharder than either, " she added. "I suppose it's because there are nohotels, or steamers. Probably very few white people have ever beenhere before. "

"I really don't think many have, " said Ida Stirling. 

Then Miss Kinnaird laughed softly as she glanced at her attire. 

"I must take off these fripperies. They're out of key, " she said. "Oneought to wear deerskins, or something of that kind here. "

Weston heard nothing further, and remembered that, after all, thegirl's sentiments were no concern of his. It was his business toprepare the supper and wait on the party; and he set about it. Darkness had descended upon the valley when he laid the plates ofindurated ware on a strip of clean white shingle, and then drawingback a few yards sat down beneath the first of the pines in case theyneeded anything further. A fire blazed and crackled between two smalllogs felled for the purpose and rolled close together, and itsflickering light fell upon him and those who sat at supper, except attimes when it faded suddenly and the shadows closed in again. He wasthen attired picturesquely in a fringed deerskin jacket dressed bysome of the Blackfeet across the Rockies. Kinnaird, who had once ortwice glanced in his direction, gazed hard at him. 

"Have you ever been in India?" he asked. 

"No, sir, " said Weston in a formal manner, though "sir" is not oftenused deferentially in western Canada. 

Kinnaird appeared thoughtful. 

"Well, " he said, "I can't help thinking that I have come across yousomewhere before. I have a good memory for faces, and yours isfamiliar. "

"I have never seen you until to-day, " said Weston. "I don't rememberyour name, either. "

"The curious thing, " persisted Kinnaird, "is that while I can't quitelocate you I am almost sure I am right. What makes me feel morecertain is that, though you were younger then, you have grown into theman I should have expected you to. " Then he laughed. "Anyway, it'sclear that you don't remember me. "

He turned to the others, and Miss Kinnaird asked for more coffee, after which Weston, who brought it, sat still again to wait until hecould take away the plates. It was evident that his presence placed norestraint on the conversation. At length he became suddenly intent. Kinnaird was contrasting Canada and England for Miss Stirling'sbenefit. 

"Of course, " he said, "we have nothing like this, but in the north, at least, we have odd bits of rugged grandeur where the wildness ofthe hills about one is emphasized by the green fertility of thevalleys. There is a typical place where we spent a few months lastyear that I should like you to see. If you come back with us, as youhalf promised, we will take you there. "

Weston leaned forward a little, for he had still a curious tendernessfor the land of the fells and dales in which he had been born. He didnot know that Ida Stirling, who had watched him closely when Kinnairdaddressed him, had now fixed her eyes on him again. The latter turnedto her as he proceeded. 

"The old house, " he said, "would make a picture in itself with itslittle stone-ribbed windows, and the much older square tower andcurtain wall that form one wing. There is a terraced garden in front, and a stream comes frothing out of a wooded ghyll at the foot of it. "

Weston started, for there was no doubt that the house Kinnairddescribed was the one in which he had been born. As it happened, thefirelight fell upon his intent face as he waited for the answer, whenMiss Stirling, who had missed his start, asked a question:

"The people who owned it were friends of yours?"

"No, " said Kinnaird, "I never saw them. I took the place through anagency for the rough shooting and as a change from London. They had tolet it and live in a neighboring town. The result of slack managementand agricultural depression, I believe. "

Weston set his lips. He had written home once rejecting a propositionmade him, and his people had afterward apparently forgotten him. Hehad made up his mind that he would not trouble them again, at leastwhile he toiled as a track-grader or a hired man; but now, when itseemed that trouble had come upon them, he regretted many things. 

Kinnaird signed to him that he might take away the plates, and hegathered them up, scarcely conscious of what he was doing, and thenstumbled and dropped the pile of them. Though made of indurated fiber, they fell with a startling clatter, and Kinnaird looked at him sharplyas he picked them up; but in another few moments he had vanishedbeyond the range of the firelight into the shadows of the bush. 

Ida Stirling had, however, noticed enough to arouse a young woman'scuriosity, especially as there was a suggestion of romance in it, andbefore she went to sleep she thought a good deal about the man she hadnever seen until two days ago. 

CHAPTER III

THE MODEL

The morning broke clear and still across the scented bush, and MissKinnaird and Ida Stirling, who had been awakened early by thewonderful freshness in the mountain air, strolled some distance out ofcamp. For a time they wandered through shadowy aisles between thetremendous trunks, breathing in sweet resinous odors, and then, soonafter the first sunrays came slanting across a mountain shoulder, theycame out upon a head of rock above the river. A hemlock had fallenathwart it, and they sat down where they could look out upon amajestic panorama of towering rock and snow. 

Arabella Kinnaird gazed at it intently when she had shaken some of thedew from the frills and folds of her rather bedraggled skirt. 

"It will never be quite the same again, " she observed, evidently inreference to the latter, and then waved one hand as though to indicatethe panorama, for she was usually voluble and disconnected in herconversation. "This, as I said last night, is wonderful--in fact, italmost oppresses one. It makes one feel so little, and I'm not surethat I like that, though no doubt it does one good. "

Her companion smiled. 

"Aren't you going to paint it?" she asked. 

Miss Kinnaird pursed up her face, which was a trick she had. 

"Oh, " she said, "I don't know. After all, portraiture is my specialty, and this silent grandeur is a little beyond my interpretation. "

She paused, and added the next few words in an authoritative manner, as though she had a truth of some consequence to deliver:

"The difficulty is that you really can't interpret anything until youare quite sure what it means. You see, I'm feverishly restless bytemperament, and accustomed to indulge in all kinds of petty, purposeless activities. They are petty, though the major calls themduties--social duties--and being, I'm afraid, a rather frivolousperson in spite of my love of art, they appeal to me. "

Ida said nothing. It was not necessary, and as a rule not advisable, to encourage Arabella Kinnaird when she commenced, as she sometimesdescribed it, to talk seriously; and she rattled on:

"My dear, I'm all appreciation, and graciously pleased with thewonders that you are showing me; but still this valley strikes me asbeing short of something. It's too calm and quiet. Even Eden was notcomplete until man appeared in it, though, as usual, he made troubleshortly afterward. It is a thing he has kept on doing ever since. "

Ida laughed. 

"I'm not sure you're sticking to historical facts, " she said. 

"Facts, " returned her companion, "don't count for much with me. I dealin impressions; and sometimes I feel full of them. I could astonisheverybody if I could get them out; but that, of course, is thedifficulty. Feeling, unfortunately, isn't quite the same thing aspower of expression. Still, you asked me what I thought about thesemountains, and I'm trying to tell you. You have brought it onyourself, you see. The key-tone of this place is an almostoverwhelming tranquillity. One rather shrinks from that kind of thingwhen one is not used to it, and longs to do something to disturb it. It's a natural impulse. When you see a smooth sheet of ice yougenerally look for a big stone with which to smash it. "

She swung around and favored her companion with a glance of criticalscrutiny; and there was no reason why Ida Stirling should shrink fromit. She sat leaning forward, looking out at the mountains with steadyeyes that had a half-smile in them. Her attitude was reposeful and herface quiet; but there was something in both that faintly suggested adecided character. 

"I don't think I'm readily disturbed, " she said. 

"No, " answered her companion reflectively, "but the disturbance willno doubt come. You're in harmony with the key-tone of this valley; buttoo much serenity isn't good for me; and it's probable that nobodyever retains it very long. There's always the disturbing element in aworld that's full of men. It was, as I remarked, man who broughttrouble into Paradise. "

Miss Kinnaird was addicted to talking a good deal of nonsense, and shefrequently wearied her listeners; but there was a certain shrewdnessin her, and at times she got near the truth. Indeed, her companionafterward decided that she had done so in this case. Ida Stirling hadmet many rising young men, and some who had made their mark, but noneof them had aroused in her the faintest thrill of unrest or passion. So far, the depths of her nature had remained wholly unstirred. Onecould almost have told it from her laugh as she answered hercompanion's last observation. 

"I thought it was woman's curiosity, " she said; and then rememberedsuddenly that on the previous evening she had certainly been a triflecurious about the strange packer from the railroad gang. 

Miss Kinnaird made no reply to this; but in a moment she stretched outa pointing hand. 

"Now, " she said, "the disturbing element is obtruding itself. "

Farther down the river there was a flash of something white amidst thepale green shimmer of the flood. Ida rose, but her companion beckonedher to sit down again. 

"Oh, " she said, a trifle impatiently, "don't be prudish. He's ever sofar off, and I've never had an opportunity to study anybody swimming. "

It was, of course, Weston, who supposed himself far enough from campnot to be troubled by spectators, swimming with a powerful side-strokeupstream. Ida sat down again, and both of them watched him as he drewa little nearer. So many times every minute his left arm swept outinto the sunlight as he flung it forward with far-stretched palm. Itfell with the faintest splash, and there was a little puff of spray ashis head dipped and the water washed across his lips. Then the whitelimbs flashed amidst the green shining of the river, and the long, lithe form contracted, gleaming as a salmon gleams when it breaks thesurface with the straining line. The still river rippled, and asun-bronzed face shot half-clear again. Miss Kinnaird watched theswimmer's progress with open appreciation. 

"Dancing, " she said didactically, "isn't to be compared with that!It's the essence of rhythmic movement! I must certainly studyswimming. I wish he'd come right on. "

Ida was not sure that she agreed with her; and, just then, Weston, swinging suddenly around, went down into the green depths, and, shooting up with white shoulders high above the water, swept awayagain down-stream. Miss Kinnaird rose as he did so, and turned backtoward the camp. 

"That packer is rather fine, considered as a muscular animal, " shesaid. 

Ida smiled at this, somewhat sardonically. 

"In your country you wouldn't think of regarding him as anything else. Doesn't being an artist emancipate one from the conventional point ofview?"

"No, " replied Miss Kinnaird reflectively, "it doesn't, that is, whenyou do not paint for your living--which, of course, alterseverything. "

Then her eyes twinkled as she favored her companion with a passableimitation of her father's didactic tone and manner. 

"As the major says, social distinctions are necessary safeguards, andcannot lightly be disregarded. If they were not, they could not haveexisted as long as they have. "

She laughed. 

"In the case of a man who has inherited his station and hispossessions, " she added, "it is a very natural and comfortable creed. "

"Ah, " said Ida, "my father worked in a sawmill. "

She spoke quietly, but there was something in her voice that warnedher companion that there were subjects upon which they might have aclash of opinion. In the east there is pride of possession; but thepride of achievement, which is, perhaps, more logical, is more commonin the west. 

It was an hour later when Weston laid breakfast before them; and Ida, who regarded him unobtrusively with careful attention, decided thatArabella Kinnaird was right. The packer, with his lean, symmetricallitheness, his pleasant English face, his clear eyes, and his clean, bronzed skin, was certainly well-favored physically, and she began towonder whether her companion could not have gone further in hercomments; until she remembered again that the commencement of a goodmany troubles is probably woman's curiosity. 

The canoes were launched after breakfast, and it was afternoon whenthey pitched camp beside a still, blue lake. Then Major Kinnairdstrolled away with a trout-rod to a neighboring rapid, and Mrs. Kinnaird went to sleep in a hammock. Her daughter got out hersketch-book, and sitting down among the boulders bade Ida summonWeston. He came, and stood looking at them inquiringly, picturesque inhis wide hat and his fringed deerskin jacket. Miss Kinnaird pursed upher face. 

"I want to make a sketch of you. You have rather a good head, " shesaid. 

Weston gazed at her a moment in astonishment, and then a twinkle creptinto his eyes. Her matter-of-fact brusqueness, which made it perfectlyplain that his views in the matter did not count, might have roused asense of opposition in some men, but he had acquired a wide tolerationin western Canada. 

"Shall I stand here, miss?" he asked. 

"No, " said the girl, "a little farther to the right, where thesunlight falls upon the trunks behind you; but you mustn't lookwooden. That will do. Still, you'll have to take off that jacket. It'sfrippery. "

The suspicion of a flush crept into Weston's face; but, after all, aloose blue shirt and duck trousers are considered dress enough in thebush of the Pacific Slope, and he discarded the offending jacket. MissKinnaird, however, was not quite satisfied. 

"Can't you take up that ax and look as if you were ready to use it?"she said. "Oh, no! That is far too much like a waxwork! Hold up yourhead a little! Now, don't move any more than you can help! I thinkthat will do. "

Weston stood as he was for the best part of an hour. He felt inclinedto wonder why he did it, as he had not found shoveling gravel anythinglike so difficult. Then Miss Kinnaird informed him that, as shedesired to make a study of the background, she would not keep him anylonger; and he strolled away to the waterside, where, after stretchinghimself wearily, he lay down and took out his pipe. He had not beenthere long when Ida, who came out from among the trees, sat down onone of the boulders not far from him. 

"You must have been horribly cramped, but it didn't strike MissKinnaird, or she wouldn't have kept you there so long, " she said. 

"No, " answered Weston, reflectively, "I don't think it would strikeMiss Kinnaird. She's English, isn't she?"

"Of course. But aren't you English, too?"

Weston's eyes twinkled. 

"I am. Still, I don't want you to think that it's merely because MissKinnaird comes from the same country that I do that I didn't expecther to realize that to stand posed for an hour or so is apt to crampone. "

Ida laughed. It evidently was clear to him that Miss Kinnaird regardedhim as a packer and nothing else, and had decided that he had probablygrown used to physical discomfort. Ida was, however, rather pleased tosee that he accepted the fact good-humoredly and did not resent it. She was in no way astonished that he should answer her as he had, for, in the west, a man may speak naturally to any young woman whoaddresses him, without feeling called on to remember the distinctionsof caste. 

"I wonder, " she said, "whether you would tell me what caused thetrouble you were mixed up in two or three nights ago. "

Weston's face grew slightly flushed, for he was still in certainrespects somewhat ingenuous; but he told her simply what had led up tothe affray. 

"After all you could hardly blame the boys, " he added. "They had had ahard day, and it was not the first time Grenfell had done them out oftheir supper. "

"Still, he had spoiled your supper, too, " said Ida. "If you couldn'tblame them, why did you interfere?"

It was rather a difficult question. Weston could not very well tellher, even had he quite realized it, that there was in him a vein ofrudimentary chivalry that had been carefully fostered by his mother. The males of the Weston line had clung to traditions, but they had forthe most part been those of the Georgian days, when very littlerefinement of sentiment was expected from the country gentleman. Thetraditions Agnes Weston had held by, however, went back to an earlierage. She had been High Church and imaginative, a woman ofimpracticable as well as somewhat uncomfortable ideals, and findingher husband proof against them she had done what she could with herson. The result was a somewhat happy one, for in the Kid, as hiscomrades termed him, her fantasies and extravagances had been toneddown by the very prosaic common sense of the Weston male line. Theywere full-fleshed, hard-riding Englishmen who lived on beef and beer. Though Weston was naturally not aware of it, there were respects inwhich Ida Stirling was like his mother. Ida, however, usually kept herdeeper thoughts to herself, which Mrs. Weston had seldom done, but sheshaped her life by them, and they were wholesome. 

"Well, " he said diffidently, "it was quite a humiliating situation forthe old man. He was a person of some consequence once--a rather famousassayer and mineralogist--and I think he felt it. "

"That is not what I asked you, " said Ida, with a trace of dryness. 

Weston spread out his hands as though to excuse himself. 

"Then, " he said, "they were all against him, and I think Jake--I meanthe big chopper--would have forced the stuff down his throat. It washorribly burnt. There are, " and he hesitated, "things one really hasto do. "

His companion nodded. She liked his diffidence, which, while veryevident, was wholly genuine, and the faint color in his face gave himan appearance of boyish candor. 

"Even when the odds against you are quite steep?" she said. "In thecase we are discussing the result was no doubt that bruise on yourface. " Then she changed the subject. "If he was a famous mineralogist, why is he cooking in a railroad camp?"

"Everybody knows, " said Weston. "The usual trouble--whisky. "

The girl made a little gesture of comprehension that had in it also ahint of disgust, and then seeing that he would say nothing furtheruntil she gave him a lead she spoke again. 

"What brought you out here?" she inquired. 

Weston had been asked the same question several times before, and hadnever answered it. In fact, he did not know why he did so now. 

"I quarreled with my people. In one respect, anyway, I don't regretit. It's rather a beautiful country. "

He sat, with his wide hat tilted back and the sun on his face, lookingout upon the blue lake between the towering pines. Their shadowsfloated in it, and tremendous slopes of rock ran up toward thegleaming snow on the farther side. The bush lay very silent under thescorching sun, and it was filled with the heavy odors of the firs, inwhich there was a clogging, honey-like sweetness. 

"It's a little difficult to understand why you seem to be content withtrack-grading. One would fancy it to be unusually hard work, " said thegirl. 

"Oh, yes, " agreed Weston, laughing. "Still, you see, I don't intend toremain a track-grader indefinitely. "

"No?" said Ida, inquiringly. "What do you mean to do?"

Weston saw that she was interested, and he was still young enough tobe willing to discuss his own plans and projects--though for thatmatter one comes across older men who can talk of nothing else. 

"This country is full of gold and silver, " he said. "Other men strikeit now and then, and I really don't see why I shouldn't. "

"When they do, haven't they usually to sell it for almost nothing tosomebody who gets up a company? Besides, do you know anything aboutprospecting?"

Weston laughed. 

"A little. It's my one dissipation; and it's rather an expensive one. You have to work for months to save enough to buy a camp outfit andprovisions, and if you mean to stay any time in the ranges you have tohire a horse. Then you come back in rags with a bagful of specimensthat prove to be of no use at all; and you go to work again. "

"You have done that often?"

"Three or four times. "

"Then, " asked Ida, "isn't it foolish to go back again?"

Weston looked at her a moment hesitatingly, and then made a littlegesture of deprecation. 

"It sounds absurd, of course, but I have a fancy that if I keep it uplong enough I shall strike gold. You see I'm a water-finder, anyway. "

"A water-finder?"

Weston nodded. 

"It's an old English idea. Water evidently used to be scarcer there, and even now there are places where good wells aren't plentiful. Yougo along with a hazel twig, and it dips when you cross water runningunderground. That is, if you have the gift in you. Anybody can't doit. You think that quite foolish, don't you?"

Ida really did, though she did not seem to admit it. 

"Have you ever tried the gift out here?" she asked. 

"On the prairie, quite often. A good deal of it is burnt up and dry. Igenerally found water. "

"You turned the--power--to account? I mean--you made--money out ofit?"

There was a sudden change in Weston's face. 

"No, " he said, "I never took a cent. "

"But why?"

"Well, " replied the man slowly, "my mother had some old-world belief, and she said it was a special gift. She knew I had it. She said athing of that kind should never be used for money. "

"But haven't all those who claimed special powers--priests, magicians, medicine-men--always been willing to sell them?"

Her companion's eyes twinkled. 

"Well, I dare say they have. Still, you see, it's possible that theynever really had the gifts they claimed at all. Now I--can--findwater, and I have a notion that I can find the precious metals too. Quite absurd, isn't it?"

Ida thought it was, but the quiet confidence behind his whimsicalmanner appealed to her. He was, it seemed, a man of simple characterand few ideas, but she knew that he had nerve and vigor, and, afterall, the western Dominion is the land of strenuous, all-daring, simplemen. Besides, she had watched the resolution flash into his young facewhen he stood facing the angry crowd of track-graders with the ax inhis hand, and she had seen very much the same tenacity andsteadfastness stamped on the faces of successful men. Her father wasone, and he was a man who had scarcely been educated, and wascertainly devoid of any complexity of character. Stirling had made hismark by smashing down opposition, and, when that was not possible, grimly holding on and bearing the blows dealt him. There was, as sherecognized, something to be said in favor of that kind of man. 

Then Kinnaird came up through the bush with his rod and a fewtroutlings, dry-shod and immaculate in a jacket that fitted him like auniform, and Ida went back to camp with him. She fancied, however, that her father or Weston, who sat still and filled his pipe again, would have come back with a heavy fish, or at least thorn-rent anddripping wet. 

CHAPTER IV

IDA'S FIRST ASCENT

The party had spent another day or two beside the lake when, onedrowsy afternoon, Kinnaird, who sat on the hot, white shingle by thewater's edge, with a pair of glasses in his hand, sent for Weston. Miss Kinnaird and Ida Stirling were seated among the boulders not faraway. 

"I understand that the river bends around the range, and the crest ofthe first rise seems no great height, " he said. "There is evidently--abench I think you call it--before you come to the snow, and the ascentshould be practicable for a lady. Take these glasses and look at it. "

Weston, who took the glasses, swept them along the hillside across thelake. It rose very steeply from the water's edge, but the slope wasuniform, and as a good deal of it consisted apparently oflightly-covered rock and gravel the pines were thinner, and there wasless undergrowth than usual. Far above him the smooth ascent broke offabruptly, and, though he could not see beyond the edge, therecertainly appeared to be a plateau between it and the farther wall ofrock and snow. 

"I think one could get up so far without very much trouble, sir, " hesaid. 

"That, " replied Kinnaird, "is how it strikes me. My daughter is rathera good mountaineer, and Miss Stirling is just as anxious to make theascent. I may say that we have had some experience in Switzerland, notto mention the hills among the English lakes. Do you know anythingabout climbing?"

"No, sir, " said Weston; "not as it is understood in Switzerland, anyway. I don't suppose there's an ice-ax in the country, and I neversaw a party roped. Still, I have been up seven or eight thousand feetseveral times. "

"What were you doing?" asked Miss Kinnaird. 

Weston saw the faint twinkle in Ida Stirling's eyes, and fancied thathe understood it. Very few of the inhabitants of that country climbfor pleasure, and it is difficult to obtain any of the regulationmountaineering paraphernalia there; but when the wandering prospectorfinds a snow-crested range in his way he usually scrambles over it andcarries his provisions and blankets along with him. The fact thatthere are no routes mapped out, and no chalets or club shelters tosleep in, does not trouble men of that kind. 

"Once or twice we were on the gold trail, " he said. "Another time Ipacked for a couple of Englishmen who were looking for mountaingoats. "

"Get any?" Kinnaird asked sharply. 

"No, sir. We didn't even see one, " said Weston; and again he noticedMiss Stirling's smile. 

"Well, " said Kinnaird, "we are breaking camp tomorrow, and my idea isthat Mrs. Kinnaird should go on with the baggage in the canoes. Therest of us will follow the bench, and after working around the head ofthe big spur yonder come down again to the water by the other slope. You are, of course, willing to make the ascent with us?"

"I am under your orders, " said Weston. "Still, I shouldn't advise it. "

"Why?"

It was rather difficult to answer. Weston could not tell the majorthat he considered him a little too old for that work, or that he wasdubious about his daughter's stamina and courage. He had seenself-confident strangers come down from those mountains dressed inrags, with their boots torn off their bleeding feet. Besides, he feltreasonably sure that, as he was not a professional guide, any advicethat he might feel it wise to offer would not be heeded. 

"I have heard that there is thick timber on the other slope, " he said. "It's generally rather bad to get through. "

Kinnaird, who never had been in really thick timber, dismissed thematter with a smile. 

"We will start at six to-morrow, and endeavor to get down to campagain on the other side in the afternoon. You will arrange aboutprovisions. "

Weston said that he would do so, but he was not exactly pleased whenhe watched the major climb the hillside immediately behind them, withhis glasses, to plot out the route. It seemed very probable that oncehe had fixed on one he would adhere to it at any cost, and, perhaps, the more persistently if the course in question appeared inadvisableto his companions. Weston did not pretend to be a great judge ofcharacter, but Kinnaird, who, it seemed, had held command in India, struck him as that kind of man. His wife was a little, placid lady, whose bodily vigor and any resolution of character she might once havepossessed had apparently evaporated under the Indian sun, and, as faras Weston had noticed, she invariably agreed with whatever was said. When he waited on them at supper their talk was of the easier ascentsin Switzerland, and in the mountains of his own land, whose names ranglike music in his ears--the Striding Edge, the Great Gable Needle, andSaddleback Crags. The Needle was certainly difficult to climb, but theStriding Edge on a still day was a secure promenade compared with someof the ledges along which he had seen western prospectors strugglewith a month's supplies. 

Supper, which as usual was prepared about six o'clock, had been overan hour or two, when, after waiting for an opportunity, he found Idaalone beside the lake. 

"Can't you persuade these people not to go, Miss Stirling?" he asked. 

The girl smiled. 

"No, " she said, "I think you ought to recognize that. "

"Then can't you make some excuse, for stopping behind with Mrs. Kinnaird?"

"Why?"

Weston made a little gesture. 

"It will probably be a tough climb. I'd rather you didn't go. "

Dusk was creeping up the hillside, but there was still a little lightamong the misty pines, and the girl flashed a quick glance at him. Heseemed diffident, but it was evident that he did not wish her to go, and once more she felt that he aroused her curiosity. 

"That, " she observed, "is not exactly an answer. Why should I staybelow?"

Weston was relieved at this, for it seemed preferable to him that sheshould be the one to raise the personal side of the question. 

"Well, " he said, "for one thing my employer is your father. "

It occurred to the girl that the qualification might as well have beenleft out. It was too suggestive, since it conveyed the impression thatthe fact he had mentioned was not the only one that influenced him;but she had noticed already that Weston was not a finisheddiplomatist. She became more curious as to why he was especiallyconcerned about her safety, though, as a matter of fact, he could nothave told her, because he did not know. 

"Major and Miss Kinnaird are his guests, " she observed. 

Weston recognized the reproof in this, and stood silent a moment ortwo until she spoke again. 

"Are you afraid my nerve may not prove equal to Miss Kinnaird's?" sheasked. 

Weston smiled and answered without reflection. 

"No, " he said, "that certainly wasn't troubling me. When the pinchcomes you could be relied on. "

He was conscious that he had gone too far, and, as often happens insuch cases, immediately went further. 

"There is something about you that makes me sure of it. "

"Well, " said Ida, coldly, "it is very probable that the pinch won'tcome at all. "

She turned away and left him; and Weston frowned at the supper disheshe had carried down to the lake. 

"I dare say that looked very much like a gratuitous impertinencefrom--the packer, " he observed. 

He awakened at four the next morning; and the mists were steamingamong the pines when the Indians ferried the party across the lake. Then for a couple of hours they went up steadily, between apparentlyendless ranks of climbing pines, with odd streams of loose gravelsliding down beneath their feet. Kinnaird led the way; the girls camebehind him climbing well; and Weston brought up the rear with an amplesupply of provisions and a couple of big blankets strapped on hisshoulders. He explained that the blankets would do to sit on, but, knowing a little about those mountains, he was somewhat dubious abouttheir getting down again that afternoon. The load was heavy, and byand by his injured foot commenced to grow painful. 

Then they left the last of the dwindling pines behind, and pushed onalong a slope that was strewn with shattered rock and debris whichmade walking arduous. Then they reached a scarp of rock ground smoothby the slipping down of melting snow, and when they had crossed thattheir difficulties began. The scarp broke off on the verge of analmost precipitous rift, and a torrent that seemed drawn out intosilk-like threads roared in the depths of it. A few pines weresprinkled about the slopes of the gully, and one or two of them whichhad fallen lay athwart the creek. 

They stopped for a few minutes upon a dizzy ledge of rock, from whichthey looked far down across battalions of somber trees upon thegleaming lake below. Here Weston was guilty of an indiscretion. Headmitted afterward that he ought to have known that a man used tocommand in India, who claimed some acquaintance with Alpine climbing, was not likely to be advised by him. 

"I believe we could get down, sir, and there are several logs acrossthe creek, " he said. "We must get over it somehow, and the gully willprobably run into a canon lower down. "

"That, " remarked Kinnaird, dryly, "is perfectly evident. It is, however, my intention to follow up the gully. "

Weston was conscious that Ida Stirling was glancing at him, but hisface remained expressionless; and as he suggested nothing further, they went on again. The mountain slope had been steadily growingsteeper beneath them, and they had not yet reached the bench. Theywent up for another hour, and then came out upon the expected strip ofplateau in the midst of which the gully died out. The plateau, however, lay on the northern side of a great peak, and was coveredwith slushy snow. Kinnaird looked somewhat dubiously at the latter, which seemed deep in the hollows. 

"The snow will have gone once we get around the western shoulders, " hesaid. "It must be almost as near to get down from that side, and thecanoes will have gone on by now. Still, it's rather a long time sincebreakfast. "

He glanced at the girls, and appeared relieved when Ida said:

"I think we would better push on a little further before we stop forlunch. "

They plunged into a snow-drift to the knees, and when they hadfloundered through it for thirty yards or so Weston sank suddenly wellover his waist. He flung himself forward, and with the help ofKinnaird wriggled clear, but when they looked down there was emptyblackness beneath the hole he had made. 

"It's a snow-bridge, I think, sir, " he said. "The creek's runningunder it. Anyway, I didn't touch anything solid with my feet. "

Kinnaird's face grew graver. 

"If you're right, " he observed, "it would be wiser to work around. "

They spent an hour doing it, and then, crossing knee-deep, they satdown on a ledge of jutting rock while Weston laid out a simple meal. It was very cold in the shadow of the peak, and a bitter wind thatseemed to be gathering strength whistled eerily about the desolationof rock and snow. They were wet to the knees, and Weston fancied thatthe girls' cheerfulness was a trifle forced. He was ready to admitthat he was somewhat stiff and weary, for he had carried theprovisions and the heavy blankets that the girls had now tucked roundthem. 

The latter commenced to flag when they started again; and, as ithappened, the strip of bench they followed rapidly narrowed in andgrew rougher until it became little more than a sloping ledge with thehillside dropping almost sheer away from it. It was strewn with greatfragments that had fallen from the wall of rock above, and banks ofsnow lay packed between them in the hollows. Every now and then one oranother of the party sank deep on stepping down from some ledge ofslippery stone. They were on the northern side of a spur of the higherrange, though they were approaching the angle where it broke off andfell in a steep declivity facing west. This point they had to turnbefore they reached the spot from which Kinnaird purposed descendingto the river. They made very slow progress, while the shadow of thepeaks grew blacker and longer across the hills. At length, when theyhad almost reached the corner, Kinnaird stopped to consider, and thegirls sat down with evident alacrity. This time he looked at Weston, and his manner implied that he was willing to consider any views thathe or the others might express. 

"I'm afraid that I have been a little at fault, " he admitted. "Infact, I quite expected that we would be down again by this time. It isnow well on in the afternoon, and, as we have probably covered abouttwo-thirds of the distance, it would not be advisable to go back as wecame up. "

"That, " said Arabella Kinnaird decisively, "is unthinkable. "

She turned to Weston, who nodded. 

"Anyway, the canoes have gone on, which means that there would benothing to eat until we came up with them, " he said. "It must be eightor nine miles, by water, from our last camp to where they are to waitfor us, and the ladies couldn't go so far through the thick timber inthe valley. "

Kinnaird looked beneath him. 

"Well, I don't think anybody could get straight down from here, " hesaid. 

It was clearly beyond the power of those who were with him, as theyquite realized. A few yards away, the hillside fell almostprecipitously for perhaps a thousand feet to the tops of the pinesbelow. Part of it was smooth rock, but long banks of gravel layresting in the hollows at so steep a slope that it was evident that afootstep would be sufficient to dislodge them. Indeed, without that, every now and then some of them broke away and plunged down into thevalley. Close behind the party a wall of crags rose sheer for ahundred feet at least. Kinnaird glanced up at them with a frown. 

"I fancy we should find another level strip above, " he said; "butsince we can't get up the only thing to do is to push on. From what Isaw through my glasses when I went up the lake, there is certainly aneasier slope once we get around the corner. "

They went on, wearily, with the wall of rock creeping out nearer andnearer to the edge of the declivity, and it became quite clear toWeston that the girls' strength was rapidly failing. Still, he quietlyurged them on, for it was now becoming a somewhat momentous questionwhether they could get down before darkness fell; and as a rule thewhite mists settle heavily upon those ranges with the dusk. Then themargin between rock and declivity almost disappeared, and Weston, looking down on the somber tree-tops, felt reasonably certain thatthere was now another wall of crags between the foot of the slope andthem. 

"I suppose you are quite sure, sir, that the face of the hill is lesssteep around the corner in front of us?" he asked. 

"I am, " replied Kinnaird. "I traced out the route with my glasses fromthe head of the lake. Where I was wrong was in not heading for higherlevel. The bench I intended to follow is clearly above us. "

Weston glanced at Ida, and noticed that her face was very weary and atrifle gray, but she smiled at him reassuringly; and they flounderedon until the wall of rock pushed them right out to the edge of thedeclivity. They clung to it here and there with their hands while theyfelt for a foothold among the banks of gravel. Suddenly, Ida slippedand clutched at Weston. Her hand fell upon the package of provisionsthat he had slung behind his shoulders with a strip of deerhide, and, for she was of full stature and not particularly slender, it brokeaway. Then there was a roar of sliding stones, and Weston, dropping onhis knees, flung an arm about the girl. She fell as he did it, andthey slid down together a yard or so before he drove one foot deepinto the gravel and brought himself up. Then he risked a glance ather. 

"Don't look down!" he commanded sharply. 

Her face was set and white, but she met his gaze, and in her eyesthere was something that suggested confidence in him. He felt that hecould be sure of her nerve, but whether her strength or his wouldsuffice for the scramble back was another matter, and he was horriblyafraid. Kinnaird, lying flat down, held out his hand, and in a momentor two Weston and the girl stood with the others close beneath therock. He did not know how they got there. He was quivering allthrough, and the perspiration of tense effort dripped from him. Whilehe stood there gasping, the packet of provisions, which had apparentlyrested for a few moments among the gravel dislodged by his efforts toclimb up, rolled down the slope, and he watched it rush downward untilhe turned his eyes away. It was too horribly suggestive; but his gazewas drawn back again against his will, and he saw the package vanishsuddenly. That made it quite clear that the slope ended in anotherwall of crags. 

He did not remember whether Ida or the others said anything to him;but they crept on again, almost immediately, clinging to the rock, andscarcely venturing to glance down at the climbing forest which nowappeared to lie straight beneath them but very far away. A cold windstung their faces, the rocks above rose higher, but there was, atleast, no snow beneath their feet, and they moved on yard by yard, scarcely daring to breathe at times, until at length Kinnaird criedout in a voice that was hoarse with exultation:

"We are over the worst!"

Then Weston gasped with sincere relief, for it was clear that they hadcrept around the perilous corner. The wall of rock receded, and theslope became less steep in front of them. It was, however, strewn withmassy fragments and debris carried down by the snow, and the sun thatflung a warm light upon it hung just clear of the peaks across thevalley. There was no doubt that his companions were worn out, and hefancied that the girls could scarcely drag themselves along, but theyhad now no provisions and it was clearly advisable to get down, atleast as far as the timber, where one could make a fire, beforedarkness fell; and they pushed on. Arabella Kinnaird, scrambling overa pile of ragged stones, came down heavily. She cried out as she didso, and then rising with some difficulty, immediately sat down againwith her face awry. 

"It's my knee, " she said faintly. 

Kinnaird scrambled toward her, but she waved him back. 

"Go on with the packer, " she said. 

Kinnaird and Weston proceeded a little farther down the slope, whichwas practicable, though very steep; and when Ida called them back, Arabella smiled ruefully. 

"It's horribly bruised, and I'm afraid I've twisted a ligament orsomething of that kind, " she said. "At least, I can't put any weighton it. "

There was an expressive silence for the next few moments, and Kinnairdgazed down into the valley with consternation in his eyes. The sun haddipped behind the peaks by this time, and the great hollow was growingdim and hazy. The river was blotted out, and even the climbing forestseemed indistinct. 

"Could you get along on my arm?" he asked. 

"No, " said Arabella sharply, "I don't think I could put my foot on theground. "

Weston said nothing, though he realized that the situation wasbecoming serious. They had had no more than one hasty meal since earlymorning, and they were worn out. It was also, as he knew, very cold upon the hills at night. While he considered the matter, Kinnairdstretched out a pointing hand. 

"Look!" he said. 

A trail of filmy vapor crawled out athwart the lower pines and coveredthem as it rolled rapidly upward. While they watched it the depths ofthe valley were filled and became a dim white plain that extended itsborders as it ascended. Long billows of vapor rolled out from itsedges and slid up the hollows, blotting out the somber ranks ofclimbing pines one by one until all had gone and rock scarp and ruggedpeak rose isolated from a vast sweep of mist. It crawled up the slopewhere they sat, and then stopped and came no higher, leaving therampart of rock and snow behind them to glimmer coldly blue and grayagainst the clear green radiance of the evening sky. Kinnaird lookedat Weston as if willing to entertain any suggestion. 

"It's clear that we can't get down, " he said. 

Weston nodded. 

"I fancy that I could reach the timber, sir, " he said. "I'll bring upa load of branches to make a fire. "

He loosed the blankets from his shoulders, and floundering down theslope was lost in the vapor. 

CHAPTER V

IDA'S CONFIDENCE

An hour passed, and it was growing dark when Weston scrambled up thehillside empty-handed. 

"There's a slope between us and the timber, sir, that's too steep toget down, " he announced. "I worked along the edge of it until thelight failed me and the mist got very thick. "

"You did quite right to come back, " said Kinnaird. "We shall have tostay here. What do you suggest?"

Weston looked around him carefully. 

"There's a little hollow under the ledge yonder. You should keepfairly warm there close together with the blankets over you. "

Kinnaird demurred to this, but Weston, drawing him aside, spokeforcibly, and at length he made a sign of acquiescence. 

"Well, " he said, "no doubt you're right. After all, the great thing isto keep the warmth in us. Where are you going?"

"I'll find a burrow somewhere within call, " said Weston quietly. 

He was busy for some little time scraping stones out from the hollowbeneath the ledge, and then he built a rough wall of the larger oneson two sides of it. After that they got Miss Kinnaird there with somedifficulty, and when she and the others had crept into the shelter andwrapped the blankets round them, he turned away and stretched himselfout beneath the largest stone he could find. For an hour he lay theresmoking, and then put his pipe away. He had not much tobacco, and itoccurred to him that he might want the little that remained on themorrow. 

In the meanwhile it had grown bitterly cold, and one never feels thecold so much as when a day's arduous exertion has exhausted thenatural heat of the body. Weston was also very hungry, and afterbeating his numbed hands he thrust them inside his deerskin jacket. They had probably reached no great height, but summer was onlycommencing, and it was evidently freezing. Indeed, the nights had beencold enough when he lay well wrapped up in the sheltered valley. Still, the mist, at least, climbed no higher. The stars were twinklingfrostily, and opposite him across the valley a great gray-whiterampart ran far up into the dusky blue. He watched it for a while, andthen it seemed to grow indistinct and hazy, and when some timeafterward he opened his eyes again he saw that there was no mist aboutthe slopes beneath. 

Then, as he looked about him, stiff with cold, he noticed that ahalf-moon had sailed up above the peaks. Its elusive light lay uponthe slope, but ledge and stone seemed less distinct than theirshadows, which were black as ebony. After that he commenced a strugglewith himself, for, numbed as he was, he did not want to move, which isone of the insidious effects of cold. It cramps its victim's volitionas well as his body, and makes him shrink from any attempt at themuscular effort which would make it easier for him to resist it. Afterall, the endurance of bitter frost is rather a question of moral thanphysical strength, as every prospector who has crossed the snow-boundaltitudes on the gold trail knows. 

He forced himself to get up, and stood still, shivering in every limb, while a bitter wind struck through him as he gathered his resolutiontogether. Then, stripping off his deerskin jacket, he flung it overone arm as he turned toward his companions' shelter. Kinnaird wasawake, and his daughter cried out drowsily when Weston stood lookingdown at him. 

"It's clearing, and I think I could get down, " he said. "It would bebetter if Miss Stirling came with me. "

"Yes, " said Kinnaird reflectively, "I think she ought to go. "

There was, however, a difficulty when Ida rose to her feet, and stoodlooking about her half awake. She could not speak distinctly, but sheseemed bent on staying. Then Kinnaird made a sign to Weston, whoquietly slipped his arm within the girl's and drew her away. She wentwith him some little distance, too dazed to resist, and then, snatching her arm free, turned upon him white with cold and anger. 

"What right have you or Major Kinnaird----" she began, but Westonchecked her with a little forceful gesture. 

"I, at least, have none at all, " he admitted. "In a way, however, Isuppose I'm responsible for the safety of the whole party. Could youhave done Miss Kinnaird any good by staying?"

Cold and half dazed as she was, a moment's reflection convinced Idathat she could have done very little beyond helping to keep hercompanion warm. Weston, who did not wait for her answer, went on:

"Now, " he said severely, "do you feel as comfortable as usual, or areyou almost too cold to move?"

The girl admitted that the latter was the case, and Weston spread outhis hands. 

"Well, " he said, "it will be at least another six hours before thefirst sunlight falls on that ledge. Besides, as you may remember, youhave had only one meal since early yesterday morning, and I shall beespecially fortunate if I can get back here with the Indians by noon. Major Kinnaird and his daughter must stay, but that doesn't apply toyou. Are you still quite sure you have any cause to be angry with me?"

Ida looked at him with a little flash in her eyes. 

"Oh, " she said, "I suppose you're right. Still, is it necessary tomake the thing so very plain?"

Weston laughed. 

"I just want you to realize that you are in my hands until we reachlevel ground, " he replied. "In the meanwhile I should like you to puton this jacket. "

He held out the warm deerhide garment, and the girl flashed a covertglance at him. He stood close by her in loose blue shirt and thin ducktrousers, and, as far as she could see by the moonlight, his face waspinched and blue with cold. 

"I won't, " she said. 

Weston pursed up his face whimsically. He seldom shone where diplomacywas advisable. As a rule, he endeavored to bring about the end he hadin view by the most direct means available. In the present instance hefelt very compassionate toward his companion, and recognized only thenecessity of getting her back to camp, where there was food andshelter, as soon as possible. Still, it not infrequently happened thathis severely simple procedure proved successful. 

"Well, " he said, "since I don't intend to wear it we'll leave it here. I'll leave you for a minute or two while I prospect for an easierroute than the one by which I came up. "

He flung down the jacket, and, striding away, disappeared, while Idashivered as she glanced about her. She could no longer see the sheltershe had left, and she stood alone in the midst of a tremendousdesolation of rock and snow, with the valley yawning, a vast duskypit, beneath her feet. It was appallingly lonely, and she was numbwith cold, while, since she was sure that she could not climb back toher companions unassisted, there was only one person on whom she couldrely, and that was the packer, who had insisted on her doing what hethought fit. When he came back she had put on the jacket, but he hadsense enough to make no sign of having noticed it. 

"I can see our way for the next few hundred feet, " he said. 

The way did not prove an easy one, but they went down, with the gravelsliding beneath them, and now and then a mass of debris they hadloosened rushing past. It occurred to Ida that Weston limped somewhatawkwardly, and once or twice she fancied that she saw his facecontract as they scrambled over some shelf of jutting stone; but theypushed on cautiously until they came to a precipitous descent. Ida satdown gasping, when her companion stopped, and gazed with aninstinctive shrinking into the gulf below. She could now see theclimbing pines, black beneath the moon, and the river shining far awayin the midst of them, but they seemed to go straight down. She wasvery weary, and scarcely felt able to get up again, but in a minute ortwo Weston held out his hand. 

"I fancy that this ridge dies out somewhere to the left. We'll followthe crest of it until we can get around the end, " he said. 

They went on very cautiously, though there were times when Ida heldher breath and was glad of the firm grasp that her companion laid onher arm. She would not look down into the valley, and when she glancedaside at all it was up at the gleaming snow on the opposite side ofit. She seemed to be walking in mid-air, cut off from the comfortablesecurity of the solid earth below, and she found the clamor of fallingwater that came faintly up to her vaguely reassuring. There had beenan almost appalling silence where she had left her companions beneaththe frozen peaks, but now one could hear the hoarse fret of a rapid onthe river, and this was a familiar sound that she welcomed. 

Still her weariness gained on her, and her limbs grew heavier, untilshe could scarcely drag herself along. Weston's limp became moreperceptible too, but he went on with an almost cruel persistency, andforced her forward with his hand on her arm. Sometimes he spoke toher, and, though his voice was strained, his words were cheering andcompassionate. 

At length, the descent they skirted became less steep, and scramblingdown over a broken slope they presently reached the timber--stragglingjuniper, and little scattered firs that by and by grew taller andcloser together; and, though the peril was over, it was then thattheir real difficulties commenced. The slope was so steep that theycould scarcely keep a footing, and now and then they fell into thetrees. There were places where these grew so close together that theycould scarcely force a passage through, and others where they had gonedown before a screaming gale and lay piled in a tangled chaos overwhich it was almost impossible to flounder. It was dark in the timber, and they could not see the broken ends of the branches that rent theirclothing; but they went on somehow, down and down, until, when theyreached a clearer space where the moonlight shone through, Ida sankdown limply on a fallen tree. Her skirt was rent to tatters, and oneshoe had been torn almost to pieces. 

"I simply can't go on, " she said. 

Weston leaned against a neighboring fir, looking down at her verycompassionately, though she noticed that his face, on which themoonlight fell, was somewhat drawn and gray. 

"Try to think, " he said. 

"I can't, " replied Ida, "I only want to sleep. "

Her companion moved forward and quietly laid his hand on her arm asthough to urge her to rise. 

"Don't you understand how it is? Your friends are up yonder in thefrost with nothing to eat. I have to take the Indians back for them. "

"Then you must go on, " the girl said faintly. 

Weston shook his head. 

"No, " he declared, "not without you. That's out of the question. Ifthere were no other reason, we should have to come back here for you, and I expect that in the daylight we shall find a shorter way up. Itwill be noon anyway before we get there, and you wouldn't wish to keepyour friends waiting longer. "

Ida rose with an effort, and clung heavily to his arm when they creptdownward again; but the light grew a little clearer as they proceeded, and the sound of the river rang louder in their ears. Then, in thegray of the morning, they staggered out upon the bank of the river. Walking, half awake, Ida floundered among the boulders and through ahorrible maze of whitened driftwood cast up by the stream. Farther onthey fortunately found stretches of smooth sand, and they plodded overthese and through little pools, though she afterward fancied thatWeston carried her across some of the deeper ones. 

The sun was high when they saw the two canoes drawn up on the bank, and a few moments later Mrs. Kinnaird appeared among the firs. She rantoward them, stumbling in a ludicrous fashion amidst the boulders, andthen stopped a few yards away and gazed at Ida. The girl couldscarcely stand from weariness, and her dress clung about her, wet withthe river-water and rent to tatters. There was fear in the littlelady's eyes. 

"Where are they?" she asked. 

Weston stepped forward limping, and his face was set and gray. 

"Up yonder, and quite safe, " he said. "Miss Kinnaird has hurt herknee. Nothing serious, but it hurts her to walk. I came for theIndians to help her down again. "

He raised his hand restrainingly. 

"There is no cause for alarm. Get Miss Stirling something to eat, andleave the rest to me. "

He turned away abruptly, and limped past them toward the camp. WhenMrs. Kinnaird and Ida reached it, he was hastily getting togetherprovisions, and the Indians were already hewing down two slender firs. When they stood waiting, each with a stout fir pole on his shoulder, he turned to the anxious lady, who seemed bent on going with him. 

"It's quite out of the question for you to undertake that climb. We'llbe back again in a few hours with the major and Miss Kinnaird, " hesaid. 

Ida went up to him and touched his arm, and, for no very evidentreason, the color crept into her face when he looked at herinquiringly. 

"Can't the Indians find the way themselves?" she asked. "You arescarcely fit to go. "

Weston shook his head. 

"I must manage it somehow, " he said. "They have nothing to eat upyonder, and the Indians might not find them until it's dark again. "

He broke off for a moment with a forced smile. 

"Try to reassure Mrs. Kinnaird, and then go to sleep as soon as youcan. "

In another minute he had limped away, and Mrs. Kinnaird found the girllooking down with a very curious expression at a little smear of bloodon a smooth white stone. There were further red spots on the shingle, and they led forward in the direction in which the rescue party hadgone. 

"Oh, " she said, "he told me he had cut his foot, and he couldn't havewaited long enough to eat anything. "

Then she gasped once or twice, for she was worn out to the verge of abreak-down, and Mrs. Kinnaird, who saw how white her face was growing, slipped an arm about her and led her back toward the tent. 

The afternoon passed very slowly with the little, anxious lady, andevery now and then she crept softly out of the tent and gazedexpectantly up the steep hillside. Still, each time she did it, therewas nothing that she could see except the long ranks of somber firs, and the oppressive silence was broken only by the sound of the river. 

Then she slipped back quietly into the tent where Ida lay in arestless sleep. Now and then the girl moved a little, and once ortwice she murmured unintelligibly. It was very hot, for the sunraysstruck down upon the canvas between the firs, whose clogging, honey-like sweetness was heavy in the air. 

By and by, however, it grew a little cooler, as the shadow of thegreat dark branches crept across the tent. Then they moved out uponthe dazzling river and slowly covered it. Mrs. Kinnaird, rising oncemore in an agony of impatience, stumbled against one of the tentsupports. The crutch and ridge-poles rattled, and Ida opened her eyes. 

"Oh, " she said drowsily, "you needn't be anxious. He is quite sure tobring them back. "

She apparently tried to rouse herself, and, failing, went to sleepagain; but she left Mrs. Kinnaird a little comforted. The latter wasobservant, and she felt that Ida Stirling had a reason for herconfidence which, she fancied, was not lightly given. 

The sunlight had, however, faded off the valley when she rose for thelast time from the seat she had found outside the tent, for there wasno doubt now that a faint patter of feet on stones mingled with theclamor of the river. Almost as she did so, a few plodding figuresappeared beneath the firs, and she saw that two of them carried alitter between them. Then she saw her husband walking very wearily, and she ran forward with a little cry. She grasped one of the polesbetween which a sagging blanket hung, and Weston, who held the ends ofthem, looked at her. 

"Miss Kinnaird isn't hurt much, " he said harshly. "Don't stop us now!"

Then she heard her daughter's voice bearing out this assurance, andshe went back with the plodding men, while her husband stumbled alongwearily at her side. In a minute or two Weston, calling to one of theIndians, laid down his end of the poles, and, staggering away, satdown heavily. None of them troubled themselves about him, and Ida, whohad risen when she heard their voices, helped to convey Miss Kinnairdinto the tent. In the meanwhile one of the Indians growled to hiscomrade when he found the fire out, and stolidly proceeded to relightit, while Weston lay with his back against a fir and watched him withhalf-closed eyes. The Siwash, however, proved that he was capable ofpreparing a meal, and when it was finished, Arabella, who appearedmuch fresher than the major, proceeded to relate her adventures to Idaand her mother. 

"It was rather horrible up on the range, and I was almost afraid theywouldn't get me down, " she said. "I don't know how they did it, I'msure. Parts of the way were simply awful. They had to cut the littletrees down for yards at a time to get my blanket litter through, andthere were places so steep that they could scarcely crawl down. TheIndians, of course, had to be relieved now and then, and my father andthe packer took turns with them. "

She looked at the major with a smile. 

"When it was especially steep, I preferred an Indian and the packer. Once, you know, you dropped me; but nothing seemed to disconcert thatyoung man. He must have been horribly worn out, for he had been uptwice, but he was so steady and reassuringly quiet. I suppose a man ofhis kind would appreciate twenty dollars. He really deserves it. "

Ida frowned, and remembered the trail of blood on the white stoneswhen the packer had started. Kinnaird made a little abrupt movement. 

"I'm afraid that I was forgetting all about the man in my relief atgetting you safely down, " he said. "We owe him a good deal, and I'llgo out presently and thank him; but there's another matter. Your kneeought to be attended to. "

That commenced a discussion, but Arabella persisted that she would getover the injury if she didn't walk for a few days. 

Then Kinnaird summoned one of the Indians to clear away the meal. Thebrown-skinned, dark-haired man appeared in the entrance of the tentand spoke haltingly in English. 

"They wait, " he said, pointing to the supper plates. "Want pieceshirt--handkerchief. Packer man's boot full of blood. "

Those he addressed looked at one another, and Kinnaird, rising, wentout hastily. 

CHAPTER VI

KINNAIRD STRIKES CAMP

It was about the middle of the next afternoon when Ida Stirling, walking slowly along the river-bank, came upon Weston sitting with hisback to a tree. He wore no boot on one foot which was wrapped inbandages, and when he would have risen Ida checked him with a sign, and sat down not far away. 

"Is it too hot in the tent?" he asked. 

Ida flashed a swift glance at him. He seemed perfectly contented, andvery much at his ease, and it was a little difficult to believe thatthis was the sharp-voiced mart who had ordered her to put on hisjacket early on the previous morning. Now he was smiling languidly, and there was a graceful carelessness that was almost boyish in hismanner, which made it a little easier to understand why his comradeshad called him the Kid. She was rather pleased with it. 

"No, " she said. "At least that was not what brought me out. The majorhas gone fishing; Mrs. Kinnaird has gone to sleep; and Arabellaappears a little cross. "

Weston nodded. 

"It's excusable, " he said. "How is Miss Kinnaird's knee?"

"I don't think it's very bad. How is your foot? It doesn't seem tohave affected your temper. "

Weston laughed. 

"I'd forgotten all about it. In some respects I feel a little obligedto it. You see, for once in a while, it's rather nice to have nothingto do, and know that one's wages won't immediately stop. Besides, tobe waited on is a pleasant change. "

Ida's eyebrows straightened a trifle as they sometimes did when shewas not exactly pleased. It is by no means an unusual thing in thewest for a packer or a ranch hand to converse with his employers ortheir friends on familiar terms, and it occurred to her that it was atrifle superfluous for him to insist on reminding her of his statuswhen she was willing to forget it. Still, she was quite aware thatthis man had not always been a packer, and she was conscious of anincreasing curiosity concerning his past. 

"That is an unusual experience with you?" she asked. 

"Oh, yes, " said Weston. "Anyway, during the last few years. "

She was foiled again, for she could not press the question moreclosely; and, sitting still in the shadow, she looked up between thedark fir branches at the line of gleaming snow and the great rockrampart beneath which they had crept. 

"Were you ever up so high before?" she ventured. 

"Yes, " said Weston. "I believe so; but never for pleasure. In fact, Ithink some of the ranges we crossed on the gold trail must have beenconsiderably higher. I told you that prospecting is one of myweaknesses. "

"You did, " agreed Ida. "It's one I could never understand, though Ihave spent some time, in this province. Every now and then it seemsthat the rancher must leave his clearing and wander off into the bush. As you admitted, he generally comes home dressed in rags, and veryseldom brings anything with him. Why do you do it?"

Weston laughed in a rather curious fashion. 

"Oh, " he said, "don't you know? Did you never feel, even in winter inMontreal, when you had skating-rinks, toboggan-slides, snow-shoemeets, and sleigh-rides to keep you amused, that it was all growingtiresome and very stale? Haven't you felt that you wantedsomething--something you hadn't got and couldn't define--though youmight recognize it when you found it?"

Once more Ida's eyebrows straightened. He was going rather deeper thanshe had supposed him capable, though she was not altogetherunacquainted with the restlessness he had described. Weston glanced ather face, and nodded. 

"Well, " he said, "that's very much what happens to the rancher and thetrack-grader every now and then; and when it does he goes up into thebush--prospecting. Still, I think you were wrong when you said that weseldom bring back anything. Did you bring nothing down with you fromthe quiet and the glimmering moonlight up yonder above the timberline?"

His companion looked up across the climbing forest to the desolationof rock and snow through which she had wandered with him a littlewhile ago. It had been her first ascent, and she now felt the thrillof achievement and remembered how she had come down that apparentlyendless slope in the darkness. The feat looked almost impossible, bydaylight. Then she remembered also how her nerves had tingled, and thecurious sense of exaltation that had come over her as she crept alongthe dizzy edge of the great rock scarp in the moonlight, far above theunsubstantial ghosts of climbing trees. For the time being, it hadproved stronger than weariness or the sense of personal danger, andshe had a vague fancy that the memory of it would always cling to her. 

"Yes, " she said, "I think I brought down something, or rather itattached itself to me. What is it?"

Weston spread out his hands with a boyish laugh. 

"How should I know? Its glamour and mystery, perhaps. Still, thoughthe prospector knows it, everybody can't feel it. One must havesympathy. It would make itself felt by you. "

The girl's face checked him. She felt that there was a subtle bond ofmutual comprehension between her and this stranger; but she was notprepared to admit it to him; and he recognized that he had, perhaps, gone further than was advisable. 

"Still, " he continued, "though it's plainest up on the high peaks, thebush is full of it. You can recognize it everywhere. Listen!"

Ida did so. She heard the hoarse fret of the river, and the faintelfin sighing high up in the top of the firs. 

It was the old earth music, and it drowned the recollection of socialconventions and caste distinctions. It was the same to camp-packer andrich contractor's daughter. As Ida listened it seemed to stir theprimitive impulses of her human nature. She took alarm and stopped herears to it. 

"Is it wise to listen?" she asked. "It leads to nothing butrestlessness. "

"It seldom leads to any material benefit, " Weston admitted. "Afterall, I think, one has to be a vagabond before one can properlyappreciate it. "

"You seem sure of that?" Ida's curiosity to know more of him would notpermit her to avoid the personal application. 

"I'm afraid there must be a little of the vagabond in me, " saidWeston, with a smile. "Once I walked into Winnipeg without a dollar, and was fortunate in hiring myself to add up figures in a bigflour-mill. The people for whom I worked seemed quite pleased with theway I did it, and paid me reasonably. I lived in a big boarding-houselike a rabbit-warren. Through the thin partitions I could hear thepeople all about me stirring in their sleep at night. I went to themill in a crowded car every morning, and up to the office in anelevator. I stayed with it just a month, and then I broke out. "

"Broke out?" said Ida. 

"Threw the flour-mill people's pens across the office. You see, I wasgetting sick for room and air. I presented the concern with my lastweek's stipend, and a man at the boarding-house with my city clothes. "

"What did you do then?"

"Took the trail. There was limitless prairie straight on in front ofme. I walked for days, and slept at night wherever I could find abluff. I could hear the little grasses whispering when I layhalf-awake, and it was comforting to know that there were leagues andleagues of them between me and the city. I drove a team for a farmermost of that season. Then I went on to a track that they werestrengthening and straightening in this province. It ran between therock and the river, and the snow hadn't gone. We worked waist-deep init part of the time, and thawed out every stick of giant-powder at thefire. The construction boss was a hustler, and he drove usmercilessly. We toiled raw-handed, worn-out and savage, and he droveus all the harder when one of the boys tried to brain him. "

"And you never longed to be back in the office at the flour-mill?"

Weston laughed. 

"Didn't you find those sleigh-rides, skating-rinks, and even the tripswest in your father's private car, grow exceedingly tame?"

"Ah, " said Ida, "you must remember that I have never known anythingelse. "

"Then you have only to wait a little. It's quite certain that youwon't be able to say that some day. "

It seemed to Ida inadvisable to pursue the subject further, though shewas not sure that he wished to do so. 

"How did you expend your energy after you left the track?" she asked. 

"I don't quite remember. Drove horses, went about with a thrashingoutfit, hewed logs for bridges--but haven't I talked too long aboutmyself? You have told me nothing of--Montreal. "

Ida risked a chance shot. 

"Don't you know that kind of life? It must be very much the same asthe one your people lead in England. It doesn't count that theiramusements are slightly different. "

Weston foiled her again. 

"Well, " he said, with an air of reflection, "I don't quite think itis; but perhaps I'm prejudiced. I wheeled scrap-iron at therolling-mills when I was in Montreal. "

He leaned farther back against the tree, with a little whimsicalsmile. It was pleasant to appear as a modern Ulysses in the eyes of avery pretty girl, but he had, as she was quick to recognize, taken upthe role unconsciously. 

"Where are you going next?" she asked. 

"I shall probably go off prospecting if I can raise the money. That ispartly why I hope that Major Kinnaird will keep me as long as he campsout in the bush. "

Ida laughed. 

"I think you may count on that. He is rather pleased with you. Infact, I heard him say that if he'd had you in India he would have madea capable sergeant of you. "

She saw a shadow creep into his face, and wondered what had brought itthere, for she did not know that in his younger days he had thought ofSandhurst. Then, seeing that he did not answer, she rose. 

"Well, " she said, "Arabella is probably wanting me. "

He watched her move away among the great fir trunks, and then took outhis pipe with a little sigh. Still he had, or so he fancied, senseenough to refrain from allowing his thoughts to wander in herdirection too frequently, and, soothed by the murmur of the river, hepresently went to sleep. When he awakened it was time to see that theIndians got supper ready. 

During the evening, Stirling reached the camp; and when the Siwash whohad poled his canoe up the river had drawn it out, they sat downsomewhat limply on the shingle, for he had as usual traveled withfeverish haste. He stayed until the next day, which was rather longerthan any of them expected; and it was not by accident that he cameupon Weston alone before he went away. The latter was then engaged inlighting a fire, and his employer sat down on a fir branch and quietlylooked him over. 

"Foot getting better?" he asked. 

"I think it is, " said Weston. 

Stirling nodded. 

"I understand that you have been of some service to these people; andthey're my daughter's friends, " he said. "Is there anything I can dofor you?"

"No, " replied Weston, "I don't think there is. "

The contractor looked at him steadily for a moment or two. 

"Well, " he said, "if anything strikes you, there's no reason why youshouldn't let me know. Feeling anxious to get back to the track?"

Weston's eyes twinkled. 

"I don't think I am. "

"Then you may stay right where you are, and take care of my daughter. If she wants to climb mountains or shoot rapids, it's to be done; butyou'll fix things so it can be done safely. You're in charge of thisoutfit, and not that major man. "

Stirling was never addicted to mincing matters, but Weston could notquite repress a grin. 

"It would make things a little difficult if Major Kinnaird understandsthat, " he said. 

"Then you must see that he doesn't. You can fix it somehow. It's up toyou. "

He rose, as if there were nothing more to be said, and then as hemoved away he turned and waved his hand. 

"I'll have you moved up a grade on the pay-roll. "

He started down the river in another half-hour, and left Westonthoughtful. He had never seen his employer before; but it was evidentthat the latter had made a few inquiries concerning him, and had beenfavorably informed. 

For another fortnight Weston tactfully carried out his somewhatdifficult task; and then it was with a curious sense of regret that hestood one evening in a little roadside station. Major Kinnaird wasapparently counting the pile of baggage some little distance away, hiswife and daughter were in the station-room, and Ida and Weston stoodalone where the track came winding out of the misty pines. She glancedfrom him to the forest, and there was just a perceptible hint ofregret in her voice. 

"It has been very pleasant, and in one way I'm almost sorry we aregoing to Vancouver, " she said. "This"--and she indicated the wall ofhillside and the shadowy bush--"grows on one. "

Weston nodded gravely. 

"It does, " he said. "You have been up among the high peaks, and you'llnever quite forget them, even in the cities. Now and then you'll feelthem drawing you back again. "

The girl laughed, perhaps because she realized that the memory of thelast few weeks would remain with her. She also remembered that he hadsaid that the stillness among the white peaks and in the scented bushwas filled with a glamour that seized on one. 

"Well, " she confessed, "I may come back with other friends some day;and in that case we shall certainly ask for you as guide. I want tosay, as Major Kinnaird did, that we owe a good deal to you. I am onlysorry that the trip is over. "

Then her tone changed a little, and Weston supposed that she wasunwilling to make too great an admission. 

"There are so many little discomforts you have saved us. "

"Yes, " he agreed, a trifle dryly, "I suppose there are. However, Ishall probably have gone away when you come back again. "

He broke off for a moment, and then turned toward her quietly. 

"Still, " he said, "I seem to feel that I shall see you again someday. "

His voice was perfectly steady, but, though the light was fading fast, Ida saw the glint in his eyes, and she answered conventionally. 

"Of course, " she said, "that would be a pleasure. "

Then she spoiled it by a laugh when she saw the smile creep into hercompanion's eyes; for it was clear to both of them that the formalexpression was in their case somewhat out of place. They realized thatthere was more that might have been said; and it was a slight reliefwhen the shriek of a whistle came ringing down the track and a roar ofwheels grew louder among the shadowy pines. Then the great mountainlocomotive and the dusty cars came clanking into the station, stoppeda few moments, and rolled away again; and Weston was left with thevision of a white-robed figure in a fluttering dress that leaned outfrom a car platform looking back at the gleaming snow and then turneda moment to wave a hand to him. 

It was an hour later, and the big nickeled lamps were lighted, whenArabella Kinnaird looked up at her companion as she sat in a lurchingcar while the great train swept furiously down the Fraser gorge. 

"Now, " she exclaimed, "I remember! That packer has been puzzling me. His face was familiar. The same thing struck the major, as you heardhim say. "

"Well?" inquired Ida, a little too indifferently. 

Her companion laughed. 

"You overdo it. It would be wiser to admit that you are curious. Themajor said he'd seen him somewhere, and so he has, in a way. Youremember his talking about the old North Country Hall he took for theshooting? Well, the owners had left that young man's photograph amongsome other odds and ends in what they probably called the library. "

Ida had no doubt upon the matter, for she recalled the curiousintentness of Weston's face as he sat in the firelight listening toKinnaird's description of the house in question. Still, she was notprepared to display her interest. 

"Well?" she inquired again. 

Arabella Kinnaird made a sign of impatience. 

"Can't you see? They wouldn't have had his photograph unless he hadbeen a friend of the family or a relative. I wonder whether he toldyou his real name?"

"He didn't. "

"It doesn't matter, " said Miss Kinnaird. "I feel tolerably sure it isWeston, and that is the name of the people who own the place. Youdon't appear to understand that the fact has its significance. "

"How?" asked Ida. 

"You haven't been in England or you'd understand. The people who livein those old places are often very poor, but a certain number of themhave something that the people who have only money would give a gooddeal to possess. As a matter of fact, though distinctly human in mostrespects, they are--different. "

Ida laughed. 

"Oh, " she said, "I've naturally heard of that. It's quite an oldnotion, and didn't originate with you English people. Didn't the Romanemperors claim to have the Imperial purple in their veins? Still, outhere, when we speak of a man appreciatively we say his blood is--red. "

"And that's the color of packer Weston's. "

A faint gleam crept into Ida's eyes as she remembered the white-facedman who had limped out of camp one morning almost too weary to draghimself along. 

"Well, " she said, "I think you ought to know. When he went back up therange for you he left a trail of it behind him. "

Her companion had no opportunity for answering, for Major Kinnairdcame back from the smoking end of the car just then, and when he spoketo Ida his daughter took up a book she had laid down. 

In the meanwhile, a mountain locomotive and a train of flat cars cameclanking into the station where Weston waited. Swinging himself ontoone he took his place among the men who sat on the rails with whichthe car was loaded. Then, as the big locomotive slowly pulled themout, some of his new companions vituperated the station-agent forstopping them, and one came near braining him with a deftly-flungbottle when he retaliated. There were a good many more men perched onthe other cars, and Weston concluded, from the burst of hoarselaughter that reached him through the roar of wheels, that all of themwere not wholly sober. They had been recruited in Vancouver, andincluded a few runaway sailormen. One told him that they were goinginto the ranges to fill up a muskeg, and he expressed his opinion ofthe meanness of the company for not sending them up in a Colonisttrain, and offered to throw Weston off the car if he did not agreewith him. He explained that he had already pitched off two of hiscompanions. 

Weston endeavored to pacify him; but, failing in this and in anattempt to crawl over the couplings into the adjoining car, hereluctantly grappled with the man and succeeded in throwing him into acorner. Then one of the others rose and stood over his prostratecomrade with a big billet of firwood that had been used to wedge therails. 

"I can't sleep with all this circus going on, " he said gruffly. "Makeany more trouble and off you go. "

The other man apparently decided to lie still, and his comrade turnedto Weston. 

"Guess the construction boss isn't going to find them tally out rightto-morrow, " he observed, "We've lost quite a few of them coming up theline. "

He went to sleep again soon afterward, and Weston was left in peace. In front of him the great locomotive snorted up the climbing track, hurling clouds of sparks aloft. Misty pines went streaming by, thechill night wind rushed past, the cars banged and clanked, and now andthen odd bursts of harsh laughter or discordant singing broke throughthe roar of wheels. It was very different from the deep tranquillityof the wilderness and the quiet composure of the people with whom hehad spent the last few weeks, but, as Ida Stirling had suggested, Weston's blood was red, and he was still young enough to find pleasurein every fresh draught of the wine of life. It was something to feelhimself the equal in bodily strength and animal courage of thesestrong-armed men who were going to fill up the muskeg. 

CHAPTER VII

GRENFELL'S MINE

It was Saturday evening, and Weston sat on a ledge of the hillsideabove the silent construction camp, endeavoring to mend a pair of ducktrousers that had been badly torn in the bush. He held several stripsof a cotton flour-bag in one hand, and was considering how he couldbest make use of them without unduly displaying the bold lettering ofthe brand, though in the bush of that country it was not an unusualthing for a man to go about labeled "Early Riser, " or somebody's"Excelsior. " His companions had trooped off to the settlement about aleague away, and a row of flat cars stood idle on the track which nowled across the beaten muskeg. On the farther side of the latter, thetall pines lay strewn in rows, but beyond the strip of clearing thebush closed in again, solemn, shadowy, and almost impenetrable. Therewas a smell of resinous wood-smoke in the air, but save for thedistant sound of the river everything was very still. 

Weston looked up sharply as a patter of approaching footsteps rose outof the shadows behind him. Some of the men were evidently coming backfrom the settlement earlier than he had expected. In a few minutesthree or four of them appeared among the trees, and he recognized themas some of his friends, small ranchers who had, as often happens onthe Pacific Slope, been forced to leave their lonely, half-clearedholdings and go out to earn the money that would keep them through thewinter. Two of them were apparently assisting another man alongbetween them, and when they drew nearer Weston saw that the latter wasGrenfell, the cook. 

"Guess it's 'bout time somebody else took care of you, " said one, whenthey came up. "Sit right down, " he added, neatly shaking Grenfell offhis feet and depositing him unceremoniously at Weston's side. 

Another of the men sat down close by, and Grenfell waved his hand tothe others as they moved away. 

"Bless you! You're good boys, " he said. 

The man who remained grinned at Weston. 

"We've packed the blame old deadbeat 'most three miles. If Tom hadn'tpromised to see him through I'd have felt tempted to dump him into theriver. The boys were trying to fill him up at the Sprotson House. "

Grenfell, who did not appear to hear him, thrust a hand into hispocket, and pulling out a few silver coins counted them deliberately. 

"Two--four--six, " he said. "Six dollars to face an unkind world with. It isn't very much. "

He sighed and turned to Weston. 

"You know I've got to quit?"

"That's right, " interposed the other man. "Cassidy's had 'most enoughof him. He never could cook, anyway, and the boys are getting thin. Last thing he did was to put the indurated plates on the stove towarm. Filled the thing right up and left them. When he came back theplates had gone. "

Weston, who had been sent to work some distance from the camp that dayand had not heard of this mishap, felt sorry for Grenfell. The manevidently had always been somewhat frail, and now he was past hisprime; indulgence in deleterious whisky had further shaken him. Hecould not chop or ply the shovel, and it was with difficulty that hiscompanions had borne his cooking, while it seemed scarcely likely thatanybody would have much use for him in a country that is run by theyoung and strong. He sat still regarding the money ruefully. 

"Six of them--and they charge you one for a meal and a drink or two, "he said. "If I hadn't known where there was quartz streaked rightthrough with wire gold I might have felt discouraged. " Then hestraightened himself resolutely. "Seems to me it's time I went up andlooked for it again. "

"How can you know where it is when you have to look for it?" the otherman inquired. 

Grenfell glanced at him severely. 

"I'm not drunk--it's my knees, " he pointed out. "Don't cast slurs onme. I was once Professor of--mineralogical chemist and famous assayertoo. Biggest mining men in the country consulted me. "

The track-grader nodded as he glanced at Weston. 

"I guess he was, " he said. "We had a man from back east on thissection who had heard of him. "

Then he turned to Grenfell. 

"Go ahead and explain about the mine. "

"I'm not sure that that's quite straight, " Weston objected. "If hedoes know anything of the kind----"

"Oh, " said his companion, "I'm not on. If he ever did know I guess hehas forgotten it long ago. He has been forgetting right along whetherhe put salt in the hash or not, and each time he wasn't sure he did itagain. That's one of the things that made the trouble. "

Grenfell stopped him with a gesture. 

"I'm going to talk. Don't interrupt. Mr. Weston was once or twice agood friend to me, and you have seen me through a few times lately. Now I know a quartz lead that's run through with wire gold quite richenough to mill at a profit, but I can't go up and look for it in thebush myself. When I walk any distance my knees get shaky. Make youfirm offer--even shares to come up with me. "

"Where is it?"

Grenfell turned and glanced toward the dim line of snow that gleamedhigh up above the forests in the north. 

"There's a lake--the Lake of the Shadows--Verneille called it that, "he said dreamily. "It lies in a hollow of the range with the blackfirs all round. There's a creek at one side, with a clear pool whereit bends, and I came there one day very hot and hungry with the bootsworn off me. I think"--and by his tense face he seemed to be tryingearnestly to remember something--"we were quite a few days crossingthat range, and our provisions were running put when we hit thevalley. "

"Well?" prompted the track-grader when he stopped. 

"I crawled down to the pool to drink. There were pebbles in it and aledge above. There were specks in the pebbles, and specks that showedplainer in the ledge. The stones were shot with the metal when I brokeone or two of those I took out. "

He fumbled inside his pocket and produced a little bag from which heextracted a few broken bits of rock. Weston, to whom he passed them, could see that little threads of metal ran through them. "You're quitesure it's gold?" the other man inquired. 

"Am I sure!"

Grenfell smiled compassionately. 

"I was Professor--but guess I've told you that already. "

"The lead?" inquired the other man. 

"Outcrop, a few yards of it. Then it dips on a slight inclination, andevidently runs back toward the range. An easy drive for an adit. Stayed there two days, Verneille and I. Quite sure about that gold. "

Weston's face grew intent. 

"You recorded it?"

"We staked a claim, and started back; but Verneille couldn't find adeer, and when we first hit the valley provisions were running out. There was a mist in the ranges, and whichever way we headed we broughtup on crags and precipices. Then we went up to look for another wayacross and got into the snow. I never knew how I got out--or whereVerneille went, but when I struck a prospector's camp--he wasn't withme. "

The track-grader nodded. He had been born among the ranges, and knewthat the prospectors who went out on the gold trail did not invariablycome back. He had heard of famishing men staggering along astonishingdistances half-asleep or too dazed to notice where they were going. Heand Weston had done so themselves, for that matter. 

"You told the prospector about the lead?" Weston inquired. 

"If I did he never found the mine. I was scarcely sensible when Ireached his camp, and I lay there very ill until he went on and leftme with half a deer he'd shot. After that I nearly gave out againmaking the settlements. "

"Well, " said the track-grader, "where's the lake?"

Grenfell spread out his hands. 

"I don't know. I went up to look for it three or four times severalyears ago. "

He broke off abruptly, and there was silence for a minute or two. Strange as the thing appeared, it was not altogether an unusual story. All the way from California to the frozen north one now and then mayhear of men who struck a rich quartz or silver lead in the wilderness, and, coming down to record it, signally failed to find it again. Whatis stranger still, there are mines that have been discovered severaltimes by different men, none of whom was ever afterward able toretrace his steps. At any rate, if one accomplished it, he never cameback to tell of his success, for the bones of many prospectors lieunburied in the wilderness. Indeed, when the wanderers who know itbest gather for the time being in noisy construction camp or besidethe snapping fire where the new wagon road cleaves the silent bush, they tell tales of lost quartz-reefs and silver leads as fantastic asthose of the genii-guarded treasures of the East, and the men who havebeen out on the gold trail generally believe them. 

On the surface Grenfell's task seemed easy. He had to find a lonelylake cradled in a range; and there are, as the maps show, three greatranges running roughly north and south in the Pacific Province. Still, in practice, it is difficult to tell where one leaves off and theother begins, for that wild land has been aptly termed a sea ofmountains. They seem piled on one another, peak on peak; and spur onspur, and among their hollows lie lonely lakes and frothing riversalmost without number, while valley and hill-slopes are usuallyshrouded in tremendous forest to the line where the dwindling pinesmeet the gleaming snow. Weston was, of course, aware of this, and hefelt, somewhat naturally, that it complicated the question. 

Then Grenfell turned to him and his companion. 

"I've made you my offer--a third-share each, " he said. "Are youcoming?"

The track-grader shook his head. 

"No, " he replied, "I guess not. I'm making good wages here. So long asI can keep from riling Cassidy they're sure. " Then he grinned atWeston. "It's your call. "

Weston sat silent for a full minute, but his heart was beating fasterthan usual, and he glanced up from the piles of gravel and blackenedfir stumps by the track to the gleaming snow. A sudden distaste forthe monotonous toil with the shovel came upon him, and he felt thecall of the wilderness. Besides, he was young enough to be sanguine, although, for that matter, older men, worn by disappointments andtoilsome journeys among the hills, have set out once more on the goldtrail with an optimistic faith that has led them to their death. Ambition awoke in him, and he recognized now that the week or twospent in Kinnaird's camp had rendered it impossible for him to remaina track-grader. At length he turned to Grenfell. 

"Well, " he said, "if you're still in the same mind to-morrow I'llcome. Still, if you think better of it, you can cry off then. "

His sense of fairness demanded that; for he would not bind a man whosesenses were, it seemed reasonable to suppose, not particularly clear. Grenfell evidently understood him, and drew himself up with an attemptat dignity. 

"My head's quite right when I'm sitting down; it's my knees, " he said. "Want to put the thing through now--half-share each. We'll call it abargain. "

The track-grader nodded to Weston. 

"I guess you needn't stand off, " he said. "He knows what he's doing. "

They shook hands on it, and then proceeded to discuss ways and means. It was clear that they might be some time in the wilderness, and wouldneed provisions, new boots, blankets, a rifle, and a tent; and all ofthese things are dear in that country. They recognized that it wouldbe advisable also to take a horse or mule. Weston did not think thatany of the bush ranchers would hire them one, as horses are not alwaysbrought back from such journeys. This would render it necessary to buyone; and to meet this expenditure Grenfell had six dollars and Westonnot very much more. 

While they were considering what items they could leave out, two orthree men came up the trail from the settlement, which led close by, and one of them threw Weston a couple of letters. 

"Mail-carrier rode in before we left, and I guessed I'd bring themalong, " he said. 

There was scarcely light enough to see by, and Weston had some littledifficulty in reading the letters. One was from Stirling and ran:

 "Start on Monday for Winnipeg. I want a talk with you and may make a proposition. Enclose order that will frank you over the C. P. R. "

Weston gazed at it with a thoughtful face. Winnipeg was a very longway off, and it was tolerably clear that Stirling, perhaps influencedby something his daughter or Major Kinnaird had said, meant to offerhim promotion. Still, though he did not know exactly why, he shrankfrom accepting any favor from Miss Stirling's father, and, besidesthat, he had already pledged himself to Grenfell. He laid down theletter and opened the second one. Out of this he took an order on oneof the H. B. C. Settlement stores, dated at the Vancouver station. Itwas marked duplicate, and read:

 "To Agent, Anson's Forks station:

 "Provide Mr. Weston with whatever he may require in the shape of blankets, provisions, and any sundries in your stock for a prospecting trip. "

A sheet of paper had been laid beside it, and Weston's face flushed ashe read, "Won't you accept this with the good wishes of your latecompanions?"

It was evidently from Miss Stirling, for it was a woman's writing, andhe did not think an Englishwoman would have said "Won't you, " as shehad done. He could recognize the delicacy with which she had refrainedfrom offering him money, or even stipulating any definite sum in theorder, and it was evident that she had taken some trouble to arrangethe matter with the H. B. C. Agent at Vancouver. The thing had beendone in kindness, and yet it hurt him. He could have accepted it morereadily from anybody else. On the other hand, he remembered that shehad known him only as a track-grader, and that he was, as a matter offact, nothing else. He could not send the order back without appearingungracious or disposed to assert that he was of her own station. Thenanother thought struck him. 

"I don't think they knew my name. They called me Clarence, " he said. "Somebody must have thought it worth while to write Cassidy. "

He had forgotten his companions, and when Grenfell looked at himinquiringly, he laughed. 

"It's something I was thinking of, " he said, handing the order across. Grenfell gazed at it with unqualified satisfaction. 

"This straightens everything out, " he said. 

"I'm not quite sure it does, " returned Weston, dryly. "In fact in somerespects it rather complicates the thing. That, however, is a pointthat doesn't concern you. "

His companion, who appeared to concur in this, glanced with evidentregret at the six dollars which still lay beside him. 

"If I'd known that the order was in the mail, the boys would have hadto carry me every rod of the way back to camp, " he said. "It's not thefirst time that I've been sorry I practiced economy. "

Weston left him shortly afterward, and went back with the other mantoward the shanty. 

"The chances seem too steep for you?" suggested Weston. 

"Well, I guess he did strike that gold; but I shouldn't be too sure ofit. It's quite likely that he fancied the whole thing. You can't counton the notions of that kind of man. "

He broke off for a moment, and appeared to consider. 

"There's another point. The old tank has no nerves left, and he's nouse on his legs. Guess, you'll have to carry him over the range. "

Weston fancied that this was probable, and the track-grader, whoturned away to speak to another man, left him in a thoughtful mood. 

CHAPTER VIII

IN THE RANGES

A month had passed when Weston stood one morning outside the tent hescarcely expected that he or his comrade would sleep in again. It waspitched beside a diminutive strip of boggy natural prairie under thetowering range, though the latter was then shrouded in sliding mistout of which the climbing firs raised here and there a ragged spire orsomber branch. The smoke of the cooking-fire hung in heavy bluewreaths about the tent, and a thick rain beat into the faces of themen. 

The few weeks they had spent in the wilderness had made a change inthem. Grenfell had clearer eyes and skin, and was steadier on hislegs, for he had slaked his thirst with river-water for some time now. Weston was a little leaner, and his face was grimmer than it had been, for the whimsical carelessness had faded out of it. Both of them weredressed largely in rags, and their stout boots were rent; and theywere already very wet, though that was no great matter, as they wereused to it. There are a good many rivers among those ranges, and nobridges. They were then glancing at the horse which was cropping theharsh grass of the swamp. It was of the Cayuse Indian breed, and notparticularly valuable, but it could be sold for something if theysucceeded in taking it back to the settlements. This, however, did notappear to Weston very probable. 

"Short hobbles, " suggested Grenfell. "There's grass enough to lastawhile, and it's likely that we'll strike this way back. It's a longway to the settlements, and there'll be quite a load of provisions andthings to pack. "

They had made a cache of most of their provisions the previous night, after searching in vain for a route by which they could lead the horseover the range in front of them; but Weston shook his head. 

"No, " he said, "we may not come back this way after all, and a horseis pretty sure to get a hobble of any kind foul round something in thebush. I can't have the beast held up to starve. "

"Well, " said Grenfell, "I guess you understand what leaving it loosemeans?"

Weston did. He recognized that if they ever regained that valley theywould have to push on for the settlements through a most difficultcountry, under a heavy load, and even then leave behind them manythings which might have ministered to their comfort. Still, he wasresolute. 

"The beast could find its food somehow if we left it loose, and it'squite probable that it would work down along the back trail to thesettlements when the grass round here gets scarce, " he said. "In anycase we'll give it a chance for its life. "

Grenfell made a sign of acquiescence. 

"Have it your way. If we ever come back to this cache again, and I'mplayed out, as I probably will be, you'll have the pleasure of packingdown everything we want. "

Weston did not answer, but there was a little satisfied smile in hiseyes as he watched the horse wander away unhampered into the rain. After this they sat down to a very simple meal. Then they strappedtheir packs on their shoulders--a thick blanket each, a small bag offlour, some salt pork and green tea, and, while Grenfell carried thelight ax, Weston slung a frying-pan, a kettle and a pannikin abouthim, as well as a rifle, for there are black-tail deer in thatcountry, and they could not be sure that their provisions would lastthe journey through. The prospector soon discovers how much a man cando without, and it is a good deal more than men bred in the citieswould suppose. The oddments rattled and banged about Weston'sshoulders as he went up the steep slope through the thick timber; andby the time they had cleared the latter, Grenfell was visiblydistressed, and both of them realized that their difficulties hadcommenced. 

Any one unaccustomed to the country would probably have considered thedevious march that they already had made arduous enough, but they had, at least for the most part, followed the valleys and crossed only afew low divides, and it was evident now that their way led close up tothe eternal snow. There was a rock scarp in front of them, up part ofwhich they went on their hands and knees. When they reached the summitof this, the slightly more level strip along which they floundered wasstrewn with shattered rock and gravel that had come down from theheights above with the thaw in the spring; and it was with difficultythat they made a mile an hour. The gold trail is usually long andarduous; but the prospector is content to have it so, for once it ismade easier the poor man's day has gone. Then the men of the citiesset up their hydraulic monitors, or drive their adits, and thefree-lance who disdains to work for them rolls up his old blankets andpushes out once again into the waste. 

They made supper at sunset among the last of the dwindling pines; andthen lay awake shivering part of the night, for a nipping wind camedown from the snow, and they were very wet and cold. It rained againthe next day and most of the following one. Still, they spent the twodays crawling along the farther side of the range, for when they hadstruggled through the snow in a rift between two peaks, a great wallof rock that fell almost sheer cut them off from the next valley. Somewhat to Weston's astonishment, Grenfell now showed little sign offlagging. He seemed intent and eager; and when they stopped, gasping, where the rock fell straight down beneath their feet to the thicktimber that climbed from a thread-like river, he sat down and gazedsteadily below him. 

"They're hemlocks along that bend?" he asked, pointing to a ridge ofsomber green that rose above the water. 

"Yes, " said Weston, "I think they are. "

Grenfell straightened himself suddenly. 

"My sight's not as good as yours, but I seemed to know they must be. Can you make out any Douglas firs in the thicker timber?"

"Yes, " said Weston, excitedly, "there's a spire or two higher than therest. You recognize the place?"

His companion sat still with signs of tension in his face, and it wasclear that he was racking his befogged brain. The few weeks ofabstinence and healthful toil had made a change in him, but one cannotin that space of time get rid of the results of years of indulgence;and under stress of excitement the man became confused and fanciful. 

"I'm not sure. I'm trying to think, " he said, laying a lean, tremblinghand on Weston's arm. "Did you never feel that there was something youought to recollect about a spot which you couldn't have seen before?"

Weston was in no mood to discuss questions of that kind, though thecurious sensation was not altogether unfamiliar to him. 

"There's only one way you could have known there was hemlock yonder, "he asserted. 

Grenfell looked up at him with a dry smile. 

"You have to remember that I have been up in the ranges several times. Parts of them are very much alike. "

After that Weston sat very still for several minutes, though he foundit exceedingly difficult. He had more than once during the last fewweeks doubted that Grenfell had ever found the quartz-reef at all, forit seemed quite possible that he had, as the track-grader suggested, merely fancied that he had done so, and the man's manner had borne outthat supposition. Cut off from the whisky, he had now and then falleninto fits of morbid moodiness, during which he seemed very far fromsure about the gold. This had naturally occasioned Weston a good dealof anxiety. He had thrown up his occupation and sunk his last dollarin the venture, and the finding of the quartz-reef would, he commencedto realize, open up to him alluring possibilities. At length hiscompanion spoke slowly. 

"If the river runs across the valley to the opposite range a milehigher, this is the way I came down when I found the gold, " he said. 

Weston scrambled to his feet. Floundering in haste along the edge ofthe crag, he stopped some sixty yards farther on, with a little quiverrunning through him. From that point he could see that the river ranstraight across to the opposite wall of rock. He flung up his armswith an exultant shout. Then they went on eagerly when Grenfell joinedhim. 

"Yes, " said the latter, when he had glanced below, "I must have seenit the time I struck the gold. Only then I came down the valley. "

They pushed on. Toward sunset a thick rain once more came down, andfilmy mists wreathed themselves about the hills and by and by filledup the valley, and the strip of mountainside along which the twolonely men plodded rose isolated from a sea of woolly vapor. They heldon, however, until, when the dusk commenced to creep up the white peakabove them, Weston stopped with a little start. There was a curioushuddled object in a crevice of the rocks not far in front of him. 

"Do you see that?" he asked. "What can it be?"

Grenfell gazed at the thing steadily, and then turned to hiscompanion. 

"I think it's Verneille, " he said. 

They came a little nearer, and saw that he was right, for presentlyGrenfell stooped and picked up a discolored watch. It had fallen awayfrom the moldering rags, but it had a solid case, and, when at lengthhe succeeded in opening it, he recognized the dial. He gazed at itwith a softening face, and then slipped it into his pocket. 

"He was a good comrade. A man with long patience, and I think he had agood deal to bear from me, " he said. 

In the meanwhile Weston stood still, with the rain on his face and hisbattered hat in his hand. Verneille lay in a cleft of the rocks, whereit seemed he had crawled when he broke down on his last weary march, but the sun and the rain had worked their will, and there was verylittle left of him. Indeed, part of the bony structure had rolledclear of the shreds of tattered rags. Grenfell gazed at him fixedly, and neither of the men said anything for the next minute or two. Thepeak above them was fading in the growing night, and the stillness ofthe great desolation seemed intensified by the soft patter of therain. Then Weston roused himself with an effort, for there wassomething to be done. 

"We can't leave him lying there, " he said. "There is a little soilamong the stones. It's a pity we didn't bring the shovel. "

The shovel was in the cache with one or two other prospector's tools, which, as the reef they desired to find was uncovered in one place, they had not thought it worth while to carry over that high ridge; sothey set to work in silence with the rifle butt and their naked hands. Fortunately, the stones were large, and the soil beneath them soft, and in about twenty minutes they were ready for the rest of theirtask. It was one from which they shrank, but they accomplished it, andGrenfell straightened himself wearily as they laid the last stone onthe little mound. 

"It's all we can do, but I should feel considerably better if I couldget a hard drink now, " he said. 

Then he made a little forceful gesture. 

"After all, he's well out of it. That man was white all through. "

It was Verneille's only epitaph, pronounced most incongruously withthe same breath that expressed his comrade's longing for whisky, butperhaps it was sufficient, for when one is called a white man itimplies a good deal in that country. Nobody, it seemed, knew where hecame from, or whether there was any one who belonged to him, but hehad done his work, and they had found him sitting high on the lonelyrange to point the way. That might have been of no great service if itwere only treasure to which the gold trail led, but in the unclaimedlands the prospector scouts a little ahead of the march ofcivilization. After him come the axmen, the ploughmen and theartisans, and orchards and mills and oatfields creep on a littlefarther into the wilderness. Civilization has its incidentaldrawbacks, but, in the west, at least, its advance provides those whoneed them with new homes and food; and, when one comes to think of it, in other respects it is usually the dead men who have pushed on inadvance who point the way. 

A part only of the significance of that fact occurred to Grenfell whenthe two men had plodded slowly on and left the little pile of stonesbehind, and that was naturally the part applicable to his particularcase. 

"This makes the thing quite certain, " he said. "We're on the trail. "

It was not astonishing that Weston had deduced as much already. 

"Have you any idea where you separated?" he inquired. 

"No, " said Grenfell, wrinkling his forehead as though thinking hard. "I've often tried to remember. As I told you, we started out from thelake with scarcely any provisions left, and we couldn't find a deer. Iwas played out and half-dazed, but for a time we pushed on together. Then one day I found myself in the thick timber alone. Verneille musthave kept the range, and I was in the valley. I was very sick when Istruck the prospector's camp, and when I came round I had only thehaziest memory of the journey. "

"If we can find a spot where the valley dies out into the range, itwill probably be where you left him, " said Weston. "It would give us apoint to work from. In the meanwhile we want a place to camp. "

They went down to the first of the timber, and, spreading theirblankets in a cranny of the rocks, built a great fire soon afterdarkness fell. Weston, who made the fire, filled the blackened kettlewith water from the creek, and Grenfell, who crouched beside thesnapping branches, also left him to prepare the supper. They had beenon their feet since sunrise, and it was evident that he was veryweary. He recovered a little when he had eaten, but he leaned backagainst the wet rock with a furrowed face when Weston took out hispipe. 

"Abstinence has its drawbacks, " he said, shivering in the bitter windwhich whirled the stinging smoke about them. "With a very smallmeasure of whisky one could be warm and content. " He glanced back intothe darkness that hid the towering peaks. "Verneille's to beenvied--he's well out of it. "

"You said that before, " said Weston, in whose veins life ran hot andstrong. 

"I did, " his companion replied, with a little hollow laugh. "You'llfind out some day that I was right. He was dead when he fell to piecesin the wind and weather. "

"Of course!" said Weston with a trace of impatience, for Grenfell'shalf-maudlin observations occasionally jarred on him; but the latterstill looked at him with a curious smile. 

"Keep clear of drugs and whisky. It's good advice, " he said. "You maygo a long way before you die. "

"I'd feel a little more sure of it if we could find the mine. It wouldgive you a lift up, too. "

Grenfell shook his head. 

"It could never lift me back to where I was, " he said. "Could it giveme the steady nerves and the brain I used to have? There was a timewhen scarcely a big mine was started in the west before they senttheir specimens to me. What could success offer me now besides a fewmore years of indulgence and an opportunity for drinking myself intomy grave in comfort and with comparative decency?"

Weston supposed that this was the effect of weariness; but his comradestraightened himself a little, and his uncertain gaze grew steadier. 

"There's one thing it can do, " he went on. "It can show those whoremember him as he was that Grenfell the assayer and mineralogist canstill look round a mineral basin and tell just where the gold shouldbe. "

Weston was no geologist, but he had seen enough of it to recognizethat prospecting is an art. Men certainly strike a vein or alluvialplacer by the merest chance now and then, but the trained man worksfrom indication to indication until, though he is sometimes mistaken, he feels reasonably sure as to what waits to be uncovered by theblasting charge or shovel. Grenfell's previous account of thediscovery had, however, not made quite plain the fact that he hadadopted the latter course. 

"You told me you found the quartz by accident when you went to drinkat a creek, " he said. "Any green hand might have done the same. "

Grenfell laughed. 

"The point is that I knew there was gold in the valley. I told you westayed there until the provisions had almost run out. I wantedmaterial proof--and I was satisfied when I found that little strip ofoutcrop. "

"A little strip! You said the lead ran right back to the hill and onecould follow it with an adit. "

"It does, although I haven't seen it. The adit would dip a little. Thething's quite certain. "

Weston once more became sensible of the misgivings that notinfrequently had troubled him. His comrade, he believed, really hadbeen a famous mineralogist, but now he was a frail and broken man witha half-muddled brain who could not be trusted to keep the fire goingbeneath the pots while he cooked a meal. He was also a prey to maudlinfancies, and it seemed quite possible that the mine was no more than acreation of his disordered imagination. There were only two thingsthat partly warranted his belief in it-a fragment of quartz, and thepresence of the dead man on the lonely range, though Weston admittedthat there was a certain probability of Grenfell's having deludedVerneille too. He had, however, pledged himself to look for the lead, and that, at least, he meant to do. The search, in the meanwhile, wassufficient to occupy him, as he was one who escaped a good manytroubles by confining his attention to the task in hand. 

"Well, " he said, dismissing the matter from his mind, "I'll turn outat sun-up, and when we've had breakfast we'll go on again. "

He lay down near the snapping fire and, drawing up the blanket to keepthe rain from his face, was sound asleep in a few minutes. Grenfell, however, sat awake for a long time, shivering in the whirling smoke, and now and then glancing curiously at his companion. 

CHAPTER IX

A FRUITLESS SEARCH

They had wandered far through the ranges, and camped beside severallonely lakes, none of which, however, proved to be the one for whichthey were searching, when Weston rose one morning from his lair amongthe dewy fern. He did it reluctantly, for during the past week he hadcarried Grenfell's load as well as his own, and it would have pleasedhim to lie still a little longer. His shoulders were aching, and theconstant pressure of the pack-straps had galled them cruelly; but inone respect it would not have troubled him if his burden had beenheavier, for their provisions were running out rapidly. There was ariver close by, but he no longer felt the least inclination for amorning swim, or, indeed, for any occupation that was not obviouslynecessary. He had lived very sparingly of late, and had contrived thatGrenfell got rather more than his share of the cut-down rations. Itwas clear to him that the older man's strength was rapidly failing. 

He kicked the embers of the fire together, and, after laying on a fewresinous billets split the night before, placed an inch or two of porkin the frying-pan, and then carefully shook out a double handful offlour from the almost-empty bag. This he beat up with water and pouredinto the hot pan when the pork was done. He watched it until ithardened a little on one side, when he flung it up into the air andcaught it in the pan again. There is an art in making palatableflapjacks out of nothing but flour and water. When the meagerbreakfast was ready, he awakened Grenfell, who sat up grumbling. 

"It's time we made a start. This is our last day, " said Weston. 

Grenfell, who did not answer, made his toilet by buttoning his jacketand stretching himself, after which he blinked at his companion withwatery eyes. 

"There are no marble basins or delicately perfumed soaps in the bush, "he said. 

Weston laughed. 

"I don't remember having seen them at the muskeg camp. In themeanwhile, breakfast's ready. I'm sorry there isn't a little more ofit. "

His companion glanced at the frying-pan. 

"A scrap of rancid pork, and a very small flapjack--burnt at that! Tothink that human intelligence and man's force of will should bepowerless without a sufficiency of such pitiable things. It'shumiliating. "

Then, with a grimace of disgust, he stretched out his hand for theblackened pannikin. 

"Green tea is a beverage that never appealed to me, and I feel abjectthis morning. Now, if I had a little Bourbon whisky I could laugh atdespondency and weariness. That golden liquid releases the mind fromthe thraldom of the worn-out body. "

"It depends on one's knees, " said Weston, with a trace of dryness. "Yours have a habit of giving out unexpectedly, and I shouldn't liketo carry you up this valley. Anyway, breakfast's ready, and we have tofind that lake to-day or give up the search. "

They set about breakfast, and again it happened that Grenfell gotrather more than his share. Then Weston, who carried also the heavyrifle, strapped the double burden on his shoulders, and they startedon their march, walking wearily. The valley that they followed, likemost of the others, was choked with heavy timber, and they pressed onslowly through the dim shadow of great balsams, hemlocks, and Douglasfirs, among which there sprang up thickets of tall green fern thatwere just then dripping with the dew. The stiff fronds brushed themoisture through the rags they wore and wet them to the skin; but theywere used to that. It was the fallen trees that troubled them most. These lay in stupendous ruin, with their giant branches stretching faron either side, and, where tangled thickets rendered a detourinadmissible, it now and then cost them half an hour's labor with theax to hew a passage through. Then there were soft places choked withwillows where little creeks wandered among the swamp-grass in whichthey sank to the knees; but they pushed on resolutely, with theperspiration dripping from them, until well on in the afternoon. 

Once or twice Weston wondered why he had held on so long. It was sometime since they had found Verneille lying high upon the desolaterange, and this was still the only thing which seemed to bear out hiscomrade's story. The latter had only a few very hazy recollections toguide him, and during the last week he had not come upon anything inthe shape, of a mountain spur or frothing creek that appeared to fitin with them. There was, however, a vein of tenacity in Weston, and hewas quietly bent on going on to the end--that is, until there were nomore provisions left than would carry them back to the cache, marchingon considerably less than half rations. 

They had made, perhaps, two leagues with infinite difficulty, whentoward the middle of the afternoon they came upon a spur of the rangethat ran out into the valley. Weston decided that they could probablysee some distance across the timber from the crest of it, so theyclimbed up painfully. They were gasping when they reached a ledge ofrock a little below the summit, but that was not why they sat down. Both shrank from the first momentous glimpse into the head of thevalley, for if there were no lake there they had thrown away theirtoil and must drag themselves back to the settlements defeated andbroken men. It is hard to face defeat when one is young, and, perhaps, harder still when one is old and has nothing to fall back on. Grenfellexpressed part of his thoughts when he turned to his companion. 

"We shall decide the thing in a few more minutes, " he said. "I supposewe couldn't risk going on a little farther to-morrow?"

Weston shook his head resolutely, though he felt the same temptation. It was in one sense curious that the older man should defer to him. 

"No, " said Weston, "we should have turned back several days ago. Itwill be a tough march to reach the cache now. "

Grenfell made a little gesture. 

"Well, " he said, "we'll go up and see. "

They went up, part of the way on their hands and knees, and then, though the slope was less steep, both of them hung back when theyneared the crest of the divide. There was still a faint probabilitythat their journey had not been futile, and they clung to itdesperately. Grenfell went first, and, when he reached the crest, stood stone still with his back to Weston, who held his breath as hescrambled after him. Then Grenfell, turning a little toward him, suddenly flung out a pointing hand. 

The head of the valley stretched away beneath them, but there was nogleam from a lonely lake in the midst of it. From hillside to hillsidethe close ranks of somber firs ran unbroken. 

Weston's face grew hard and grim. 

"That's the end, " he said hoarsely. "There is nothing for it but totake the back trail. "

Then the strength seemed to melt out of Grenfell, and he sat downlimply. 

"It was the belief that I should find that lake some day that has keptme on my feet the last eight years, " he said. "Except for that Ishould have gone under long ago. Now, it's hardly likely that I shallever get back here again. "

He turned and blinked at Weston with half-closed eyes. 

"You can't understand. You have the world before you, " he said. 

Weston fancied that he could understand in part, at least. His comradewas an old and frail and friendless man for whom nobody in thatcountry was, as they say there, likely to have any use, and the factthat he probably had himself to blame for it did not make thingseasier. Weston forgot that he also was a man without an occupation, and his face grew sympathetic; but in a few minutes Grenfell seemed topull himself together. 

"Well, " he said, "we'll take the back trail. "

They followed it for a week, but the distance that they covereddiminished day by day. Grenfell would insist on sitting down for halfan hour or so at regular intervals, and when they faced a steep ascentWeston had to drag him. The man seemed to have fallen to pieces nowthat the purpose that had sustained him had failed, and his comrade, who carried a double burden and undertook all that was necessary eachtime they made camp, grew more and more anxious every day, for, thoughthey did not eat enough to keep the strength in them, their provisionswere almost exhausted. Nor could he find a deer; and it became amomentous question whether they could reach the cache before the lasthandful of flour was gone. Still, they held on along the back trail, with the burst boots galling their bleeding feet, worn-out, haggard, and ragged, until, one day on the slope of the range, they lost thetrail, and when evening was drawing in they held a consultation. 

There was a valley; a creek came frothing down not far from them; anarrow, steep-sided cleft rent through stupendous rocks; and the whiteridge high above it seemed familiar. Weston gazed at the latterthoughtfully. 

"We could get up that way, and there'll be good moonlight to-night, "he said. "If that snow-ridge lies where I think it does, there's aravine running down through the neck of the high spur; and once westrike the big dip it's a straight trail to the cache. If we startednow we ought to get there to-morrow. "

He broke off for a moment, and opened the almost-empty bag. 

"In fact we have to. "

Grenfell made a sign of acquiescence, and by and by they rose andforced a passage through the timber into the ravine. Then they went upand up, through the creek and beside it, crawling over fallen trees, and dragging themselves across slippery shelves of rock, until, thoughstill very steep, the way grew a trifle easier. It was Grenfell's lasteffort, and Weston had no courage left to cheer him on. At times hestumbled beside him, and then went on and sat down gasping to waituntil his comrade came up with him again. It was a week since they hadmade more than half a meal, and much longer since they had eaten asufficient one. They were famishing, worn-out, and a trifle fanciful, while the light was dying fast and a great wall of mountains, beyondwhich the cache lay, still rose in front of them. 

Dusk crept up from the valley and overtook them as they climbed, thenpassed ahead and blotted out the battalions of somber pines. Thelittle breeze that had sighed among the latter died away, and thehoarse clamor of the creek intensified the deep silence that wrappeddusky hillside and lonely valley. Then a half-moon sailed out abovethe dim white peaks, and its pale radiance gleamed on frothing waterand dripping stone, and showed the two men still climbing. They drewtheir breath heavily; the sweat of effort dripped from them; but theytoiled upward, with tense faces and aching limbs. The cache could notbe very far away, and they realized that if once they lay down theymight never commence the march again. 

By and by the creek seemed to vanish, and its roar died away, whileafter that they wandered, still ascending, apparently for hours amongdim spires of trees, until the path once more dipped sharply beneaththeir feet. They had traversed a wider, shallower valley between thespur and the parent range. Weston was afterward quite sure of that, for it had a great shadowy wall of rock on one hand of it. 

"We are coming down upon the cache. We have crossed the neck, " hesaid. 

They blundered downward, walking now with half-closed eyes, andsometimes for a few moments with them shut altogether. At times theyfell over boulders and into thickets of rotting branches that layaround fallen trees, but, though their senses had almost desertedthem, they were certainly going down. The pines grew taller andthicker; withered twigs and needles crackled beneath their feet;though in places they plunged downward amidst a rush of slippinggravel. Still, half-dazed as he was, Weston was puzzled. It seemed tohim that the gully they were descending was longer than it should havebeen. It ought to have led them, by that time, out on a plateau fromwhich the hillside fell to the hollow where they had made the cache. He did not, however, mention this to Grenfell. 

By degrees the dim black trees grew hazier and less material. Theyappeared unsubstantial shadows of firs and pines, and he resented thefact that they barred his passage, when he blundered into one or twoof them. There was a creek somewhere, but it was elusive, flashinghere and there in the uncertain moonlight and vanishing again. Once ortwice he thought he had left it behind, and was astonished whenshortly afterward he stumbled into it to the knees. He had adistressful stitch in his side, which, though he had been conscious ofit for several hours, was growing almost insupportable. Sometimes hecalled to Grenfell, who seldom answered him, just to break theoppressive silence. It seemed to enfold and crush him in spite of theclamor of the creek which indeed he scarcely heard. No man, hefancied, had crept through those solitudes before; but several timeshe felt almost sure that he saw shadowy figures flitting among thetrees, and Grenfell declared that he heard the clank of cowbells. Weston was not astonished, though he knew that no cattle had evercrossed that range. 

At last in the gray dawn they came to a little opening where theground was soft. It seemed familiar, and both of them stopped. Theycertainly had seen before something very much like the slope of rockthat rose in front of them. Weston, blinking about him, discovered inthe quaggy mould two foot-prints half filled with water. He called toGrenfell, who leaned on his shoulder while he stooped to see them moreclearly. Then he discovered two more footprints a little farther away. They were fresh, and evidently had not been made by the man who leftthe others. Suddenly, he straightened himself with a harsh laugh. 

"That is where we went up last night. We are back again, " he said. 

Grenfell gazed at him stupidly. 

"But we went through the valley between the range and the spur, " heinsisted. "I remember it. We must have done so. "

Weston's face showed drawn and grim in the creeping light. 

"If you went over all the range by daylight you would never find thatvalley again. It will have vanished altogether, like the lake. "

"But I camped beside the lake. "

"Well, " said Weston, "we floundered through the valley, and we havecome back to where we started. That's a sure thing. What do you makeof it?"

Grenfell admitted that it was beyond him. 

"It doesn't count for much in any case. We can't make the cachenow--and I'm going to sleep, " he said. 

Weston let his pack drop, and, unrolling their blankets, theystretched themselves out beneath a great black pine. They had madetheir last effort, and their strength was spent. There was, it seemed, no escape. In the meanwhile, mind and body craved for sleep. 

CHAPTER X

THE HOTEL-KEEPER

The sun was high in the heavens when Weston awakened, ravenous, withan almost intolerable stitch in his side. He rose with a stagger, andthen sat down again, while his face went awry, and took out his pipe. He had still a very little tobacco left, and he fancied that it mightdeaden the pangs of hunger. Then he glanced at Grenfell, who lay fastasleep close by, with his blanket falling away from him. The man'sface was half buried among the withered needles which were thick inhis unkempt hair, and he lay huddled together, grotesque and unsightlyin ragged disarray. Weston vacantly noticed the puffiness of hischeeks, and the bagginess beneath his eyes. The stamp of indulgencewas very plain upon him, and the younger man, who had led a simple, strenuous life, was sensible of a certain repulsion from him. 

He realized also that were he alone it was just possible that, beforehis strength failed him altogether, he might reach the spot where theyhad cached their provisions, and for several minutes he grappled withthe question whether he should make the attempt. Then he brushed asidethe arguments that seemed to warrant it, and admitted that in allprobability Grenfell would have succumbed before he could get backagain. After all, this outcast who had led him into the wilderness ona fruitless search was his comrade, and they had agreed to share andshare alike. That Grenfell had at the most only a few years ofindulgence still in front of him did not affect the question. Thespecious reasons which seemed to prove that he would be warranted indeserting his comrade would not fit in with his simple code, which, avoiding all side issues, laid down very simply the things one couldnot do. 

Rising stiffly, he laid the flour-bag, which he had not shakenabsolutely empty, by Grenfell's side; and, taking from his pocket anindelible pencil that he happened to have with him, he moistened thepoint of it and scrawled a message across a piece of the almost-emptypackage in which they had carried their tea. 

"Gone to look for a deer, " it read, and he laid a stone on it whereGrenfell could not fail to see it. 

Then he took up the repeating rifle, and lurching down-hill plungedinto the forest. Both the black-tail deer and the mule-deer are to bemet with in that country, but, somewhat strange to say, they are, as arule, more plentiful round the smaller settlements than in thewilderness, and they are always singularly difficult to see. Theinexperienced sportsman cannot invariably discern one when it ispointed out to him, and the bush deer very seldom stand silhouettedagainst the sky. Their pale tinting blends with that of the fir trunksand the tall fern, and they seem to recognize the desirability ofalways having something near them that breaks their continuity ofoutline. Besides, to hunt in the thick bush needs the keenest powersof observation of both ear and eye, and an infinite patience, of whicha worn-out, famishing white man is very rarely capable. When one stepson a dry twig, or sets a thicket crackling, it is necessary to liestill for minutes, or to make a long detour before again taking up theline of approach to a likely spot; and that morning Weston blunderednoisily into many an obstacle. His eyes were unusually bright andfiercely keen, but his worn-out limbs would not quite obey him. 

He lay still among the undergrowth about the rocky places where thedeer come out to sun themselves clear of the dew-wet fern, and crawledinto quaggy swamps where the little black bear feeds, but he couldfind no sign of life. When he strained his ears to listen there wasonly the sound of falling water or the clamor of a hidden creek. Sightwas of almost as little service among those endless rows of toweringtrunks, between which the tall fern and underbrush sprang up. Therewas no distance, scarcely even an alternation of light and shadow. Thevision was narrowed in and confused by the unchanging sameness of thegreat gray colonnade. 

Still, Weston persisted in his search; though it was not patience butthe savageness of desperation that animated him. He would not go backempty-handed, if he struggled on until he dropped. 

It was late in the afternoon before his search was rewarded. He hadreached a strip of slightly clearer ground when he heard a faintrustle, and he stiffened suddenly in strung-up attention. There was, he remembered, a great hemlock close behind him, but he recognizedthat any movement might betray his presence, and, standing very still, he slowly swept his eyes across the glade. A curious, hard glint creptinto them when they rested on one spot where something that lookedvery much like a slender, forked branch rose above a thicket. Then asmall patch of slightly different color from the thicket appearedclose beneath, and, though he knew that this might send the deer off, he sank slowly down until he could sit on his drawn-back right foot. He could not be sure of the steadiness of his hands, and he wanted asupport for the rifle. Though every nerve in him seemed to thrill, itwas done deliberately, and he found that he could see almost asclearly from the lower level. 

Then he waited, with the rifle in his left hand, and that elbow on hisknee, until there was a faint crackling, and a slightly larger patchof fur emerged from the thicket. He held his breath as he stiffenedhis left fingers on the barrel and dropped his cheek on the butt. There would, he knew, be only one shot, a long one, and, while it wasnot particularly easy to get the sight on that little patch, it wasconsiderably handier to keep it there. Besides, he was not sure thatthe rear slide was high enough, for the light was puzzling. It mightvery well throw him a foot out in the elevation. 

He crouched, haggard, ragged, savage-eyed, steadying himself with astrenuous effort, while the little bead of foresight wavered. It movedupward and back again half an inch or so while his finger slowlycontracted on the trigger. Then, as it swung across the middle of thepatch, he added the last trace of pressure. He saw a train of sparksleap from the jerking muzzle, and felt the butt jar upon his shoulder. Still, as is almost invariably the case with a man whose whole forceof will is concentrated on holding the little sight on a living mark, he heard no detonation. He recognized, however, the unmistakable thudof the bullet smashing through soft flesh, and that was what helistened for. 

As he sprang to his feet, jerking another cartridge from the magazine, there was a sharp crackling amidst the thicket and a rustling of thefern. A blurred shape that moved with incredible swiftness sailed intothe air, and vanished as he fired again. The smoke blew back into hiseyes, and there was a low rustling that rapidly grew fainter. He ranto the thicket, and found what he had expected--a few red splashesamong the leaves. Where the deer was hit he did not know, but hebraced himself for an effort, for he fancied that he could follow thetrail. 

It proved a long and difficult one, but as he worked along it, smashing through thickets and crawling over fallen trees, the redsprinkle still showed among the leaves, and it did not seem possiblethat the deer could go very far. Still, by this time the light wasgrowing dim, and he pressed on savagely with the perspiration drippingfrom him in an agony of suspense. Even his weariness was forgotten, though he reeled now and then. 

At length, when he reached the head of a slope, there was a cracklingamidst the underbrush, and once more a half-seen shape rose out of it. The rifle went to his shoulder, and, though he had scarcely expectedthe shot to be successful, the object in front of him collapsed amidstthe fern. He could no longer see it, but, whipping out the big knifethat he carried in his belt, he ran toward the spot where it hadappeared. The ground seemed to be falling sharply, and he recognizedthat there was a declivity not far away. 

The deer rose once more, and, though only a yard or two away, he couldscarcely see it. His eyes seemed clouded, and he was gasping heavily. Whether he dropped the rifle with intent or stumbled and let it sliphe never knew, but in another moment he had flung himself upon thedeer with the long knife in his hand. Then his feet slipped, and heand the beast rolled down a slope together. The blade he grippedstruck soil and stones, but at length he knew that it had gone in tothe hilt in yielding flesh, and with a tense effort he buried itagain. After that he staggered clear, half-dazed, but exultant, with abroad crimson stain on the rags he wore. The beast's limbs and bodyquivered once or twice, and then it lay very still. 

Weston took out his pipe and lay down with his back against a tree, for all the power seemed to have gone out of him, and he did not seemable to think of anything. The pipe was empty before it dawned on himthat his comrade was famishing, and there was still a task in hand. Heset about it, and, though it was far from heavy, he had somedifficulty in getting the dressed deer upon his shoulders. How hereached camp with it he never knew, but he fell down several timesbefore he did so, and the soft darkness had crept up from the valleywhen he staggered into the flickering glow of a fire. His face wasdrawn and gray, and there was blood and soil on his tattered clothing. He dropped the deer, and collapsed beside the fire. 

"Now, " he said hoarsely, "it's up to you to do the rest. "

Grenfell set about it in wolfish haste, hacking off great strips offlesh with patches of hide still attached to them; and it was onlywhen he flung them half-raw out of the frying-pan that Weston rousedhimself. Fresh bush venison is not a delicacy even when properlycooked, and there are probably very few civilized men who would careto consume much of it. The muscular fiber resembles cordage; andstrong green tea is no doubt not the most desirable beverage toaccompany it; but Grenfell and Weston ate it in lumps and were asleepwithin five minutes after they lay down gorged to repletion beside thesinking fire. It is generally understood that a famishing personshould be supplied with nourishment sparingly, but in the wildernessthe man in that condition eats as much as he conveniently can, andusually sleeps for about twelve hours afterward. In any case, the sunwas high the next day when Weston awoke, feeling, except for hismuscular weariness, as fresh as he had ever felt in his life. Heroused Grenfell with his foot. 

"Get up, " he said, "we have to consider what to do. "

Grenfell blinked at him, with a grin. 

"Consider!" he ejaculated. "I know. The first thing is to eatbreakfast. Then we'll lie down again until it's time for supper. "

They did as he suggested, for there was meat enough to last until theyfound the cache. This they managed to do two days later. Somewhat toWeston's astonishment they found, also, the horse still feeding on thestrip of natural prairie; and, as the beast and the buried camp gearit could now carry back represented their whole worldly wealth, thiswas a source of gratification to both of them. The man without anoccupation or a dollar in his pocket does not, as a rule, find lifevery easy. 

They made the first settlement on the railroad safely; and Weston, hearing that a new sawmill had been started in a neighboring valley, set out the next morning in search of it, leaving Grenfell to dispose, of the camp gear and the horse. The manager of the sawmill was, however, marking trees in the bush, and, as Weston had to wait sometime before he learned that no more hands were wanted, it was eveningbefore he reached the little wooden hotel where he had left hiscomrade. It had a veranda in front of it, and he stopped when hereached the steps, for it was evident from the hoarse clamor andbursts of laughter which came out of the open windows that somethingquite unusual was going on. Then a man came down the steps chuckling, and Weston, who stopped him, inquired the cause of the commotion. 

"Two or three of the boys we have no great use for are going outto-night to the copper vein the Dryhurst people are opening up, " saidthe stranger. "Your partner has been setting up the drinks for them. "

Weston was not pleased at this, but the other piece of information theman gave him was interesting. 

"Are they taking on men?" he asked. 

"Anybody who can shovel. Sent down to Vancouver for men a day or twoago. "

"Then, " said Weston, "why didn't this hotel-keeper tell me, instead ofsending me across to the sawmill?"

His informant laughed. 

"Jake, " he said, "is most too mean to live. He strikes you a dollarfor your breakfast and another for supper, though anybody else wouldgive you a square meal for a quarter. Guess that may have something todo with it. "

Weston nodded. 

"It's very probable, " he said. "They're evidently getting angry aboutsomething inside there. What's the trouble?"

"Guess it's your partner, " said the other man, with a grin. "It seemsJake bought a horse from him; but you'd better go in and see. Idecided to pull out when one of them got an ax. Struck me it would bekind of safer in my shanty. "

He went down the stairway; and as Weston went up a raucous voicereached him. 

"The money!" it said. "The money or the horse! You hear me! Hand outthe blame money!"

Weston pushed open the door and stopped just inside it. The room wasbig, and, as usual, crudely furnished, with uncovered walls and floor, and a stove in the midst of it. A bar ran along part of one side, anda man in a white shirt was just then engaged in hastily removing thebottles from it. Another man, in blue shirt and duck trousers, stoodbeside the stove, and he held a big ax which he swung suggestively. Itwas evident that several of the others were runaway sailormen, whohave, since the days of Caribou, usually been found in the forefrontwhen there were perilous wagon bridges or dizzy railroad trestles tobe built in the Mountain Province. There was, however, nothing Englishin their appearance. 

"He wants his horse! Oh, bring it out!" sang the man with the ax. 

There was a howl of approval from the cluster of men who sat on arough fir table; but the man behind the bar raised an expostulatinghand. 

"Boys, " he said, "you have got to be reasonable. I bought that horse. If the deadbeat who made the deal with me wants it back, all he has todo is to produce the money. "

Then Grenfell, who leaned on the table, drew himself up, and made agesture of protest. He was as ragged and unkempt as ever. 

"I've been called a deadbeat, and I want it taken back, " he said. "It's slander. I'm a celebrated mineralogist and assayer. Tell you howthe deep leads run; analyze you anything. For example, we'll proceedto put this hotel-keeper in the crucible, and see what we get. It'sthirty parts hoggish self-sufficiency, and ten parts ignorance. Fortymore rank dishonesty, and ten of insatiable avarice. Ten more ofgo-back-when-you-get-up-and-face-him. Can't even bluff a drunken man. I've no use for him. "

There was a burst of applause, but Weston fancied that thehotel-keeper's attitude was comprehensible in view of the fact thatthe drunken man had a big ax in his hand. Crossing the room, he seizedGrenfell's shoulder. 

"Sit down, " he said sternly. "Have you sold that man my horse?"

"He has, sure, " said one of the others. "Set us up the drinksafterward. We like him. He's a white man. "

"How much?" Weston asked. 

"Twenty dollars. "

Then the man with the ax, who appeared to feel that he was being leftout of it, swung the heavy blade. 

"We want our horse!" he said. "Trot the blame thing out!"

One of the others thereupon raised a raucous voice and commenced aditty of the deep sea which was quite unquotable. Weston silenced himwith some difficulty and turned to the rest. 

"Boys, " he said, "has the man yonder spent twenty dollars on drinksto-day?"

They were quite sure that he had not. He had, they admitted, set up around or two, but they were not the boys to impose upon a stranger, and in proof of this several of them asked the hotel-keeper what hehad received from them. Then Weston turned to the latter. 

"Now, " he said, "we'll try to straighten this thing out, but I've nointention of being victimized. It's quite clear that the boys don'tseem in a humor to permit that either. "

"You've got us solid, " one of them assured him. "All you have to do isto sail right ahead. Burn up the blame hotel. Sling him out of thewindow. Anything you like. "

"Well, " said Weston, addressing the hotel-keeper, "while I don't knowwhat your tariff is, it's quite evident to me, after what the othershave said, that my partner couldn't very well have spent more thanfive or six dollars. We'll call it eight to make more certain, andI'll pacify him if you'll hand me twelve. "

"Twelve dollars, " sang the axman, "or the horse! Bring them out!"

"It's worse than holding up a train, " complained the hotel-keeper. "Still, I'll part with it for the pleasure of getting rid of you. "

He did so; and when Weston, who pocketed the money, inquired when thenext east-bound train left, one of the others recollected that it wasin rather less than half an hour. Some of them got up with a littledifficulty, and Grenfell looked at Weston deprecatingly. 

"You mustn't hurry me, " he observed, "my knees have given out again. "

They set out in a body, two of them assisting Grenfell, who smiled atthe men assembled in the unpaved street to witness their departure. There were eight of them altogether, including the man who stillcarried the ax, which, it transpired later, belonged to thehotel-keeper. The soft darkness fell, and the white mists crawled upthe hillside as, laughing harshly, they plodded through the littlewooden town. They were wanderers and vagabonds, but they were also menwho had faced the stinging frost on the ranges and the blinding snow. They had held their lives lightly as they flung the tall woodenbridges over thundering cañons, or hewed room for the steel track outof their black recesses with toil incredible. Flood and frost, fallingtrees, and giant-powder that exploded prematurely, had as yet failedto crush the life out of them, and, after all, it is, perhaps, men oftheir kind who have set the deepest mark upon the wilderness. 

CHAPTER XI

IN THE MOONLIGHT

It was, as far as outward appearances went, a somewhat disreputablecompany that had assembled in the little station when the whistle ofthe Atlantic train came ringing up the track, and Weston would havebeen just as much pleased if the agent had provided a little lessillumination. Several big lamps had just been lighted, though, therewas a bright moon in the sky, and Grenfell, who was dressed for themost part in thorn-rent rags, sat on a pile of express freight amidsta cluster of his new comrades discoursing maudlin philosophy. Theother man, who still clung to the hotel-keeper's ax, was recountingwith dramatic force how he had once killed a panther on VancouverIsland with a similar weapon, and, when he swung the heavy blade roundhis head, there was a momentary scattering of the crowd of loungers, who had, as usual, gathered to see the train come in. 

"Yes, sir, I split that beast right up first time, " he said. "I'm achopper. You'd have seen the pieces fly if I'd sailed into that hotelbar a little while ago. "

Weston fancied that this was probable, for the man was dexterous, andthere was applause when he set the bright blade whirling, and passedthe haft from hand to hand. Most of the loungers could do a good dealwith the ax themselves, and the lean, muscular demonstrator maderather a striking figure as he stood poised in statuesque symmetryunder the lamplight with the bright steel flashing about him. 

In the meantime, Weston leaned on the pile of cases and packagessomewhat moodily. After paying for his ticket and Grenfell's to thestation nearest the copper-mine he had about four dollars in hispocket, and he did not know what he should do if no employment wereoffered him when he got there. He had no doubt that he could providefor himself somehow, but Grenfell was becoming a responsibility. Hefelt that he could not cast the man adrift, and it seemed scarcelylikely that anybody would be anxious to hire him. Still, Grenfell washis comrade, and they had borne a good deal together during theirjourney in the wilderness. That counted for something. There was alsoanother matter that somewhat troubled Weston. He was not undulycareful about his personal appearance, but he had once been accustomedto the smoother side of life in England, and his clothing was nowalmost dropping off him. The storekeeper, whom he had interviewed thatmorning, had resolutely declined to part with a single garment exceptfor money down; and, after an attempt to make at least part of thedamage good with needle and thread, Weston found the effort uselessand abandoned it. 

Then two great locomotives came snorting out of the shadows thatwrapped the climbing track, and he grasped the shoulder of hiscomrade, who did not appear disposed to get up. There was a littlepointed badinage between those who were starting for the mine and theloungers, and in the midst of it the big cars rolled into the station. Weston started, and his face grew darkly flushed, for two white-cladfigures leaned out over the guard-rail of one of the platforms, andfor a moment he looked into Ida Stirling's eyes. There was no doubtthat she had recognized him, and he remembered the state of hisattire, and became uneasily conscious that Grenfell, who clung to hisshoulder, was swaying on his feet. He knew that a man is usuallyjudged by his company, and it was clear that nothing that she mighthave noticed was likely to prepossess Miss Stirling in his favor. Thecar, however, swept past him, and with some difficulty he got Grenfellinto another farther along the train. Then, while his companionsexchanged more compliments with the loungers, the big locomotivessnorted and the dusty cars lurched on again. 

They naturally traveled Colonist, and when Grenfell stretched himselfout on a maple board it became evident that he had forgotten hisblanket. Weston threw his own over him, and the old man blinked at hisyoung companion with watery eyes. 

"You stood by me. You're white, " he said; and added with a littlepatronizing gesture, "I'm not going to desert you. "

After that he apparently went to sleep, and Weston, who felt noinclination for the company of the others, went out and sat on one ofthe car platforms, glad for the time being to be rid of him. 

There was a moon in the sky, and the silvery light streamed down ontowering hillside and battalions of flitting pines. The great trainswept on, clattering and clanking, and dust and fragments of ballastwhirled about the lonely man. Still, the rush of the cool night windwas exhilarating, and his mind was busy, though his thoughts were notaltogether pleasant. The few weeks he had spent in Ida Stirling'scompany had reawakened ambition in him; and that was why he had setout with Grenfell in search of the mine. Though he had not reproachedhis comrade, and had, indeed, only half believed in the quartz lead, the failure to find it had been a blow. There was in that country, ashe knew, no great prospect of advancement for a man without a dollar;and though he realized that it had not troubled him greatly until alittle while ago, he now shrank from the thought of remaining all hislife a wandering railroad or ranching hand. He had also a great desirefor Miss Stirling's good opinion, although he scarcely expected her tothink of him, except as one who had proved a capable guide. 

He knew that he could never quite forget the night they had made thehazardous descent together, and her courage and quiet composure understress and strain had had their effect on him. The imperious angerwith which she had turned on him when he forced her away from MissKinnaird had also stirred him curiously. He could still, when hechose, see her standing in the moonlight with a flash in her eyes, questioning his authority to prevent her from snaring her companion'speril. She was, he felt, one who would stand by her friends. He wasyoung, and the fact that she had seen him supporting the lurchingGrenfell at the station troubled him. 

He had smoked his pipe out twice when he heard the vestibule doorclick, and he started when he looked up, for Ida Stirling stood besidehim. Her light dress fluttered about her, and she stood with one handresting on the rail. There was no doubt that she recognized him, andwhen he rose and took off his shapeless hat she looked at him steadilyfor a moment or two. He wondered whether he were right in his surmisesas to why she did this; and, though his forehead grew a trifle hot, hedecided that he could not blame her. Appearances had certainly beenagainst him. 

"I am going to join Mrs. Kinnaird. She is in the car behind thesleeper, and that is farther along;" she said. 

Weston moved so that she might step across to the adjoining car; butshe did not seem to notice this, and leaned on the rail close besidehim. 

"The train is very hot with the lamps lighted, " she said. 

Weston understood this to mean that she was disposed to stay where shewas and talk to him awhile, which suggested that she was to someextent reassured about his condition. 

"Yes, " he returned, "it is. In fact, I felt it myself. The smell ofthe pines is a good deal pleasanter. "

There was nothing original in the observation, and, though the roar ofwheels made it a trifle difficult to hear, he was careful as to how hemodulated his voice. Perhaps he was superfluously careful, for he sawa smile creep into Ida's eyes. 

"You seem amused, " he said, and, for they stood in the moonlight, theblood showed in his face. 

"Why did you speak--like that?" his companion asked. 

Weston looked at her gravely, and then made a little deprecatorygesture. 

"It was very stupid, I dare say. Still, you see, you were out on theplatform when the train came into the station. "

There was something that puzzled him in Ida's expression. 

"Well, " she admitted, "I really had my fancies for a moment or two, though I blamed myself afterward. I should have known better. "

It was rather a big admission, but she said nothing else, and it wasWeston who broke the silence. 

"I have to thank you for the prospecting outfit, " he said. 

The girl flashed a quick glance at him. 

"It was partly Major Kinnaird's idea. You made use of it?"

Weston smiled. 

"Grenfell and I did. That explains the state of my attire. You see, wehave just come down from the bush. "

Then, somewhat to her astonishment, he took out his watch, and pointedto the guard. It was of plain plaited leather, and had, she fancied, probably cost about twenty-five cents. 

"I don't know whether this could be considered part of a prospectingoutfit, but they had a bunch of them in the store, " he said. "I felt Ishould like some trifle that I could wear to remember our trip in theranges. I thought you wouldn't mind. "

A momentary trace of embarrassment became visible in his companion'sface. The man was a bush packer, and she had seen him in somewhatdisreputable company, but she was ready to admit that he had arousedher curiosity. She could be honest, and she would have admitted it asreadily had she never heard from Arabella Kinnaird of his connectionwith the old hall in England. She looked at him, with a little laugh. 

"Oh, " she said, "everybody likes to be remembered, and I'm noexception in that respect. There is really no reason why you shouldn'thave bought the guard. "

Weston, who felt that he had gone quite far enough, merely bent hishead in a manner that, as she naturally noticed, the average bushpacker would not have adopted. It was she who first spoke again. 

"You were successful in your search?" she asked. 

Weston laughed. 

"Do I look like a man who has just found a goldmine?"

"Well, " said the girl, with a twinkle in her eyes, "I came across twosuccessful prospectors in Vancouver not long ago, and there was reallynothing to suggest it in their appearance. So you didn't find themine? Won't you tell me about your journey?"

"It's quite a story. Won't the others miss you?"

Ida turned toward him suddenly. 

"Don't you mean more than that?"

"Well, " admitted Weston slowly, "I think I did. Perhaps it was aliberty. "

"It was, " said Ida, and, though she laughed, there was a little flashin her eyes. "Major Kinnaird and his wife are English, and it is quitepossible that they would not be pleased to hear that I had come out totalk with you on the platform of a car. Still, in Canada we have ourown notions as to what is fitting, and that I consider it perfectlynatural that I should do so is quite sufficient for me. I do not deferto anybody's opinion as to how I should treat my friends. Now, unlessyou have any more convincing excuses, you may tell me about the searchfor the mine. "

Weston did so, and, for the mere pleasure of having her near him, hemade rather a long tale of it. She stood where the vestibule of thecar in front partly sheltered her from the rush of the cold nightwind, swaying lightly to the jolting of the platform as the greattrain sped on among the pines. Still, her light dress which gleamedwhite in the moonlight fluttered about her and now and then flowedagainst her companion. The simple tale of stress and effort borne andmade was one that went well with the snorting of the big locomotivestoiling up the climbing track and the rhythmic roar of wheels flungback by primeval forest or towering wall of rock. The girl hadimagination enough to realize it. 

"Oh, " she said, "one likes to hear of such things. "

Then she noticed the gauntness of his bronzed face and how lean hewas. 

"Still, " she added, "it has left its mark on you. You failed to findthe mine--it wasn't your fault--what are you going to do now?"

"Some day, " said Weston, "I shall go back and search again. "

He had made the resolution only that moment, but she saw the suddenglint in his eyes. 

"It was in the meanwhile I meant, " she said. 

"I am going a little way up the track with my partner to acopper-mine. "

"Ah, " said the girl reflectively, "I suppose you feel that you musttake that man?"

"What else could I do with him?"

Ida's eyes softened curiously. After the scene at the station shefancied that she understood the responsibility that he had taken uponhimself. 

"And suppose they don't want you at the mine?"

"In that case we should go on again somewhere else. "

"Of course your partner, who can earn nothing, will go with you. "

Then she spoke almost sharply. 

"How much money have you in your joint possession?"

"Three or four dollars, " said Weston. 

Again she turned toward him with a flush on her face. 

"Now, " she said, "I think you can disregard trivial conventionalities. Won't you let me lend you some?"

"No, " replied Weston quietly. "I shall not forget that you offered it, but I'm afraid it's quite out of the question. "

She knew that he meant it, and, though she greatly desired to lessenhis difficulties, she was, for no reason that was very apparent at themoment, pleased with his answer. Then she changed the subject. 

"Can your partner cook?" she asked. 

"No, " answered Weston, smiling, "he certainly can't. I and a good manymore of the boys know that from experience. "

"Ah, " said Ida reflectively, "that destroys another chance. Well, I amglad that I have seen you, but I think I must join Mrs. Kinnaird now. "

She held out the hand she had laid on the rail. It happened that asshe did it the train swung around a curve. The car slanted sharply, and she swayed with the effort to keep her balance. In another momentWeston's arm was around her waist. Then there was empty blacknessbeneath them as the cars sped out upon a slender trestle, and the roarof a torrent came up from below through the clash and clatter andclamor of the wheels. There was probably no risk at all, for therewere rails on either side of them, but the girl, who had almost losther footing, was glad of the man's steadying hand, and did not drawherself away until the big locomotives were speeding smoothly onbeneath the shadowy pines again. Then she drew back a pace or two. 

"Thank you, " she said quietly. 

Weston took off his battered hat, and, stepping across the platform, opened the door of the adjoining car. When she had passed through it, he sat down and took out his pipe, with a curious little thrillrunning through him and his nerves tingling. 

Ida, also, felt her face grow a trifle hot, and, though she was ascomposed as usual when she joined Mrs. Kinnaird, her thoughts werebusy for some time afterward. The man, she admitted, had done no morethan was warranted, but there was no disguising the fact that hissupporting grasp had had a disconcerting effect on her. Then shedismissed the thoughts of that, and remembered with compassion howlean and worn he looked. There was also something that stirred hersympathy in the idea of his saddling himself with the care of ahelpless comrade who had no real claim on him, though that was, shedecided, after all, the kind of thing one would expect from him. Then, recognizing that this was admitting a good deal, she endeavored tointerest herself in what Mrs. Kinnaird was saying. 

It was late at night when the train stopped again, and Weston did notknow that when he and his companions alighted at a little desolatestation among the ranges, the blind of one window in the big sleeperwas drawn aside. In a few moments the train went on, but Ida Stirlingdid not sleep for some time afterward. She had had a momentary glimpseof a ragged man standing with the lamplight on his lean face and ahand laid reassuringly on the shoulder of his half-dazed companion. 

CHAPTER XII

THE COPPER-MINE

The red sun had risen above the dusky firs on a shoulder of the rangewhen Weston and his companions reached the copper-mine. It consistedof an opening in the forest which clothed the hillside with the blackmouth of an adit in the midst of it, and a few big mounds of debris, beside which stood a rude log shanty. The men who had just come out ofthe latter gazed at the strangers with undemonstrative curiosity, andwhen, saying nothing, they, trooped away to work, the new arrivals satdown to wait until the mining captain should make his appearance. Inthe meanwhile one of them amused himself by throwing stones at asmaller log building with a galvanized roof which stood among thefirs. He looked at the others for applause when he succeeded inhitting it. 

"Let up, " said a comrade. "The boss lives in there. "

The man flung another stone, a larger one, which rang upon the ironroof. 

"Well, " he said, "I guess that ought to fetch him. "

It evidently did so, for the door of the shanty opened, and a manattired in shirt and trousers came out. He was a big, lean man, somewhat hard of face, and he favored the assembly with a glance ofquiet scrutiny, for he was, as it happened, acquainted with the habitsof the free companions. 

"Getting impatient, boys?" he asked, and his voice, which wascuriously steady, had in it a certain unmistakable ring. It suggestedthat he was one accustomed to command. "Well, what do you want?"

"A job, " said one of Weston's companions. 

The man looked at him with no great favor. 

"Quite sure it isn't money? You can't have one without the otherhere. "

Then Grenfell rose and waved his hand. 

"The explanation, I may observe, is unnecessary. In this country youdon't get money anywhere without first doing a good deal for it. Unfortunately, it sometimes happens that you don't get it then. "

"How long is it since you did anything worth counting?" asked thecaptain. 

One of Grenfell's companions pulled him down before he had a chance toreply. 

"Now you sit right down before you spoil things, " he said. "You can'tput up a bluff on that kind of man. You don't know enough. "

The miner glanced at them again, with a little grim smile. 

"Well, " he said, "you may stay there until I've started the boys inthe adit. Then I will come back and talk to you. "

He moved away, and one of those he left relieved his feelings byhurling another stone which crashed upon the iron roof of the shanty. 

"That's a hustler--a speeder-up, " he said. "You can't monkey withhim. "

They waited for about an hour before the man came back, and, sittingdown on a fir stump, called them up one by one. Weston was reassuredto see that each was despatched in turn to the log building where hepresumed the tools were kept; but he and Grenfell were left to thelast, and he was somewhat anxious when he walked toward the stump. Theman who sat there glanced at his attire. 

"Been up against it lately?" he inquired. 

Weston admitted that this was the case; and the other smiled dryly. 

"Can you chop and shovel?" he asked. 

Weston said that he could; and the miner appeared to consider. 

"Well, " he said, "I'll put you on at----, " mentioning terms whichWeston fancied were as favorable as he was likely to get. "Still, you'll have to hustle, and we charge usual tariff for board. You maystart in. "

Weston glanced toward Grenfell, who was still sitting where he hadleft him. 

"You see, " he said, "there's my partner. We go together. "

"I can't help that. You have my offer. I can't have that kind of manon our pay-roll. "

Weston stood silent for a moment or two. He had arrived at the woodenhotel too late for supper the previous evening, and, as a rule, neither blandishments nor money will secure the stranger a meal at anestablishment of that kind after the appointed hour. As the result, hehad eaten nothing since noon, when the sawmill hands had offered him ashare of their dinner; and, having assisted Grenfell along an infamoustrail most of the night, he was jaded and very hungry. Now work andfood were offered him, and there was not a settlement within severalleagues of the spot. He had, however, already decided that he couldnot cast his comrade adrift. 

"Well, " he said, "perhaps there's a way out of it. If you'll let himcamp with the boys, I'll be responsible for his board. "

"Any relation of yours?"

"No, " replied Weston simply, "he's just my partner. "

The other man looked at him curiously, and then made what Westonfancied was an unusual concession. 

"Well, " he said, "we'll fix it. You may go along and drill with theboys yonder in the open cut. "

Weston did as he was bidden, and spent the rest of the morningalternately holding the jarring drill and swinging a hammer. It wasstrenuous work which demanded close attention, for the hammer washeavy, and it is far from easy to hit a drill neatly on the head, while the man who fails to do so runs the risk of smashing the fingersof the comrade who holds it. It was not much more pleasant when hegripped the drill in turn, for, though the other man stood on a plankinserted in a crevice, Weston had to kneel on a slippery slope of rockand twist the drill each time the hammer descended. The concussionjarred his stiffened hands and arms. The distressful stitch also wascoming back into his side, and once or twice his companion cast anexpostulating glance at him. 

"You want to speed up, " he said. "Guess that boss of ours knows justhow much the most is that a man can drill, and he has to do it or getout. "

Though it cost him an effort, Weston contrived to keep his companiongoing until the dinner hour arrived, and he found the work a littleeasier when he had eaten. Still, he was perplexed about Grenfell, whodid not understand what arrangement he had arrived at with the minecaptain. Grenfell spent the afternoon mending his own and some ofWeston's clothes, which badly needed it, and the evening meal was overwhen the latter sat with the others outside the shanty wearing ajacket which his companion had sewed. Grenfell, however, was not withthem just then. By and by the man who had desired to wreck the hotelbar turned to Weston. 

"What are you going to do with your partner?" he asked. 

"I don't quite know, " said Weston. "In the meanwhile he'll stay here. "

"How's he going to raise his board?"

"That's not quite your business, " said Weston quietly. 

The man laughed good-humoredly. 

"Well, " he replied, "in one way I guess it isn't. Still, if you payyour partner's board you're going to have mighty little money left. Mended that jacket, didn't he? Won't you take it off?"

Weston wondered a little at this request, but he complied; and the manpassed the garment around to' the others, who gravely inspected thesewed-up rents and the patches inserted in it. 

"Quite neat, isn't it?" he commented. 

They admitted that it was; and the chopper, handing the garment backto Weston, smiled as though satisfied. 

"I've an idea, boys, " he announced. 

His companions appeared dubious, but he nodded quietly. 

"I've got one sure, " he said. "Now, in a general way, if there's astore handy, I've no use for mending clothes; but you have to washthem now and then, and it never struck me as quite comfortable to putthem on with half the stitching rubbed out of them. Well, washing's athing I'm not fond of either, and it's kind of curious that when oneman starts in at it everybody wants the coal-oil can. "

They murmured languid concurrence, for, as he said, clothes must bewashed and mended now and then, and the man who has just finished along day's arduous toil seldom feels any great inclination for thetask. It usually happens, however, that when one sets about it hiscompanions do the same, and there is sometimes trouble as to who hasthe prior claim on the big kerosene can in which the garments aregenerally boiled. 

"Well, " said the chopper, "I've a proposition to make. There are quitea few of us, and a levy of thirty or forty cents a week's not going tohurt anybody while there's a man round here who can't chop or shovel. Guess he has to live, and it's a blame hard country, boys, to thatkind of man. Now, it's my notion we make the fellow mender and washerto the camp. "

There was a murmur of applause, for, when they own any money, which, however, is not frequently the case, the free companions are usuallyopen-handed men, and Weston was not astonished at their readiness todo what they could for his companion. He had been in that land longenough to learn that it is the hard-handed drillers and axmen fromwhom the wanderer and even the outcast beyond the pale is most likelyto receive a kindness. Their wide generosity is exceeded only by thelight-hearted valor with which they plunge into some tremendousstruggle with flood and rock and snow. 

"Make it half a dollar anyway, " said one of them. 

Then Weston stood up, with a little flush on his face and a curiouslook in his eyes. 

"Thank you, boys, but I have to move an objection, " he said. "This isa thing that concerns me. "

"Sit down, " commanded one of them sharply. "It's a cold businessproposition. "

They silenced his objections, and sent for Grenfell, who appeareddisconcerted for a moment when he heard what they had to say. Then helaughed somewhat harshly. 

"Well, " he said, "I'll be glad to do it, and I don't mind admittingthat the offer is a relief to me. "

They strolled away by and by, and Grenfell made a little grimace as helooked at Weston. 

"When I can tell how the ore should pan out by a glance at the dump, and plot just how the vein should run, it's disconcerting to find thatthe only way I can earn a living is by washing and mending, " he said. "In fact, " and he spread out his hands, "the thing's humiliating. "

To a certain extent Weston sympathized with him. The man, it seemed, had been a famous assayer, and now the one capability which was of anyuse to him was that of neatly mending holes in worn-out garments. Heundertook the task cheerfully, however, and things went smoothly for aweek or two. Then a stranger, who appeared to be a man of authority, arrived at the camp. He was a young man, who looked opinionative, andwhen he first appeared was dressed in city clothes. Soon after hisarrival he strolled around the workings with the man whom Westonhitherto had regarded as the manager. When he spoke sharply to one ortwo of the men, the driller who worked with Weston snortedexpressively. 

"Colvin puts the work through, but that's the top boss, " he said. "Youcan see it all over him. Learned all about mining back east in thecities, and couldn't sink a hole for a stick of giant-powder to savehis life. Been down at Vancouver fixing up with the directors whatthey're going to tell the stockholders. Still, I guess he's not goingto run this company's stock up very much. "

"How's that?" Weston asked. 

The man lowered his voice confidentially. 

"Well, " he said, "there's a good deal in mining that you can't learnfrom books, and a little you can't learn at all. It has to be givenyou when you're born. Colvin's a hustler, but that's 'bout all he is, and I've a kind of notion they aren't going to bottom on the richestof this vein. Anyway, it's not my call. They wouldn't listen to me. "

Weston's gesture might have expressed anything. He naturally had beenfavored with hints of this kind while he followed other somewhatsimilar occupations, for it is not an uncommon thing for the men whotoil with the drill and shovel to feel more or less convinced thatthose set over them are not going about the work in the right way. Hehad also more than once seen this belief proved warranted. Hiscompanion's suggestions, however, were borne out when he sat smokingwith Grenfell in the bush after supper. 

"I've been in the adit this afternoon, " observed the latter. "Colvinsent me along to where they are putting in the heavy timbering. " Helaughed softly. "Well, they're throwing away most of their money. "

"You're sure?" inquired Weston. 

"Am I sure!" expostulated his comrade. "I need only point out that Iought to be. "

"Then, " said Weston, reflectively, "unless they ask your opinion, which isn't very probable, I'd say nothing about it. Some people don'ttake kindly to being told they're wrong. The thing doesn't affect you, anyway. "

He was a little astonished at the change in his companion, for asparkle crept into Grenfell's watery eyes, and his voice grew sharper. 

"You haven't the miner's or the engineer's instinct; it's the same asthe artist's, " he said. "He can see the unapproachable, beautifulsimplicity of perfection, and bad work hurts him. I don't know thatit's a crime to throw away money, but it is to waste intelligence andeffort that could accomplish a good deal properly directed. Why wasman given the power to understand the structure of this materialworld? I may be a worn-out whisky wreck, but I could tell them how tostrike the copper. "

"Still, " said Weston, dryly, "I'd very much rather you didn't. I don'tthink that it would be wise. "

His companion left him shortly afterward, and it was some days laterwhen the subject was reopened. Then Grenfell came to him with a ruefulface. 

"I've had an interview with the manager, " he explained. 

"Well, " said Weston, sharply, "what did he say?"

Grenfell shrugged his shoulder. 

"Told me to get out of camp right away. "

Just then Colvin approached them, and his manner was for once slightlydeprecatory. 

"It doesn't pay to know more than the boss, " he said; and then helooked at Weston. "He has to get out. What are you going to do?"

He had Weston's answer immediately. 

"Ask you for my time. "

"Well, " said Colvin, with a gesture of expostulation, "I guess youknow your own business. Still, I'm quite willing to keep you. "

Weston thanked him, and then went with him to his shanty where he washanded a few bills, and in another hour he and Grenfell had once morestrapped their packs upon their shoulders. He did not know where hewas going, or what he would do, but he struck into the trail to therailroad, and it was dusk when they reached a little woodensettlement. He went into the post-office to make a few inquiriesbefore he decided whether he should stay there that night, and thewoman who kept it, recognizing him as a man from the mine, handed hima letter. When he opened it he saw, somewhat to his astonishment, thatit was from Stirling. It was very terse, but it informed him that MissStirling and her friends purposed camping among the islands of one ofthe eastern lakes, which was then a rather favorite means ofrelaxation with the inhabitants of Toronto and Montreal. Stirlingdesired him to accompany the party, on terms which appeared verysatisfactory, and added that if he were acquainted with another manlikely to make an efficient camp attendant he could bring him along. 

Weston started a little when he reached the last suggestion, for hefancied that it was Miss Stirling who had made it. He leaned on thecounter for several minutes, thinking hard; and then, though he wasnot sure that he acted wisely, he started for the station to despatcha telegram, as Stirling had directed. The next morning the agenthanded him tickets for himself and Grenfell, and they set out on theAtlantic train. 

CHAPTER XIII

STIRLING LETS THINGS SLIDE

It was early evening when Weston swung himself down from the platformof the Colonist car in a little roadside station shut in by the pinebush of Ontario. There was a wooden hotel beside the track, and one ortwo stores; but that was all, and the fact that nobody except thestation-agent had appeared to watch the train come in testified to theindustry, or, more probably, the loneliness of the district. WhileWeston stood looking about him a man came out of the office, and hewas somewhat astonished to find himself face to face with hisemployer. 

The smart straw hat and light summer suit did not become thecontractor. He was full-fleshed and red of face, and the artisticallycut garments striped in soft colors conveyed a suggestion of ease andleisure which seemed very much out of place on him. One could notimagine this man lounging on a sunlit beach, or discoursing airily ona cool veranda. 

"Got here, " he said abruptly, and then swung around and looked atGrenfell. "This is the other man? Well, he can stay and bring alongthe baggage. There's most a freight-car full. They'll give him a wagonand team at the hotel. "

He indicated a great pile of trunks and cases with a wave of his hand, and, seeing Weston's astonishment, added with a twinkle in his eyes:

"My daughter and her friends are camping. They have to have thesethings. "

Weston understood his employer's smile. This, he recognized, was a manwho could be content with essential things, and in all probability hadat one time esteemed himself fortunate when he succeeded in obtainingthem. 

"Hadn't I better help him load them up?" he asked. 

"No, " said Stirling, with a curtness at which Weston could not takeoffense. "He can put in the evening that way if it's necessary. Itwill supple him, and I guess he needs it. I have a rig ready. You'recoming along with me. "

Weston took his place in the light, four-wheeled vehicle, and found itdifficult to keep it, for the trail was villainous, and Stirling droverapidly. Their way led between shadowy colonnades of towering firs, and the fragile, two-seated frame bounced and lurched into and out ofdeep ruts, and over the split trees that had been laid flat-sidedownward in the quaggy places--like a field gun going into action wasthe best comparison Weston could think of. The horses, however, kepttheir feet, and the wheels held fast. Once, when a jolt nearly pitchedhim from his seat, Stirling laughed. 

"After the city it's a relief to let them out, " he said. "I did thiskind of thing for a living once. The mine was way back in the bush, leagues from anywhere, and I hired out as special store and despatchcarrier. There was red-hot trouble unless I got through on time whenthe mail came in. "

He drove the team furiously at an unguarded log bridge which wasbarely wide enough to let the wheels pass. 

"It's quite a way to the lake yet, and we want to make the camp beforeit's dark, " he explained. "Know anything about sailing a boat?"

Weston said that he did, and Stirling nodded. 

"That's good, " he observed somewhat dryly, "so does the major man. "

Weston ventured to smile at this, and once more his employer's eyestwinkled. 

"Some of you people from the old country are quite hard to amuse;though I'm open to admit that we have a few of the same kind on thisside, " he said. "My daughter seemed to fancy they wouldn't find a lakecamp quite right without a boat, so I sent along and bought one atToronto. Had her put on a flat car, and hired half the teams in thedistrict to haul her to the lake. Now, I guess there are men in thiscountry who, if they wanted a boat, would just take an ax and whipsawand build one out of the woods. "

Weston laughed. He was commencing to understand the man better, for hehad met other men of Stirling's description in Canada. As a matter offact, they are rather common in the Dominion, men who have had verylittle bestowed on them beyond the inestimable faculty of getting whatthey want at the cost of grim self-denial and tireless labor. Still, as it was in Stirling's case, some of them retain a whimsicaltoleration for those of weaker fiber. 

"It's a bush camp?" Weston asked. 

Stirling smiled good-humoredly. 

"They call it that, " he said. "It cost me quite a few dollars. You'llsee when you get there. "

Weston was somewhat relieved when they safely accomplished the firststage of the journey, and, turning the team over to a man by thewaterside, paddled off to a big, half-decked boat beautifully builtand fitted in Toronto. Stirling, who admitted that he knew nothingabout such matters, sat down aft and lighted a cigar, while Westonproceeded to get the tall gall mainsail and big single headsail up. Hewas conscious that his companion was watching him closely, and when helet go the moorings and seated himself at the tiller the latterpointed up the lake. 

"About a league yet--round that long point, " he said. 

A moderately fresh breeze came down across the pines, and when Weston, getting in the sheet, headed her close up to it, the boat, slantingsharply, leaped forward through the smooth water. He sat a littlefarther to windward, and the slant of deck decreased slightly whenStirling did the same. 

"You can't head there straight?" the latter asked. 

"No, " said Weston, "not with the wind as it is. She'll lie no higher. "

"Well, " observed Stirling, "she's going, anyway. That pleases me. Ithelps one to get rid of the city. We'll have a talk, in the meanwhile. I sent for you before. Why didn't you come?"

It was somewhat difficult to answer, and Weston wrinkled his forehead, stiffening his grasp on the tiller. 

"I was fortunate enough to be of some little service to MissStirling's friends on the range, and I fancied that because of it youmeant to offer me promotion of some kind, " he said. 

"Well?" queried Stirling, with his eyes fixed on his companion's face. 

Weston hesitated. He could not very well tell this man that a vein ofprobably misguided pride rendered him unwilling to accept a favor fromIda Stirling's father. 

"I don't think there was any obligation, sir, " he said. 

"That, " remarked Stirling dryly, "is a kind of feeling that may tripyou up some day. Still, you came this time. "

"I did, " said Weston. "You see, the case was rather different. Youoffered to hire me to do a thing I'm accustomed to. It's myoccupation. "

His companion made a little sign of comprehension, though there was afaintly whimsical smile in his eyes. 

"Now, you're wondering why I brought you back east all this way?"

Weston admitted it, and the contractor fixed his eyes on him. 

"Well, " he said, "it seems that there's fishing and sailing to bedone, and I'm not quite sure about that major man. Guess he's alwayshad people to wait on him, and that doesn't tend to smartness in anyone. When my daughter and her friends go out on the lake, or up theriver, you'll go along with them. "

This was, perhaps, a little hard on Major Kinnaird, but Weston to someextent sympathized with his employer's point of view. The contractorwas not a sportsman as the term is generally understood, but he was aman who could strip a gun, make or mend harness, or break a horse. When he had gone shooting in his younger days it was usually to getsomething to eat, and, as a rule, he obtained it, though he rent hisclothes or got wet to the waist in the process. He could not sail aboat, but if he had been able to do so he would also in allprobability have been capable of building one. Stirling was a man whohad never depended very much on others, and could, if occasion arose, dispense with their services. He recognized something of the sameresourcefulness in Weston, and, because of it, took kindly to him. 

In the meanwhile the breeze had freshened, and the boat, slanting moresharply, commenced to throw the spray all over her as she left theshelter of the woods behind. She met the short, splashing head seawith streaming bow, and the sliding froth crept farther and farther upher lee deck as she smashed through it. Then as the water found itsway over the coaming and poured down into her, Stirling glanced at hiscompanion. 

"Got all the sail she wants?" he asked. "Is she fit to stand much moreof it?"

"She should be safe with another plank in, but I was thinking oftaking some of the canvas off her now, " said Weston. 

Stirling hitched his twelve stone of flesh farther up to windward. 

"Then, " he said, "until she puts that plank in you can let her go. "

A wisp of spray struck him in the face, but Weston, who saw the smilein his eyes, was curiously satisfied. It suggested, in the firstplace, an ample confidence in him, which was naturally gratifying, andin the second, that Stirling in spite of his years could take a keenpleasure in that particular form of the conflict between the greatmaterial forces and man's nerve and skill. It is a conflict that goeson everywhere in the newer lands. 

For another half-hour Weston kept the staggering over-canvased crafton her feet by a quick thrust of the tiller or a slackening of thesheet, and his companion appeared oblivious of the fact that he wasgetting wetter and wetter. She was fast, and she went through thelittle curling ridges with an exhilarating rush, while the foamswirled higher up her depressed deck, and the water flung up by herstreaming bows beat in between her shrouds in showers. Then, when halfthe deck dipped under, Weston thrust down his helm, and the craft, rising upright, lay with her big mainsail thrashing furiously aboveher. 

For ten minutes Weston was very busy with it, and, when he had hoistedit again with a strip along the foot of it rolled up, he crouchedforward in the spray struggling with the big single headsail, whichwas a much more difficult matter. Once or twice he went in bodily whenthe hove-down bowsprit put which he crawled, dipped under, but hesucceeded in tying up the foot of that sail too, and scrambled aftagain breathless and gasping. He noticed that his employer, who didnot seem to mind it, was almost as wet as he was. 

"I'm sorry, but you told me I could let her go, " he apologized. 

Stirling smiled somewhat dryly. 

"I'm not blaming you; but you don't quite finish. Wondering why I didit, aren't you?"

Weston did not admit it, but perhaps his face betrayed him, for hiscompanion nodded. 

"Well, " he said, "you told me that you could sail a boat, and I wantedto make sure of it. Seems to me anybody could hold the tiller whenshe's going easy in smooth water. Know how I used to choose when Iwanted a chopper, in the days when I worked along with the boys? Well, I gave the man an ax, set him up in front of the biggest tree I couldfind, and made him chop. "

There could be no doubt about the efficiency of that simple test, andWeston recognized that it was very much in keeping with his employer'scharacter, though he fancied that it was one which, if rigorouslyapplied everywhere, would leave a good many men without an occupation. He only laughed, however; and nothing more was said until the boatreached in shoreward on another tack. It carried her round the longpoint, and a deep, sheltered bay with dark pine forest creeping closedown to the strip of white shingle which fringed the water's edgeopened up. Then, as the trees slid past one another, a little clearingin the midst of them grew rapidly wider, and Weston was somewhatastonished to see a very pretty wooden house grow into shape. Heglanced at Stirling. 

"Yes, " said the latter, with a suggestion of grim amusement, "that'sthe camp. "

Once more Weston understood him, and, as their eyes met, man andmaster smiled. Both of them knew there were hosts of strenuous, hard-handed men growing wheat and raising cattle in that country whowould have looked on that camp as a veritable mansion. They were, however, men who had virgin soil to break or stupendous forests tograpple with, tasks of which many would reap the benefit, and theyvery seldom troubled much about their personal comfort. 

After a while, Weston, lowering the headsail, dropped the anchor overclose to the beach, and Major Kinnaird paddled a canoe off gingerly. He was, as usual, immaculately neat, and Weston noticed the contrastbetween him and Stirling, whose garments had apparently grown smallerwith the wetting. The latter pitched his valise into the canoe withoutwaiting for Weston to see to it, and then stood up endeavoring tosqueeze some of the water from his jacket. 

"It's the only one I've got, " he said to Kinnaird. "Anyway, I guessthe thing will dry, and I've had a sail that has made me feel youngagain. "

Then they went ashore, and Weston, who was very wet, was leftshivering in the wind to straighten up the gear, until a bush rancher, who had been engaged to wait on the party until he arrived, paddledoff for him. The rancher had prepared a satisfactory supper; and sometime after it was over, Stirling and Mrs. Kinnaird sat together on theveranda. There was, at the time, nobody in the house. The breeze hadfallen lighter, though a long ripple still lapped noisily upon thebeach, and a half-moon had just sailed up above the clustering pines. Their ragged tops rose against the sky black as ebony, but the paleradiance they cut off from the beach stretched in a track of faintsilvery brightness far athwart the lake. 

Mrs. Kinnaird, however, was not watching the ripple flash beneath themoon, for her eyes were fixed on two dusky figures that moved throughthe shadow toward the water's edge. By and by there was a rattle ofshingle, and presently the black shape of a canoe slid down into themoonlight. It rose and dipped with the languid ripple, and the twofigures in it were silhouetted against the silvery gleam. One was aman in a wide hat who knelt and dipped the flashing paddle astern, andthe other a girl. The craft crossed the strip of radiance and vanishedround the point, after which Mrs. Kinnaird flashed a keen glance ather companion. He sat still, and his face, on which the moonlightfell, was almost expressionless, but Mrs. Kinnaird fancied he hadnoticed as much as she had, and that he had possibly grasped itssignificance. In case he had not done the latter, she felt it her dutyto make the matter clear to him. 

"I suppose that is Ida in the canoe, " she said. 

"It seems quite likely, " replied her companion. "It couldn't have beenyour daughter, because she went along the beach not long ago with themajor, and I don't think there's another young lady in the vicinity. "

"Then the other must be--the packer. "

The pause and the slight change of inflection as she said "the packer"had not quite the effect she had intended. Stirling himself had oncelabored with his hands, and, what was more, afterward had a good dealto bear on that account. He was not particularly vindictive, but heremembered it. 

"Yes, it's Weston, " he said, and his companion felt herself corrected;but she was, at least where Major Kinnaird was not concerned, in herquiet way a persistent woman. Besides, Miss Stirling, who was goingwith her to England, would some day come into considerablepossessions, and she had a son who found it singularly difficult tolive on the allowance his father made him. 

"Is it altogether advisable that she should go out with him?" sheasked. 

Stirling smiled somewhat dryly, for there was a vein of combativenessin him, and she had stirred it. 

"You mean, is it safe? Well, I guess she's quite as safe as she wouldbe with me or the major. "

"Major Kinnaird was a flag officer of a rather famous yacht club, "said the lady, who, while she fancied that her companion meant toavoid the issue, could not let this pass. She was, however, mistakenin one respect, for Stirling usually was much more ready to plungeinto a controversy than to back out of it. 

"Well, " he said reflectively, "the other man has earned his livinghandling sail and people, which is quite a different thing. "

Then he leaned toward her, with a twinkle in his eyes. 

"Madam, " he added, "wouldn't you better tell me exactly what youmeant?"

Mrs. Kinnaird had a certain courage, and she was endeavoring to do herduty as she understood it. 

"That packer, " she said, "is rather a good-looking man, and girls ofIda's age are sometimes a trifle--impressionable. "

Then, somewhat to her astonishment, Stirling quietly agreed with her. 

"Yes, " he said, "that's so. Seems to me it was intended that theyshould be. It's part of the scheme. "

He made a little gesture. 

"We'll let that point slide. Anything strike you as being wrong withWeston?"

"No, " said the somewhat startled lady, "the man is of course reliable, well-conducted, and attentive; but, after all, when one says that----"

"When you said reliable you hit it. It's a word that means a gooddeal; but couldn't you say a little more than well-conducted? Fromsomething your daughter learned by chance, his relatives are people ofposition in the old country. That counts for a little, though perhapsit shouldn't. "

Once more Mrs. Kinnaird's astonishment was very evident. 

"It shouldn't?"

"That's just what I meant. If a man is clean of character, and hasgrit and snap in him, I don't know that one could reasonably look foranything further. I can't see how the fact that his grandfather wasthis or that is going to affect him. The man we're talking of hasgrit. I offered him promotion, and he wouldn't take it. "

"Ah, " said his companion, "didn't that strike you as significant?"

Stirling looked thoughtful. 

"Well, " he admitted slowly, "as a matter of fact, it didn't; but itdoes now. "

He sat silent for almost a minute, with wrinkled forehead, while Mrs. Kinnaird watched him covertly. Then, feeling the silence embarrassing, she made another effort. 

"Supposing that my fancies concerning what might perhaps come aboutare justified?" she suggested. 

Stirling faced the question. 

"Well, " he said, "whether they're justified or not is a thing we don'tknow yet; but I want to say this. I have never had reason to worryover my daughter, and it seems to me a sure thing that she's not goingto give me cause for it now. When she chooses her husband, she'llchoose the right one, and she'll have her father's money; it won'tmatter very much whether he's rich or not. All I ask is that he shouldbe straight and clean of mind, and nervy, and I guess Ida will see tothat. When she tells me that she is satisfied, I'll just try to makethe most of him. "

He broke off for a moment, and laughed softly. 

"I guess it wouldn't matter if I didn't. My girl's like her mother, and she's like--me. When she comes across the right man she'll holdfast by him with everything against her, if it's necessary, as hermother did with me. "

He rose and leaned against a pillar, with a curious look in his face. 

"The struggle that her mother and I made has left its mark on me. Thefriends we left in the rut behind us looked for my failure, and itseemed then that all the men with money had leagued themselvestogether to stop me from going on. Somehow I beat them, one byone--big engineers, financiers, financiers' syndicates, corporations--working late and working early, sinking every dollarmade in another venture, and living any way. There were no amenitiesin that fight until those we had against us found that it was wiser tokeep clear of me. "

Then, with a little forceful gesture, he took off his hat. 

"What I am, in part, at least, my girl's mother made me. She's asleepat last, and because of what she bore it's up to me to make thingssmoother for her daughter. Madam, " he added, turning to his companionwith a smile, "I have to thank you for doing what you must havefigured was your duty; but in the meanwhile we'll--let things slide. "

He turned away and left her before she could answer, astonished but alittle touched by what she had heard. Still, the gentler impressionvanished, and when she informed Major Kinnaird of what had been saidshe was once more somewhat angry with Stirling. 

"It is really useless to reason with him, " she said. "The man haswholly preposterous views. "

CHAPTER XIV

IDA ASSERTS HER AUTHORITY

It was a hot afternoon, and Ida, who was tired of fishing, satcarefully in the middle of a fragile birch canoe. Her rod layunjointed beside her, and two or three big trout gleamed in the bottomof the craft, while Weston, who knelt astern, leisurely dipped thesingle-bladed paddle. Dusky pines hung over the river, wrapping it ingrateful shadow, through which the water swirled crystal clear, andthe canoe moved slowly down-stream across the slack of an eddy. Farther out, the stream frothed furiously among great boulders andthen leaped in a wild white rush down a rapid, though here and there anarrow strip of green water appeared in the midst of the latter. Thedeep roar it made broke soothingly through the drowsy heat, and Idalistened languidly while she watched the pines slide past. 

"I wonder what has become of the major, " she said at length, with alittle laugh. "It is too hot for fine casting, and he probably has hadenough of it. After all, it really doesn't matter that the fish won'trise. "

She saw Weston's smile, which made it evident that he was equallycontent to drift quietly through the cool shadow with the sound offrothing water in his ears. Then she wondered whether that was hisonly cause for satisfaction, and recognized that, if this were not thecase, she had given him a lead. He did not, however, seem very eagerto make the most of it. 

"We might get another fish in the broken water, " he suggested. "Wouldyou like to try?"

"No, " said Ida, "I wouldn't. "

She was a trifle displeased with him. The man, she felt, might atleast have ventured to agree with her, and there was, after all, noreason why he should insist on reminding her, in one way or another, that he was merely her canoe attendant, when she was willing tooverlook that fact. She had once or twice, when it was evident that hedid not know that she was watching him, seen something creep into hiseyes when he glanced in her direction. He was, however, for the mostpart, almost unduly cautious in his conversation, and she now and thenwondered whether his reticence cost him anything. 

"It's a pity it isn't always summer afternoon, " she said. 

Weston looked at her rather curiously, though for the next few momentshis lips remained set. There was a good deal he could have said inthat connection, but he suppressed it, as he had done more than oncealready when similarly tempted. He felt that if he once allowed hissentiments audible expression they might run away with him. 

"Oh, yes, " he said, "I suppose it is. "

Ida wondered whether he was quite insensible to temptation, orabsurdly diffident, for she had now given him two openings, and he hadanswered with only the tritest of remarks. She knew he was not stupid, but there were times when, for no apparent reason, he seemed suddenlyto retire into his shell. She did not know that on these occasions hehad laid a somewhat stern restraint upon himself. 

"This land is not quite as grand as British Columbia, but I think Ialmost like it better, " she said. "Still, we spent a very pleasanttime in the ranges. "

"Those ranges could hardly be beaten, " said Weston. 

He paddled a little more strenuously after this, and Ida abandoned theattempt to extract any expression of opinion from him. She had madesufficient advances, and she would go no further. 

"Well, " she said, "I don't care to fish any longer. Can't we shootthat rapid?"

Weston's answer was given without hesitation. It requires nerve andjudgment to shoot a frothing rapid. Just then, however, the taskpromised to be a relief to him. His companion was very alluring, andvery gracious now and then, and that afternoon he found it remarkablydifficult to remember that she was the daughter of his employer, andthat there were a good many barriers between her and himself. 

"Yes, " he said, "I think it would be safe enough if you'll sit quitestill. "

Three or four strokes of the paddle drove the canoe out into thestream, and after that, all he had to do was to hold her straight. This was, however, not particularly easy, for the mad rush of waterdeflected by the boulders swung her here and there, and the channelwas studded with foam-lapped masses of stone. Gazing forward, intentand strung-up, he checked her now and then with a featheringbackstroke of the paddle, while the boulders flashed up toward her outof the spray, and the pines ashore reeled by. The foam stood highabout the hollowed, upswept bow, and at times boiled a handbreadthabove the depressed waist, but, while the canoe swept on like atoboggan, none came in. There was more than a spice of risk in it, andIda, who knew what the result would be if her companion's nervemomentarily deserted him, now and then glanced over her shoulder. Whenshe did so, he smiled reassuringly, leaning forward with wet handsclenched hard on the flashing paddle. She felt that he was to berelied on. 

Then she abandoned herself to the exhilaration of the furious descent, watching boulder and eddy stream by, while the spray that whirledabout her brought the crimson to her face. At length the pace grew alittle slacker, and Weston drove the canoe into an eddy where a shortrapid divided them from the smooth green strip of water that pouredover what could almost be called a fall. Then she turned toward himwith glowing face. 

"That was splendid!" she exclaimed. "Can't we go right on down thefall?"

Weston ran the canoe in upon the shingle before he answered her. 

"No, " he said, though it cost him an effort not to do as she wished, "I'm sorry I can't take you down. "

Ida glanced at the slide of silky green water that leaped out over ashelf of rock and fell through a haze of spray into a whirling pool. It did not look altogether attractive, and now that she could see itmore clearly she rather shrank from it; but she was accustomed tohaving exactly what she wished, and her companion had not shownhimself quite as ready to meet her views that day as she would haveliked. An impulse that she did not altogether understand impelled herto persist. 

"The Indians go down now and then, " she said. 

"Yes, " admitted Weston, "I believe they do. "

"Then why can't you?"

Weston appeared a trifle embarrassed. 

"It wouldn't be quite safe. "

"You mean to you?"

The man's face flushed a little. He had done a good deal of riverwork, and none of his companions had accused him of lack of nerve, but, though he had an excellent reason for knowing that the thing waspossible, he had no intention of shooting the fall. 

"Well, " he said, "if you like to look at it in that way. "

Ida rose and stepped ashore without taking his proffered hand. Thenshe leaned on a boulder while Weston sat still in the canoe, and for amoment or two they looked at each other. The situation was a somewhatnovel one to the girl, for, in spite of the fact that she desired it, the packer evidently did not mean to go. This alone was sufficient tovex her, but there was another cause, which she subconsciouslyrecognized, that made her resentment deeper. It was that thisparticular man should prove so unwilling to do her bidding. 

"It is quite a long way to the lake, and the trail is very rough, " shesaid. 

"It is, " admitted Weston, who was glad to find a point on which hecould agree with her. "In fact it's a particularly wretched trail. Still, you have managed it several times, and we have generally leftthe canoe here. "

"This time, " said Ida, "we will take it down to the lake. I may wantit to-morrow. You will have a difficult portage unless you go down thefall. "

Weston recognized that this was correct enough, for the river was shutin by low crags for the next half-mile at least, and he remembered thetrouble he had had dragging the canoe when he brought it up. He hadalso had Grenfell with him then. 

"Well, " he said, "if you would rather not walk back, it must bemanaged. "

"I told you I wanted the canoe on the lake tomorrow, " said the girl. 

Weston was quite aware that there was another canoe which would serveany reasonable purpose already on the beach, but he merely made alittle sign of comprehension and waited for her to go. Somewhat to hisannoyance, however, she stood still, and he proceeded to drag out thecanoe. The craft was not particularly heavy, but it was long, and hehad trouble when he endeavored to get it upon his back. He had morethan once carried the Siwash river-canoes over a portage in thisfashion, but there is a trick in it, and the birch craft was largerand of a different shape. He felt that he could have managed it hadthere been nobody to watch him, but to do it while the girl noticedevery movement with a kind of sardonic amusement was quite a differentmatter. He was very hot when, after a struggle of several minutes, hegot the craft upon his shoulders; and then, after staggering a fewpaces, he rammed the bow of it into a tree. The shock was too much forhim, and he went down head-foremost, with the canoe upon him, and itfelt quite heavy enough then. As the man who attempts the feat has hishands spread out above him, that fall is, as a rule, a very awkwardone. It was a moment or two before he crawled out from under thecraft, gasping, red in face, and somewhat out of temper, and he wasnot consoled by his companion's laugh. 

"I am sorry you fell down, but you looked absurdly like a tortoise, "she observed. 

Weston glanced at the canoe disgustedly. 

"Miss Stirling, " he said, "I can't carry this thing while you standthere watching me. Do you mind walking on into the bush?"

Ida was not in a very complaisant mood, and she glanced at him coldly. 

"If my presence annoys you, I can, of course, go on, " she said. 

She felt that it was a little paltry when she walked on into the bush, but her action had been dictated at least as much by curiosity as bypetulance. She fancied that she had set the man a task that was almostbeyond his strength, and, knowing that she could release him from itat any time, she was anxious to see what he would do. She walked onsome distance, and then sat down to wait until he came up with her, and when half an hour had slipped by and he failed to appear, shestrolled toward the edge of the wall of rock. 

The river swept furiously down a long declivity just there, and thestrip of deeper water flown which one could run a canoe was on theopposite shore. It would, she fancied, be almost impossible to reachit from the foot of the rock on which she stood. Then, to herastonishment, she saw Weston letting the canoe drive down before himclose beneath the rock. There was a short rope made fast to it, and healternately floundered almost waist-deep through the pools behind thecraft and dragged it over some thinly-covered ledge. He was very wet, and looked savage, for his face was set, while by the way he moved shefancied for the first time that he had hurt himself in his fall. Shecould not understand how he had got the canoe down to the river; andfor that matter Weston, who had attempted it in a fit of anger, wasnever very sure. Then she became conscious of a certain compunction. The thing, she felt, had gone quite far enough, and when he drew levelwith her she called to him. 

"You needn't take any more trouble. I can go on by the trail, afterall, " she said. 

Weston looked up. 

"There's no reason why you should do that, " he replied. "I can't leavethe canoe here, anyway, and I can take you in a little lower down. "

He went on without waiting for an answer, and though the trail wasvery rough she had no difficulty in keeping abreast of him along thebank. Indeed, she felt that when he reached the spot where she couldjoin him, he would have gone quite far enough, in view of the progresshe was making. Once or twice he floundered furiously as the streamswept his feet from under him, and there were times when it seemed torequire all his strength to prevent the canoe from being rolled overin the white rush of water that poured across some slippery ledge; buthe slowly plodded on, and, though she did not know why, she was gladthat he did so. It was, she was conscious, not altogether because hewas executing her command. 

At length she joined him where the river flowed deep and smoothbeneath the pines again; and, when she had taken her place and hedipped the paddle, she turned to him. 

"How did you get the canoe down to the water? The rock is very steep. "

"I'm not quite sure, " answered Weston. "I think I let it slide. Anyway, I shoved it over the edge. It went down too quickly for me toremember exactly what it did. I'm afraid there are a few rather bigscratches on it. "

"But how did you get down?"

The man smiled dryly. 

"I believe I slid with it. "

It occurred to Ida, who was commencing to feel a little ashamed ofhaving exerted her authority in such a manner, that she could affordto be generous. 

"I'm sorry I put you to so much trouble, " she said. "But why didn'tyou tell me it would be difficult?"

Weston ceased paddling a moment, and looked at her steadily. 

"It's my place to do what I'm told. Besides, you said that you didn'twant to go back by the trail. "

A slight flush crept into Ida's face. 

"Wouldn't it have been better if you had done as I wanted, and shotthe fall?"

"No, " said Weston resolutely, "it wouldn't have been safe. "

There was silence for a minute or two, and then Ida spoke again. 

"I must admit that I knew the portage would be a little difficult whenyou were by yourself, but I didn't think it would give you quite asmuch trouble as it has, " she said. "Still, I think you should havetold me. After all"--and she seemed to have some difficulty in findingthe right words--"we have never asked you to do anythingunreasonable. "

Weston understood that what she meant was that she, at least, had nottreated him as a mere camp-packer, and, as she was quick to notice, the blood crept into his face. Her manner, which was not conciliatory, had, also, an unsteadying effect on him. 

"Well, " he said, with a little laugh, "there are naturally two orthree of my duties which I don't find particularly agreeable, butthat's a very common thing, and you wouldn't expect me to point itout. They're all in the bargain--and the others make up for them. "

She noticed his swift change of expression, and did not urge him toexplain what he meant. 

"Anyway, what I have to do is a good deal nicer than handling heavyrails, " he added, with a rather grim smile. 

Ida fancied that this was a clumsy attempt to qualify his previousstatement, and she said nothing further until they reached the camp. Mrs. Kinnaird kept her occupied for the next hour or two; and thatevening when she was sitting on the veranda she heard Grenfellspeaking to his comrade not far away. 

"Why did you bring that canoe down?" he asked. 

"Miss Stirling wanted it, " said Weston. 

"What did she want with it, anyway?"

It was evident from Weston's voice that he was not anxious to pursuethat subject. 

"I don't know, " he said. "It paddles easier than the other one. "

"Well, " said Grenfell, "you and I are going to have trouble taking theblame thing up the river again. It's quite different from coming down. I suppose you shot the fall?"

"I didn't. "

Grenfell's tone suggested astonishment. 

"You hauled the canoe over the portage! What made you do that, whenyou have twice come down the fall?"

Ida started at this, and leaned forward eagerly to catch Weston'sanswer. 

"I fancied there might be a little risk in it, and I had Miss Stirlingwith me. "

Ida felt her face grow warm as she remembered that she had twitted himwith having less nerve than the Indians; but Grenfell apparently wasnot yet satisfied. 

"You could have sent the girl on, and then have shot the fall, " hesaid. "It would have saved you quite a lot of trouble. "

"Oh, yes, " agreed Weston, who appeared to resent his curiosity. "Still, I didn't. "

Grenfell moved away, and Ida recognized now that, in spite of a gooddeal of provocation, Weston had acted with laudable delicacy. It wasclear that his obduracy in the matter of taking her down the fall hadbeen due to a regard for her safety. He had also saddled himself witha laborious task to prevent this fact from becoming apparent. Shefancied that, had she been in his place, she could have arranged thething more neatly; but, after all, that did not detract from thedelicacy of his purpose, and she sat very still, with a rather curiousexpression in her face, until Grenfell came to announce that supperwas ready. 

CHAPTER XV

THE ROCK POOL

Ida was quietly gracious to Weston during the week that followed hisopposition to her wishes at the portage. This was not so much becauseshe knew she had been wrong in insisting on his taking her down thefall, for, after all, that matter was a trifling one, but it was morebecause she was pleased by the part that he had played. The man, itseemed, had preferred to face her anger rather than to allow her torun any personal risk, and afterward had undertaken a very laborioustask to prevent her from discovering why he had borne it. This was asfar as she would go, though she was aware that it left something to beexplained. 

In any case, there was a subtle change in her manner toward Weston. She had never attempted to patronize him, but now she placed himalmost on the footing of an intimate acquaintance. It was donetactfully and naturally, but Mrs. Kinnaird noticed it, and took alarm. Why she should do so was not very clear, for Stirling certainly hadnot encouraged her to put herself to any trouble on his daughter'saccount, but perhaps it was because Ida was going to England, and shehad a well-favored son. It is also possible that, being a lady ofconventional ideas, she acted instinctively and could not helpherself. That a young woman of extensive possessions should encouragea camp-packer was, from her point of view, unthinkable. 

For this reason, perhaps, it was not astonishing that there was forsome little time a quiet battle between the two. When Ida desired togo fishing, Mrs. Kinnaird suggested something else, or contrived thatthe packer should be busy. Failing this, she patiently borediscomforts from which she usually shrank, and put her companions to agood deal of trouble by favoring them with her company. The majornaturally did not notice what was going on, and she did not enlightenhim; nor did Weston, for that matter; while Arabella stood aside andlooked on with quiet amusement. It is probable that had Ida stooped todiplomacy, she would have been beaten, but, as it was, heruncompromising imperiousness stood her in good stead. 

In any case, she went up the river alone with Weston on severaloccasions, in spite of Mrs. Kinnaird, and one morning the two sattogether among the boulders beside a pool not far above the fall. There had been heavy rain, and the stream, which had risen, swirled inan angry eddy along the rock that rose close in front of them fromthat side of the pool. A great drift-log, peeled white, with onlystumps of branches left, had jammed its thinner top on ahalf-submerged ledge, and the great butt, which was water borne, everynow and then smote against the rock. The pines along the river werestill wet, and the wilderness was steeped in ambrosial odors. Ida satwith thoughtful eyes regarding the endless rows of trunks, throughwhich here and there a ray of dazzling sunlight struck; but her wholeattention was not occupied with that great colonnade. 

"I think you were right when you said that the bush gets hold of one, "she said. "I sometimes feel that I don't want to go back to the citiesat all. "

Weston smiled, though there was something curious in his manner. Itseemed to suggest that he was trying to face an unpleasant fact. 

"Well, " he said, "I told you that would probably be the case. In oneway it's unfortunate, because I suppose you will have to go. Youbelong to civilization, and it will certainly claim you. "

"And don't you?"

Weston made a little whimsical gesture. 

"In the meanwhile, I don't quite know where I belong. It'sperplexing. "

Ida noticed the "in the meanwhile. " It had, she fancied, a certainsignificance, and hinted that by and by he expected to be more sure ofhis station. 

"You don't wish to go back?" she asked. 

"No, " said Weston decisively. "Anyway, not to the packedboarding-house and the flour-mill. Even in winter, when these riversare frozen hard and the pines stand white and motionless under theArctic frost, this is a good deal nicer. "

"You're getting away from the point, " said Ida, laughing. "I meant toEngland. "

Weston leaned forward a little, looking at her with a curiousexpression in his eyes. 

"For three or four months in the year England is the most beautifulcountry in the world, " he said. "We haven't your great pines andfoaming rivers, but, even in the land from which I come in the ruggednorth, every valley is a garden. It's all so smooth and green and wellcared for. One could fancy that somebody loved every inch of it--onceyou get outside the towns. I said the dales were gardens--in summerthey're more like Paradise. "

It was evident that the exile's longing for the old land was awakewithin him, and Ida nodded sympathetically. 

"Won't you go on?" she begged. 

"Ah!" said Weston. "If I could make you see them--the wonderful greenof the larch woods, the bronze of the opening oaks, and the smoothvelvet pastures between the little river and the gleaming limestone atthe foot of the towering fell! All is trimmed and clipped and caredfor, down to the level hedgerows and the sod on the roadside banks, and every here and there white hamlets, with little old-worldchurches, nestle among-the trees. You see, it has grown ripe andmellow, while your settlements are crude and new. "

The girl sat silent a brief space. She had read of the old country, and seen pictures of it, and it seemed to her that his term, a garden, described parts, at least, of it rather efficiently. 

Then, though he had already assured her that he meant to stay in thebush, she wondered whether he never longed to gather a flower of thattrim garden. In fact, it suddenly became a question of some moment toher. 

"You will go back to it some day?"

"No, " said Weston, with a little wry smile; "I don't think so. Afterall, why should I?"

Ida was sensible of a certain satisfaction, but she desired to makemore sure. 

"There must be somebody you would wish to see, or somebody who wouldcare to see you?"

"Ah, " said Weston, "the failures are soon forgotten over yonder. Perhaps it's fortunate that it happens so. "

A shadow crept into his face. 

"No, " he added, "unless it is as a successful man, it is scarcelylikely that I shall go back again. "

Ida glanced at him covertly, with thoughtful eyes. Though his attirewas neater than it had been when she had seen him on other occasions, he still wore the bush packer's usual dress. There was, however, asubtle grace in his manner, and, though he was by no means a brilliantconversationalist, there was something in his voice and thehalf-whimsical tricks of fancy which now and then characterized himthat made a wide distinction between him and the general hired hand. Once more it seemed to her that when he had called the old country agarden it was a somewhat apt description, for this man had evidentlybeen subjected to careful training and pruning in his youth. He was, she felt, one who had grown up under a watchful eye. 

"Well, " she said, with a little laugh, "perhaps you are wise. Onecould almost fancy that the old land is overcrowded, and even on therichest soil one needs light and air. "

Weston's smile showed that he could understand her train of thought. 

"I certainly think that some of us are hardier for transplanting, " hereplied. "It is easier to make a vigorous growth out in the open, inthe wind and the sun. Besides, over yonder every one is pinched andtrimmed back to the same conventional pattern. They sacrifice too muchfor uniformity. "

"Still, " said Ida, once more harping on the idea that troubled her, "there are only wild flowers in the wilderness. One understands thatwe have nothing like your peerless English blooms. "

Weston looked at her with a little gleam in his eyes. 

"Oh, " he said, "one must be honest, and even for the credit of the oldland I can't admit that. It couldn't be, when you have your sunlightand your crystal skies. It always seems to me that strength isessential to perfect grace, and one finds both, and sweetnessunexcelled, out here in Canada. "

He rose, and, taking up the rod, straightened the gut trace. 

"There is a big trout rising in the slack, " he said. "I think youcould cast from the bank. "

Ida took the rod from him, and a little thrill of satisfaction ranthrough her as she poised herself upon a jutting stone at the water'sedge. He had spoken vaguely, and she would have resented any undueexplicitness, but she had watched his face, and it had set her doubtsat rest. If any English girl had ever looked upon this man with favor, which seemed probable, it was evident that he had long ago forgottenher; and she fancied that if he had once been stirred to passion hewas not a man who would lightly forget. Then she set about casting forthe trout, which rose again; for, in view of her encounters with Mrs. Kinnaird, it seemed advisable to take a few fish back with her, ifonly to show how she had spent the time. 

At the third cast there was a splash and a sudden silvery gleam, and atightening of the line. Then the reel clinked furiously, a brightshape flashed through the froth of the eddy, and went down, afterwhich the line ripped athwart the surface of the pool. Weston, whowhipped up the net, waded in knee-deep. 

"Keep the butt down!" he called. "Reel in! Take up every inch ofslack. "

The fish broke the surface and went down again, and a flush of crimsoncrept into Ida's face as she stood quivering while the line went roundthe pool. Then the strain eased a little, and she spun the reel, untilthe fish, showing a gleaming side in the swing of the eddy, made arush again. 

"Hold on this time, " said Weston. "It's making for the drift-log. There are branches under it. "

The rod bent, but the moving line led straight toward the drift-log, until, in a moment, it stopped suddenly. Ida turned to the man with agasp. 

"It's in under those branches, " she said. 

Weston, glancing at the line, threw down the net, for, though hescarcely had expected this, the fish evidently had not snapped the guttrace, which was now entangled among the broken branches. 

"Give me some slack when I call, " he said. 

It was rather a long jump, but he managed to reach the butt of thelog, and he scrambled along it toward its thinner top, which stretchedout along the side of the rock. There was deep water under it, and theeddy swung fiercely toward the rapid which swept on to the fall; butthe trunk provided a tolerably safe pathway to one accustomed to thebush, and he reached a spot where a snapped-off branch projected intothe river. Then, stripping off his jacket, he lay down and crawledalong the branch. As he lowered one arm and shoulder into the water, it seemed to Ida that the log rolled a little, and when he raisedhimself again, with the water dripping from him, she called out towarn him. 

"The log's not safe, " she said. 

It was not evident that Weston heard her through the roar of the shortrapid above the fall, for he lowered himself once more. Ida was quitesure that the trunk tilted a little now, but when he turned a wet facetoward her, in her eagerness she forgot that the thing might beperilous. Weston did not notice that he was disturbing the equilibriumof the tree. 

"Let your reel run!" he cried. 

He groped around among the branches, with a good deal of the upperpart of his body under water, and when at length he emerged there wasa big, gleaming fish in one hand. Ida saw him jerk its head back, withhis fingers in its gills, and then, standing upright, he hurled ittoward her. 

"It beats the major's largest one!" he announced. 

Ida laid down her rod and scrambled toward the fish; but there was asplashing sound as she bent over it, and when she looked aroundsharply she saw the big pine slide out into the stream. Weston stoodwith his back toward her, apparently gazing at the rock, until hesuddenly leaped forward and clutched at it. She could not see what heclung to, but the surface was uneven, and he evidently had found afoothold. Then, while a thrill of horror ran through her, she glancedat the pine and saw it whirl out into the rapid. Twice the top of it, which swung clear, came down with a splash, and then it plunged wildlyinto spray about the fall. She did not care to watch what became ofit, and she clenched her hands hard as she looked around again. 

Weston was clinging to the rock, and his face, which was turned partlytoward her, was set and grim. In a moment he moved forward a little, feeling with outstretched hand for a fresh hold, while one footsplashed in the swirling water. Ida held her breath as she watchedhim. He swung suddenly forward a yard or so, and then, with a wildscramble, found a foothold. Ida, who was conscious that her heart wasbeating painfully fast, wondered what kept him from falling. There wasnot a crevice or a cranny that she could see; but she could not seeanything very well, except the tense figure stretched against thestone and the set, white face. Dark pines and foaming water had fadedinto insignificance. 

He moved again, and crept forward with agonizing slowness, until atlength he stopped and gazed at the wall of rock still in front of him. That part of it was very smooth and overhung a little between where hewas and the steeply sloping strip of shingle on which the girl stood. The stream swirled past furiously, and it was evident to Ida that ifhe lost his hold it must sweep him down the rapid and over the fall. 

She was never sure how long he clung there, but his white face and thepoise of his strung-up figure impressed themselves indelibly on hermemory. Strain was expressed in every line of his body and in hisclutching hands. Then the strength and decision that was in herasserted itself, and she overcame the numbing horror that had held herpowerless. Snatching up her rod, she turned to him resolutely. 

"You must jump!" she called. 

Weston looked at the slender point of the rod she held out, andsomewhat naturally hesitated. It was some distance from him, but inanother moment the girl was wading out from the shingle. Her skirttrailed in the water which swirled by her, but, though the shingledropped steeply, it afforded her a foothold, and she stretched out therod a little farther. 

"Jump!" she cried commandingly. "Jump right now!"

The man flung up his hands. As a matter of fact, there was not roomfor him to jump at all. Ida braced herself for an effort as he lurcheddown from the rock. There was a great splash and a wrench that almostdragged her off her feet; then he was close beside her, waist-deep inthe stream. He did not stop, but clutched her by the shoulder anddrove her before him up the shingle. Then he sat down, gasping, whilethe water ran from him; and she moved back a pace or two and leaned ona boulder, with her face almost as white as his. 

"You must be very wet. I thought the river had us both, " he said. 

Ida laughed, a rather harsh and foolish laugh, for now that thetension had slackened she felt curiously shaken. The man turned andlooked back at the pool. 

"No, " he said, "I don't think I ever could have got out of therealone. "

Then he scrambled in a half-dazed fashion to his feet, and raised ahand to where his hat should have been. The hat was, however, a longway down the river by this time; and when Ida noticed his astonishmentat not finding it on his head, she once more broke into strainedlaughter. After that she pulled herself together with an effort. 

"You won't mind? I can't help it, " she said. "Didn't you know your hatwas gone?"

Weston looked at her more steadily than perhaps he should have done. There was something in her face that suggested that the last fewmoments had almost unnerved her. This, as he could realize, was notaltogether unnatural; and then a sudden thrill that set his nervestingling ran through him, as their eyes met. The events of the pastminute had shown them, in part, at least, how they stood toward eachother, and for the moment they could not hide it. Then Westonrecovered the self-command that was rapidly deserting him. 

"I don't think that matters, " he said, apparently referring to thehat. "I want to thank you, Miss Stirling. It's quite clear that I owea good deal to your quickness and nerve. "

There were signs that his formal tone had cost him an effort, but thefact that, slightly dazed as he was, he had forced himself to make it, and had called her Miss Stirling, was significant, and Ida fell inwith the course he had adopted. It was difficult for both of them, butshe recognized that the matter must be passed over as lightly and asspeedily as possible. 

"You shouldn't have gone out on that log at all, " she said. "You musthave seen it wasn't safe. "

Weston laughed, though the signs of struggle were still on his face. 

"Did you notice that?" he asked. 

"I didn't, " said Ida, and then a curious little thrill of anger ranthrough her. The man's attitude was only what should be expected ofhim in view of the difference between their stations, but, after all, it seemed to her that he had almost too much self-control. 

"That is, not at first, " she added. "Afterward I did notice it, and Icalled to you. You didn't hear?"

"No, " said Weston, "I didn't hear you. "

He looked at her steadily; and the girl, who felt the impulsive desireto wound him too strong for her, made a little gesture. 

"I am rather ashamed of it, but the next moment I quite forgot thatthere was any danger, " she said. "You see I was so intent upon thefish. "

"Then, " said Weston, very quietly, "I don't think you could blame me. "

He stooped, and, picking up the rod, set about taking it to pieceswith a curious deliberation. Then he glanced at the girl. 

"I can only offer you my thanks, Miss Stirling, but they're verysincere, " he said. "Don't you think it would be better if we went backto camp?"

Ida rose and returned with him through the scented bush, but neithersaid anything further, for the same restraint was upon both of them. 

CHAPTER XVI

ON THE LAKE

It was rather late that night when Weston and Grenfell sat smokingbeside the dying fire. The breeze that came off the lake was colderthan usual, and the rest of the party had retired indoors, but onewindow of the little wooden house stood open, and Miss Kinnaird'svoice drifted softly out of it. She was evidently singing a selectionfrom an opera. Grenfell, who lay with his back against one of thehearth-logs, appeared to be listening critically. 

"It's pretty and nothing more, " he said. "That girl's too diffuse--shespreads herself. She might have painted if she'd been poor; thoughthat's not a sure thing either. "

"Why isn't it?" asked Weston, who had, however, no great interest inthe matter. 

"She has too level a head, " Grenfell said. "It's as fatal in art as itis in some professions. You have to concentrate, hang on to the onething, and give yourself to it. Miss Kinnaird couldn't do that. Shemust stop and count the cost. To make anything of this life one nowand then must shut one's eyes to that. There generally has to be asacrifice. "

He broke off, and looked at his companion rather curiously. 

"The other girl could make it. She wouldn't ask whether it were worthwhile. "

Weston was a trifle startled. He had that very day seen something inIda Stirling's eyes that seemed to bear out what his comradesuggested. It had been there for only a moment, which he felt mighthave been fateful to both of them, and he knew that it was beyond hispower to analyze all the qualities that the look had suggested. Ithad, however, hinted at a courage sufficient to set at defianceconventions and the opinions of her friends, and at the capacity tomake a costly sacrifice. 

"You seem sure of that?"

"Well, " said Grenfell, reflectively, "I think I am. You see in one ortwo respects I'm like Miss Stirling. "

"You like Miss Stirling!"

There was an indignant protest in Weston's voice which brought atwinkle into Grenfell's watery eyes. 

"Just so, " he said. "When I know what I want the most, I set aboutgetting it. I guess that's sense--sense that's way beyond prudence. What one wants is, in a general way, what one likes, which is a verydifferent thing from what's good for one. It's very seldom that onefinds the latter nice. Get these distinctions?"

"I can't see the drift of them, " said Weston, impatiently. 

"It may strike you as we proceed. If you stop to consider whether it'sjudicious to reach out for the thing you want, you generally end bynot getting it or anything else. Isn't it better to clutch withcourage, even if you have to face the cost?"

"I'm not sure, " said Weston, dryly. "Is it quite impossible to like athing it is desirable that you should have?"

"One doesn't often like it, " explained Grenfell, with a grin. "Evenwhen one does, the same principle applies. As a rule, one can't get itwithout a sacrifice. "

"That's the principle you acted on?"

Grenfell spread out his hands. 

"I guess it is, " he said. "In my case the thing I wanted wasn't goodfor me. I had to choose between my profession and whisky, and I did. Anyway, I've had the whisky. "

Weston sat thoughtfully silent a minute or two. It seemed to him thatwhile the result of the course his comrade advocated might well proveto be disastrous, as it had certainly done in his particular case, there was a warranty for it. If it were true that practically nothingcould be obtained without cost, it was clear that the excess ofprudence which shrank from incurring the latter could lead only toaridity of life. The thoughtless courage which snatched at what wasoffered seemed a much more fruitful thing, though one might afterwardbear the smart as well as enjoy the sweet. To accomplish or obtainanything one must at least face a risk. He remembered how, when heclung hesitating to the slippery rock, Ida Stirling had bidden himjump. He was, however, not a moralist, but a man with a simple codewhich, a few hours ago, had proved singularly difficult to adhere to. He had then seen something in Ida Stirling's eyes that set his nervestingling, but he could not take advantage of the momentary reaction ofrelief at his escape. He wondered, though, why Grenfell had spoken ashe had, until the latter turned to him again. 

"You mentioned that you nearly pulled Miss Stirling in when she heldout that rod, " he said. "You didn't notice that she showed any signsof letting it go?"

"I don't think she did. "

"You don't think so!" laughed Grenfell. "That girl would have goneright down the fall before she let you go. She's the kind that seesthings through. I wonder whether she said anything in particularafterward?"

Weston's face hardened as he looked at him out of half-closed eyes. 

"She did not. What makes you suggest it?"

"Well, " said Grenfell, reflectively, "she's flesh and blood like therest of us. She's also a girl with courage enough not to hesitate. I'mnot sure"--and he spread out his hands--"that I couldn't have madebetter use of your opportunities. "

Weston said nothing, though he was hot with anger; and just thenKinnaird, who appeared in the lighted doorway of the house, moved intheir direction. He stopped close beside them. 

"I think I would better tell you now that we have decided to leavethis place early next week, " he said. "You can see about getting thesurplus stores and some of the baggage down the lake to-morrow. "

Weston fancied that he looked at him rather hard; but, though theunexpected news had filled him with dismay, he sat very still untilKinnaird, who said nothing further, turned away. Then Grenfell lookedup with a smile. 

"The major, " he said, "has perhaps had sufficient fishing, or hisprecipitation may be due to the fact that Mrs. Kinnaird is not in somerespects a friend of yours. I'm rather surprised that Miss Stirling, who must have known it, mentioned the other little matter. Anyway, asyou may feel inclined to point out, that's not my business. Thequestion is what we're going to do now. "

"Look again for that mine of yours, " said Weston, quietly. 

Grenfell made a little sign of comprehension. 

"Well, " he said, "we'll go. What's more, I know that one of us isgoing to locate that quartz some day. "

He spoke as with conviction, and then, lighting his pipe, slowlystrolled away; but Weston sat beside the sinking fire for another houror so. It was clear to him that he must find Grenfell's lost mine. 

It was two days later when he next had any speech with Ida Stirling, and then, though he did not know that Mrs. Kinnaird had done herutmost to prevent it, they were crossing the lake alone in thesailboat. The boat was running smoothly before a little favoringbreeze, and Ida sat at the tiller, looking out upon the shining water. They had not spoken since they left the beach, but by and by sheturned toward Weston. 

"I am glad it is so fine an evening since it's scarcely likely that Ishall have another sail, " she said. "We have decided to leave early onMonday. "

Weston nodded. It was the first time she had mentioned their departureto him, and he recognized that unless he were cautious it might provea dangerous subject. 

"You are going to Montreal?" he inquired. 

"In the first place. However, we are going to England in a week ortwo. "

Though he was on his guard, she saw him start, but he stooped andcoiled up one of the halyards before he answered her. 

"You will, of course, be there some time?"

"Six months at least, perhaps longer. "

She watched him quietly, but he sat very still with the rope in hishand. 

"Well, " he said, "I think you will like it. You will be in London, Isuppose?"

Ida felt vaguely sorry for him. Though he had said it was scarcelyprobable that he would go back to it, she knew that he had notforgotten the land from which he was exiled. Indeed, a certainwistfulness in his eyes suggested that he still thought of it with theexile's usual tenderness. She was going to take her place in the worldto which she felt reasonably certain he had once belonged, while heswung the ax or plied the shovel beside some western railroad track;though she did not mean for him to do the latter if she could help it, of which, however, she was far from sure. 

"Yes, " she said. "Still we shall spend some time at the house in thenorth of England you once heard Major Kinnaird mention. "

There was no doubt that this shot had reached its mark, for she sawhis little abrupt movement. Then he turned toward her fully, which hehad not done for the last minute or two. 

"Miss Stirling, " he said, with a faint flush in his face, "I am goingto ask you a rather curious thing. If you meet any of the people aboutthere, I should rather you did not mention my name, though, of course, it is scarcely likely that you would find any reason to do so. "

He broke off, and hesitated a moment. 

"You see, I know the place. "

"Ah, " said Ida, with no sign of surprise. "What were you doing there?"

The man smiled rather bitterly. 

"I was something similar to head gamekeeper. It wasn't an occupation Icared much about. "

"You got tired of it?"

"Anyway, that wasn't why I gave it up. I was turned out. Fired, theycall it in this country. "

Ida for a moment was almost angry with him. She felt, simply becausehe had said it, that this must be correct as far as it went, but shewas equally sure that he could have gone a good deal further. She was, of course, aware that there were a good many men in Canada whoseabsence from the old country was not regretted by their friends, andshe was a little hurt that he did not seem to shrink from thepossibility of her setting him down as one of them. She could not knowthat he was in a very bitter mood just then. 

"Well, " she said, "as you say, it is not likely that I shall have anyoccasion to mention you, and I certainly won't do it casually. Youmust, however, be content with that. "

"Yes, " said Weston. "After all, it really doesn't matter very muchanyway. "

Ida let the matter drop, for she had something else to say, and it hadbeen in her mind rather often lately. 

"When we leave here you will be without an occupation, won't you?" sheasked; and then proceeded somewhat hastily without waiting for him toanswer. "Now, you have done a good deal to make the time passpleasantly both here and in British Columbia. "

"It did pass pleasantly?"

The question was suggestively abrupt, and Ida saw that, as happenednow and then, the man was for the moment off his guard. This, however, did not displease her. 

"Of course, " she said. "For that matter it couldn't have been veryburdensome to you. "

Weston laughed in a rather curious fashion, and she saw the bloodcreep into his face. 

"I'm glad you have enjoyed it, " he said. "It seems unfortunatelycertain that I shall not have another time like this. "

Ida was aware, of course, that the real man had spoken then, but inanother moment he once more, as she sometimes described it to herself, drew back into his shell. 

"I interrupted what you were going to say, " he observed, with adeprecatory gesture. 

"It's very simple, " said the girl. "If my father or any one else makesyou an offer, I should like you to take it. In one sense, choppingtrees and shoveling gravel on the track leads to nothing. "

The flush Ida had already noticed grew a little plainer in the man'sface, but he smiled. 

"I'm afraid I can't promise to do that, " he said. "You see, " and heseemed to search for words, "there is a good deal of the vagabond inme. I never could stand the cities, and that ought to becomprehensible to you when you have seen the wilderness. "

"In summer, " said the girl dryly. "Isn't it very different during therest of the year?"

"Oh, " declared Weston, "it's always good in the bush, even when thepines are gleaming spires of white, and you haul the great logs outwith the plodding oxen over the down-trodden snow. There is nothingthe cities can give one to compare with the warmth of the log shack atnight when you lie, aching a little, about the stove, telling storieswith the boys, while the shingles snap and crackle under the frost. Perhaps it's finer still to stand by with the peevie, while the greattrunks go crashing down the rapids with the freshets of the spring;and then there's the still, hot summer, when the morning air's likewine, and you can hear the clink-clink of the drills through the soundof running water in the honey-scented shade, and watch the new wagonroad wind on into the pines. You have seen the big white peaks gleamagainst the creeping night. "

It was evident that he was endeavoring to find cause for contentmentwith the life before him, but Ida fancied that he wished to avoid thequestion she had raised. 

"You forget to mention the raw hands and the galled shoulders, as wellas the snow-slush and the rain. However, that's not quite the point. As I said, all that leads to nothing. Are you too proud to take atrifling favor because it comes through me?"

Weston met her gaze, and there was a grave forcefulness in his mannerwhich almost astonished her. He evidently for once had suffered hisusual self-restraint to relax, and she felt it was almost a pity thathe had not done so more frequently. 

"Miss Stirling, " he said, "you are, as it happens, one of the fewpeople from whom I could not take a favor of that kind. "

She understood him, and for a moment a flicker of color crept into hercheek. It was, she felt, a clean pride that had impelled him to thespeech. There were, she admitted, no benefits within her command thatshe would not gladly have thrust upon him; but, for all that, shewould not have had him quietly acquiesce in them. Perhaps she wassingular in this, but her forebears had laid the foundations of a newland's future with ax and drill, clearing forest and breaking prairiewith stubborn valor and toil incredible. They had flung their wagonroads over thundering rivers and grappled with stubborn rock, andamong them the soft-handed man who sought advancement through awoman's favor was, as a rule, regarded with quiet scorn. She saidnothing, however, and it was a few moments before Weston looked at heragain. 

"Anyway, " he said, "I couldn't do what you suggest. I am going backinto the ranges with Grenfell to look for the mine. "

"Ah, " said Ida, "you haven't given up that notion yet?"

The man smiled grimly. 

"I am keener about it than ever. Perhaps it's somewhat curious, but Iseem certain that we shall strike that quartz lead one of these days. "

Ida was glad to let the conversation take this new turn, for sheunderstood his eagerness now, and she had felt that they were skirtinga crisis each time she had talked with him of late. She had thecourage to make a sacrifice, and, indeed, had the occasion arisen, would probably have considered none too costly; but it seemed due tohim as well as to her that he should at least make some strenuouseffort to pull down the barriers between them. 

"Well, " she said quietly, "it is very curious that you discovered notrace of it. You said you found Grenfell's partner lying dead upon therange, and, as their provisions were running out when he left thelake, he could not have gone very far. Was it a big lake?"

"It couldn't have been. Grenfell said he walked round it in a coupleof hours. "

Ida looked thoughtful. 

"Still, when you had the spot where you came upon Verneille to workfrom, you should have seen it from one of the spurs of the range. "

"Yes, " admitted Weston, "that seems reasonably evident, though wecertainly saw no sign of it. " He broke off and laughed. "The wholething sounds crazy, doesn't it? Still, as I said, I believe we aregoing to be successful. "

He turned away and busied himself with some of the gear; and neitherof them said anything further until they ran into the bay before thehouse. Three or four days later Weston conveyed the party down thelake to the carriage that was waiting to take them to the station; andIda laid her hand in his for only a moment before she drove away. 

CHAPTER XVII

SCARTHWAITE-IN-THE-FOREST

Ida Stirling had spent some time in England when, one autumn evening, she descended the wide oak staircase of Scarthwaite Hall atScarthwaite-in-the-Forest. There was no forest in the vicinity, thoughlong ago a certain militant bishop had held by kingly favor the rightof venery over the surrounding moors, and now odd wisps of stragglingfirs wound up the hollows that seamed them here and there. Nobodyseemed to know who first built Scarthwaite Hall, though many adalesman had patched it afterward and pulled portions of it down. Itwas one of the ancient houses, half farm and half stronghold, whichmay still be found in the north country. They were, until a fewdecades ago, usually in possession of the Statesmen who worked theirown land. The Statesmen have gone--economic changes vanquishedthem--but the houses they inherited from the men who bore pike and bowat Bannockburn and Flodden are for the most part standing yet. Theyhave made no great mark in history, but their stout walls have timeand again been engirdled by Scottish spears, and after such occasionsthere was not infrequently lamentation by Esk and Liddell. 

It was clear that Scarthwaite Hall had been built in those days offoray, for one little, ruined, half-round tower rose from the brink ofa ravine whose sides the hardiest of moss-troopers could scarcely haveclimbed. A partly filled-in moat led past the other, and in betweenstretched the curtain wall which now formed the facade of the houseitself. Its arrow slits had been enlarged subsequently into narrow, stone-ribbed windows, and a new entrance made, while the ancientcourtyard was girt with decrepit stables and barns. Most of the deep, winding dale still belonged to it, but the last Weston had signallyfailed to make a living out of it, or to meet his debts. He lived in alittle town not far away, and let Scarthwaite for the shooting when hecould, which explains how Major Kinnaird had taken it. 

Ida looked about her as she came down the stairway. It led into adark-paneled, stone-arched hall, which, since habitable space wasrather scarce at Scarthwaite, served as general living-room. A firewas burning in the big, ancient hearth, and a handful of people werescattered here and there, waiting for dinner, which should have beenready a few minutes earlier. Kinnaird, who appeared a trifleimpatient, was standing near his wife and a couple of shooting men, and his daughter was talking to one or two of his neighbors. Idasmiled as one of the latter glanced up at her, and she moved towardhim when she reached the foot of the stairway. Ainslie, the owner ofsome quarries in the vicinity, was a middle-aged man whom she had metonce or twice before. 

When she had greeted him, she stood still a moment or two, listeningto the murmurs of general conversation. Then she saw Kinnaird, who wasstanding not far from her, take out his watch. 

"It's a little too bad of Weston. I shouldn't have waited for anybodyelse, " he said. "As it is, I suppose we'll have to give him a minuteor two longer. "

The remark was evidently overheard, as perhaps Kinnaird intended. Oneof the others laughed. 

"Ralph Weston was never punctual in his life, " he said. 

"Considering everything, " observed one of the women standing near Ida, "it is rather curious that Weston should have promised to come at all. It must be a trifle embarrassing to dine at one's own place as anotherman's guest. "

"Oh, " said the man beside her, "Weston would go anywhere for a gooddinner and a good glass of wine. "

Ida, as it happened, had not heard what guests Mrs. Kinnaird hadexpected, and she started at the name. It was a moment or two laterwhen she turned to her companion. 

"This house belongs to the man they seem to be waiting for?" sheasked. 

Ainslie nodded. 

"Yes, " he said, "I suppose it does. "

"Then why doesn't he live in it?"

"It takes a good deal to keep up a place of this kind, and, untilMajor Kinnaird came, it's some time since anybody seriously attemptedit. "

"Ah!" said Ida. "Mr. Weston's means are insufficient?"

"It's a tolerably open secret. There are a good many people similarlysituated. A small and badly-kept estate is not a lucrativepossession. "

"Then why don't they keep it up efficiently?"

"Now, " said Ainslie, "you're getting at the root of the matter. In myopinion it's largely a question of character. In fact, after theglimpses I've had of the wheat-growers in Dakota, Minnesota, andwestern Canada, it seems to me that if our people were content to liveand work at home as they do out yonder they would acquire at least amoderate prosperity. Still, I'm rather afraid that wouldn't appeal tosome of them. As it is, their wants are increasing, and the means ofgratifying them steadily going down. "

"All this applies to Mr. Weston in particular?"

"I don't think it would be a breach of confidence if I admitted thatit does. Perhaps, however, I'm a little prejudiced. Weston doesn'tlike me. He blames me for encouraging his son in what he calls his'iconoclastic' notions. "

Ida, who was becoming interested, smiled. 

"After all, " she said, "the comparison isn't very unfavorable to theson. I believe the original iconoclasts were the image-breakers inByzantium. "

"Were they? I didn't know it, " said Ainslie. "It's a moral certaintythat Weston didn't, either. In fact, I've no doubt he fancies thatDarwin and Bradlaugh, and he'd certainly include Cobden, inventedthem. Anyway, the lad wasn't very much of an iconoclast. He believedin his images, which were not the same as those his father worshiped;and all he wanted was to see them work. I think it hurt him when theydidn't, or, at least, when they didn't appear to. "

"Ah, " said Ida, "that's rather too involved for me. "

"Well, " returned her companion, "we'll leave Weston out. I'm not sureabout what he believes in, and it's probable that, he doesn't knowhimself, except that it's everything as it used to be. His wife wasHigh Church, with altruistic notions, and it's no secret that she madethings rather uncomfortable for her husband; but when she took the ladin hand she succeeded perhaps too well. You see, he wanted to applyher principles; and altruism leads to trouble when its possessor comesacross formulas that don't stand for anything. "

Just then there was a rattle of wheels outside, and a minute or twolater a little full-fleshed man, with a heavy face, in conventionaldress, entered the hall. He greeted those who stood about, when he hadshaken hands with Kinnaird. 

"Sorry I'm a little behind, " he apologized. "Had to post over. I toldWalters at the George to keep me the black mare. Instead, he let thatwaterworks chief navvy fellow have her. The horse he gave me wouldhardly face Scarside Rise. "

One or two of the guests smiled, for the navvy in question was arather famous engineer who had had a difference of opinion with Westonover certain gravel he desired to quarry on the Scarthwaite estate. Then Mrs. Kinnaird stepped forward, and they went in to dinner. 

It was not yet dark outside, but the table was lighted; and Ida, whosat not far from Weston, watched him closely. She had at first beenstartled by the likeness between him and the man she had met inCanada, but she was now conscious of an increasing dissimilarity. There was a suggestion of grossness in the face of Major Kinnaird'sguest, which had certainly not been a characteristic of Weston thepacker. The older man's expression was petulant and arrogant; that ofthe one who had served her as camp attendant had been, as a rule, good-humoredly whimsical. Nor did she like the half-contemptuousinattention that Weston displayed when one or two of the othersaddressed him. In several cases he merely looked up and went on withhis dinner as though it were too much trouble to answer. Ida feltreasonably sure that his manners would not have been tolerated in mostof the primitive logging camps of western Canada. It became evident, however, that there were topics in which he took some interest, when aman who sat near turned to him. 

"We were in the meadows by Ghyllfoot this afternoon, and they werelooking very sour and rushy, " he said. "They were drained once, weren't they?"

"They were, " replied Weston, sharply. "It's stiff land. In my father'stime, Little used to grow good wheat there. Still, even tile drainswon't last forever. The soil gets in. "

"You're correct about the wheat, " said another man. "Little's nephewstill talks about it. They used to grind it at the Ramside mills. Wouldn't it be worth while to have the meadows redrained, if only forthe grass?"

Ida, who was watching him, fancied that this was a sore point withWeston, for he momentarily forgot his dinner. 

"No, " he answered curtly. "I took some trouble to make young Littleunderstand it when he came to me with a nonsensical proposition notlong ago. Like the rest of them, he's always wanting something. Iasked him where he thought the money was coming from. "

Ida was not surprised at this, though she knew that in western Canadathe smaller settlers as a rule stripped themselves of every comfort, and lived in the most grim simplicity, that they might have more togive the land. 

Then, as the man did not answer, Weston solemnly laid down his fork, with the manner of one making a painful sacrifice. 

"There is a good deal of nonsense talked about farming in these days, "he observed authoritatively. "You can put a fortune into drains andfences and buildings, but it's quite another matter to get two orthree per cent, upon it back. In the old days I hadn't a horse in thestables worth less than sixty guineas, and my father thought nothingof giving twice as much. The other things were to match. " He lookeddown the table with a flush of indignation in his heavy face. "Now, Walters at the George gives a navvy the horse I hired. Still, what canyou expect when they pile up the taxes on us, and open new doorscontinually to the foreigners? We grew wheat at Scarthwaite, and itwas ground at Ramside mill. The last time I looked in, Harvey had hisstores full of flour from Minneapolis and Winnipeg. I asked himwhether he didn't feel ashamed of having any hand in that kind ofthing. "

Ida could not check a smile. In Weston's case, at least, the reasonwhy western wheat had displaced the local product was tolerably plain. This full-fleshed man differed, she fancied, in most essentials fromthe lean farmers who drove the half-mile furrows, or ripped up theirpatches of virgin sod with plodding oxen on the vast expanses of theprairie. While he indulged his senses and bought sixty-guinea horses, they rose at four or earlier, and, living on pork and flour and greentea, worked in grim earnest until it was dark. Blizzard and hail andharvest frost brought them to the verge of ruin now and then but couldnot drive them over it. They set their lips, cut down the grocerybill, and, working still harder, went on again. A good many of themhad, as she knew, come from England. 

Then Weston appeared to remember his dinner, and made a little vaguegesture which seemed to indicate that there was no more to be said. 

"I don't want to hear about drains and deeper tillage while we letevery foreigner pour his wheat and chilled beef into our market. It'snonsense, " he asserted. 

Some one started another topic; and an hour or so later most of thelittle party strolled out on the terrace in front of the house. It wasalmost dark now, but the evening was no more than pleasantly cool, andIda sat down on an old stone seat. 

Scarthwaite faced toward the west, and she looked out across a deep, green valley toward the sweep of upland and heather moor that cutblack and solemn against a paling saffron glow. It was very still, though now and then a bleating of sheep rang sharply out of the wispsof mist that streaked the lower meadows. Perhaps it was the stillnessor the scent of the firs that climbed the hollow of the ghyll behindthe house that reminded Ida of the man who had strolled with herthrough the shadow of the giant redwoods of the Pacific Slope. In anycase, she was thinking of him when Arabella Kinnaird stopped for amoment at her side and glanced toward Weston, who stood not far away. 

"You heard that man's name. Did you notice a resemblance to anybody wehave met?" she inquired. 

"Yes, " said Ida. "Of course, it may be accidental. "

Her companion laughed. 

"I don't think it is. In view of what I once told you on the subject, it's a matter I mean to investigate. "

She moved away; but it was Ida who first was afforded an opportunityof deciding the question, for a few minutes later Ainslie strolledtoward her. When he sat down beside her, she indicated the waste, ofclimbing pasture, which ran up, interspersed with gorse bushes andclumps of heather, to the dusky moor. 

"Not a sign of cultivation, " she said. "I suppose that grass is neverbroken up? How much foundation is there for Mr. Weston's views?"

Ainslie laughed. 

"I'm afraid I'm hardly competent to decide, but there are people whoagree with him. Still, I think it's reasonably certain that a gooddeal of the higher land that now carries a few head of sheep wouldgrow oats and other things. It's largely a question of economics. Somebody would have to spend a good deal of money and labor on itfirst, and the result, which wouldn't be very apparent for two orthree years, would be a little uncertain then. It depends on how muchthe man who undertook it wanted back to make the thing worth while. "

"They are content with food, and sometimes very indifferent shelter, in western Canada. "

"There, " said Ainslie, "you have the thing in a nutshell. You have, nodoubt, formed some idea of Weston's wants, which are rather numerous. In fact, some of us seem to consider it the correct thing to cultivatethem. The more wants you have the greater man you are. "

Ida smiled a little as she remembered a man of considerable importancein the wheat-lands of Assiniboia, whom she had last seen sitting, cladin blue shirt and very old trousers, on a huge machine which a doublespan of reeking horses hauled through the splendid grain. He haddriven it since sunrise, and it was dusk of evening then, and hiswants were, as she knew, remarkably simple. He bore his share of theburden under a burning sun, but it seemed to her that, had Weston beenin his place, he would have ridden around that farm with a gloved handon his hip, and would have raised it only now and then, imperiously, to direct the toilers. Then she thought of another man, who was likehim in some respects, and was then, in all probability, ploddingthrough the lonely bush. 

"You mentioned a son, " she said. "What became of him?"

"He went out to Canada. Quarreled with his father. As I believe Isuggested, the lad was at heart a rebel. " Ainslie smiled rather dryly. "A good many of us are. He wouldn't see that his mother's ideas wereapt to get him into trouble when he tried to apply them. "

Ida sat silent for a few moments. There was no longer any doubt in hermind that Weston who had turned his back on Scarthwaite was identicalwith Weston the camp-packer. 

"Do you remember what they quarreled over?" she asked at length. 

"Yes, " said Ainslie, who was inclined to wonder at her interest in thesubject, "it was water-finding. It's a thing of which you probablyhave never heard. "

"I have, " said Ida. "Won't you go on?"

"Well, " continued Ainslie, "there was a tenant on this estate who wasrather more badly off than the rest of them. He had a piece of uplandwith rock under it, and in a dry season--though we don't often getone--it was with the greatest trouble he got water enough for hisstock. He asked young Weston to find him a likely spot to drive awell. The lad was walking over one parched meadow with the hazel twigin his hand, when his father came upon the procession--everybodybelonging to the farm was out with him. Weston, I heard, went purplewhen he saw what was going on, and, from his point of view, hisindignation was perhaps comprehensible. His son was openly, before oneof the tenants and a parcel of farm-hands, making use of asuperstitious device in which no sane person could believe. Weston, asI remember it, compared him to a gipsy fortune-teller, and went onthrough the gamut of impostor, mountebank and charlatan, before hecommanded him to desist on the moment. I don't quite know what camenext, though something was said about a lifted riding-crop, but withinthe week Clarence started for Canada. "

"He abandoned the attempt to find water?"

Ainslie smiled. 

"The farmer dug a well in that meadow, and I believe he uses it still. He held a lease, and Weston couldn't get rid of him. "

He looked rather hard at Ida, and was slightly astonished at thesparkle in her eyes. 

"I'm afraid I've been somewhat talkative, " he said. 

"No, " Ida assured him, and he saw that she was stirred. "Thank you fortelling me. "

He moved away; and by and by Arabella Kinnaird and one of the otherwomen approached the seat. Arabella left her companion a moment, andmade a little whimsical gesture as she met Ida's gaze. 

"I've been throwing away a good many blandishments on Weston, " sheobserved. "He appears prudently reticent on the subject of hisrelations, and if he has any in Canada, it's evident that he isn'tproud of them. Still, I haven't abandoned the amiable intention ofextorting a little more information from him. "

CHAPTER XVIII

WESTON'S ADVOCATE

A week had passed when Weston, who apparently had some business withKinnaird, drove over to Scarthwaite again. This time he brought adaughter, who, it appeared, lived for the most part with some moreprosperous members of the family. Arriving a little before lunch, theyremained until the evening. As it happened, Miss Weston displayed whatshe evidently considered a kindly interest in Ida, and graciouslypatronized her as a stranger and a Colonial, who was necessarilyignorant of a good many of the little amenities of life in the oldcountry. 

Her intentions were no doubt laudable, but the methods she adopted toset the stranger at her ease were not those most likely to endear theinsular English to their cousins across the Atlantic. Ida, to beginwith, had not only a spice of temper but also no great reverence forforms and formulas, and the people that she was accustomed to meetingwere those who had set their mark upon wide belts of forest and longleagues of prairie. At first she was quietly amused by the patronageof a woman whose right to bestow it consisted apparently in anacquaintance with English people of station, and some proficiency atbridge; but by and by her condescension grew wearisome, and finallyexasperating. Miss Weston, however, could not have been expected torecognize this. She was a tall, pale woman, with a coldly formalmanner and some taste in dress. 

There were several other guests in the house, and the party spent mostof the hot afternoon about the tennis net and lounging under theshadow of a big copper beech on the lawn. Once when Miss Weston lefther to play in a set at tennis, Arabella Kinnaird leaned over the backof Ida's chair. 

"You seem to have made rather a favorable impression upon JuliaWeston, and, as a rule, she's unapproachable, " she said, with amischievous smile. 

Ida's eyebrows straightened, which, to those acquainted with her, wasa rather ominous sign. 

"Won't you keep that woman away from me?" she begged. "I don't want tobe rude, but if I see very much more of her, I may not be able to helpit. In one way, I'm sorry I met her. You're not all like that. "

"Well, " said Arabella, "perhaps it is a pity. There really are some ofus to whom you could talk without having your pet illusions about theold country shattered. In fact, I can think of one or two women abouthere who would strengthen them. Can't you, Mr. Ainslie?"

Ainslie, who was standing near them, smiled. 

"Oh, yes, " he said. "Unfortunately, however, they are, as a rule, retiring. It's the other kind that is usually in evidence. Do you feelvery badly disappointed with us, Miss Stirling?"

"No, " replied Ida, with a thoughtfulness which brought the smile moreplainly into his eyes. "In fact, I want to think well of you. It's athing we wouldn't quite admit, but at bottom I believe we all do. "

Then she turned to Arabella. 

"By the way, what has become of Mr. Weston?"

"He is shut up with my father in the library; and there are reasonsfor supposing that his business requires the consumption of aconsiderable quantity of soda and whisky. The major, I am afraid, willbe a trifle difficult to get on with this evening. As a matter offact, he isn't used to it, though he was, one understands, ratherpopular at the mess table. That's a trifle significant, consideringwhat is said about us, isn't it, Mr. Ainslie?"

"Ah, " said Ainslie, "we're a maligned people; and the pity of it isthat it's our own people who give us away. You don't believe in doingthat in the Colonies?"

"No, " laughed Ida, "we are rather fond of making it clear that we arequite above the average as a people. However, it's excusable, perhaps, for, after all, there's a germ of truth in it. I think Miss Kinnairdwill agree with that. "

Arabella leaned a little farther over her chair. 

"I'll leave you to talk it out with Mr. Ainslie. But there's anothermatter. Does Miss Weston recall to you anybody we have met?"

"No, " said Ida, with a somewhat incautious decisiveness. "If you meanour camp-packer, she certainly does not. "

Arabella understood this to mean that any comparison of the kindsuggested would be derogatory to the packer, which was somewhatsignificant. 

"Well, " she said, "there is at least a physical resemblance, andthough I haven't probed the matter very deeply, yet I've not abandonedit. "

Then she laughed and turned to Ainslie. 

"You and Miss Stirling can thrash out the question. "

She strolled away, and Ainslie watched Ida, whose eyes were followingMiss Weston at the tennis net. 

"Yes, " he remarked, "we play these games rather well; and, after all, is there any reason why we shouldn't? There are a good many people inthis country who don't consider them as of the first importance. "

"Oh, " said Ida, "I'm really not looking for faults. Why should yoususpect me of such an unpleasant attitude?"

"Well, " observed her companion reflectively, "I can't help thinkingthat we now and then give our visitors wrong impressions by showingthem the wrong things. Personally, I should recommend an inspection ofour mines and mills and factories. Besides, one has rather a fancythat some of our young men, who were brought up, we'll say, to playtennis well, have shown that they can do rather more than that inwestern Canada. "

Ida's eyes softened a little as she recalled a weary, gray-faced manlimping back up the hillside one eventful morning; but the turn thatthe conversation had taken had its effect on her, and that effect wasto have its result. Like others born in the newer lands, she believedfirst of all in practical efficiency, and she had learned duringjourneys made with her father that the man with few wants and manyabilities, or indeed the man with only one of the latter strenuouslyapplied to a useful purpose, is the type in most favor in westernCanada. Graces do not count for much in the west, nor does theassumption of ability carry a man as far as it sometimes does in oldercommunities. As Stirling had once said, when they want a chopper inthat country they make him chop, and facility in posing is of verylittle service when one is called on to grapple with virgin forest orstubborn rock. 

Young as Ida was, she had a grip of essential things, and a dislike ofshams. It generally happened, too, that, when she felt strongly on anysubject, she sooner or later expressed her thoughts in forcible words;and before that afternoon was over she and Arabella Kinnaird betweenthem disturbed the composure of more than one of Mrs. Kinnaird'sguests. 

Tea was being laid out on a little table beneath the beech when Westonstrolled across the lawn. He was redder in face than when Ida had lastseen him, and a trifle heavier of expression. Pushing unceremoniouslypast two of the women, he dropped into a basket-chair, which bentunder him, and glanced around at the others with coldly, assertiveeyes. Ida, watching him, became conscious of a sense of repulsion andindignation. This arrogant, indulgent, useless man had, it seemed, notthe manners of a western ranch-hand. He accepted a cup of tea fromMrs. Kinnaird with an ungraciousness which aroused Ida to downrightanger; and shortly afterward he contrived to spill a quantity of theliquid upon Arabella's dress, for which he offered no excuses, thoughhe blamed the narrow-bottomed cup. Then some one, who of course couldnot foresee the result, asked Arabella if she would show them some ofher Canadian sketches. 

Miss Kinnaird made no objection, and when, soon after the tea wascleared away, the easel she sent for had been set up in the shadow ofthe beech, she displayed on it several small canvases and water-colordrawings. There were vistas of snow mountains, stretches of frothingrivers, and colonnades of towering firs, until at last she laid acanvas on the easel. 

"This, " she said, "is, I think, the best figure drawing I ever did. "

Ida, leaning forward in her chair, felt the blood creep into her face. There was no doubt that the sketch was striking. It showed a manstanding tensely poised, with a big, glinting ax in his hand. He waslean and lithely muscular, and his face was brown and very grim; butthe artist had succeeded in fixing in its expression the elusive butrecognizable something which is born of restraint, clean living, andarduous physical toil. It is to be seen in the eyes of those who, living in Spartan simplicity, make long marches with the dog-sledgesin the Arctic frost, drive the logs down roaring rivers, or toilsixteen hours daily under a blazing sun in the western harvest field. In all probability it was as plainly stamped on the honest countenanceof many an unconsidered English Tommy who plodded doggedly forwardwith the relief columns across the dusty veldt. Drivers of greatexpresses, miners, quarrymen, now and then wear that look. Springing, as it does, not from strength of body, but from the subjugation of thelatter and all fleshy shrinking and weariness, it links man with thegreatness of the unseen. 

There was only the one figure silhouetted against long rows of duskypines, but the meaning of the way in which the hard, scarred handswere clenched on the big ax was very plain, and Ida could fill in frommemory the form of the big chopper and the clusters of expectant men. 

"Excellent!" said one of the guests. "That fellow means to fight. He'sin hard training, too, and that has now and then a much bigger effectthan the toughening of his muscles upon the man who submits himself toit. Is it a portrait or a type?"

The speaker was from the metropolis, and while Arabella hesitated, Idaanswered him with a suggestive ring in her voice. 

"It's both, one should like to think, " she said. "The man came fromEngland; and if you can send us out more of that type we shall besatisfied. "

Then she and the questioner became conscious of the awkward silencethat had fallen upon the rest. They belonged to the dales, and theyglanced covertly at Weston, who was gazing at the picture, purple inface, and with a very hard look in his eyes. Ida guessed that it wasthe scarred workman's hands and the track-grader's old blue shirt andtattered duck that had hurt his very curious pride. Still, it wasevident that he could face the situation. 

"Yes, " he said, a trifle hoarsely, "it's a portrait--an excellent one. In fact, as some of you are quite aware, it's my son. "

He rose, and crossing a strip of lawn sat down heavily near Ida. Thelatter, looking around, saw Arabella's satisfied smile suddenlysubside; but the next moment Weston, leaning forward, laid his handroughly on her arm. 

"Why Clarence permitted that portrait to be painted I don't quiteunderstand, though he was fond of flying in the face of all ideas ofdecency, " he said. "You must have met him out yonder. What was hedoing?"

"Shoveling gravel on a railroad that my father was grading, " said Ida, with rather grim amusement, for she was determined that the man shouldface the plain reality, even if it hurt him. 

"Shoveling gravel!" said Weston. "But he is my son. "

"I'm afraid that doesn't count out yonder. In any case, he's in onesense in reasonably good company. Did you send your son to Sandhurstor an English university?"

"I didn't, " said the man, gazing at her with hot, confused anger inhis eyes. "For one thing, he hadn't brains enough, and, for another, there were too many charges on the property. What do you mean by goodcompany?"

"Just a moment before I answer. Why did you turn him out?"

"That does not describe it. He went. We had a difference of opinion. He would hear no reason. "

"Exactly, " said Miss Weston, who now appeared close by. "Since youseem to have heard a little about the matter, I feel I must say thatmy brother deliberately left us at a time when his father had expectedhim to be of service to him. "

Ida did not know whether the others could hear what was being said, asthere was a strip of lawn between them and where she sat, but she feltthat it did not greatly matter. She had no pity for this man or hisdaughter, who preferred to malign the absent rather than to admit anunpleasant fact. She would strip them of any solace they might find inshams, after which there was a little more to be said. 

"The difference of opinion was, I believe, decided with ariding-crop, " she said. "Still, that is a side issue, and I will tellyou what I meant by good company. We have quite a few of yourgraduates out yonder laying railroad ties, as well as lawyers who havegot into trouble over trust money, and army men who couldn't meettheir turf debts or were a little too smart at cards. Some of them areof unexceptionable family--at least from your point of view. As arule, they sleep packed like cattle in reeking redwood shacks, andeither dress in rags or mend their own clothes. Among their companionsare ranchers who can't live all the year on the produce of theirhalf-cleared land, absconders from half the Pacific Slope cities, andrunaway sailormen. The task set before them every morning would killmost of you. "

Weston, who had winced once or twice, glanced apprehensively towardthe rest. They were sitting very still, and their appearance suggestedthat, whether warrantable or not, they were listening. 

"His insane folly has brought him down to that?" he asked. 

Ida straightened herself a little, with a sparkle in her eyes. 

"I don't think there has been any very great descent, " she went on. "You must try to realize that those men are not wastrels now, howeverthey may have lived in England, Montreal, or the cities down PugetSound. They're rending new roads through the mountains to let inprogress and civilization, and making fast the foundations of thefuture greatness of a wide and prosperous land. Already, because ofwhat they and their kind have done, you can travel through it withoutseeing a ragged, slatternly woman, or a broken-down, desperate man. Besides, many of them, and certainly most of the small bush ranchers, lead lives characterized by the old heroic virtues that seem to havegone out of fashion in the cities, though you'll find some of themheld up for emulation in the Pauline epistles. "

Weston gazed at her in blank astonishment. She made a little, half-contemptuous gesture. 

"You can't understand that? Well, one really couldn't expect you to. You have never starved your body, or forced it day after day to a taskthat was crushing you. Those men work in icy water, keep the trailwith bleeding feet, and sleep in melting snow. They bear these thingscheerfully, and I think there are no men on this earth who can matchtheir wide charity. The free companions never turn away the raggedstranger. What is theirs is his, from the choicest of their provisionsto the softest spruce-twig bed. "

She laughed, and then continued:

"That's in a general way. To be particular, I'll try to tell you whatClarence Weston has done. It's worth hearing. "

She had spoken more clearly the last few moments, and it becameevident at length that she had secured the attention of everybody. With an impulsive gesture she invited them all to listen. 

"I'll tell you what that picture leaves out, " she said. "There was anold man in the railroad camp, played-out and useless. The boys werehandling him roughly because he'd spoiled their supper rather often, when Clarence Weston stepped in. The old man, you must understand, hadn't a shadow of a claim on him. Now, those are not nice men to maketrouble with when they have a genuine grievance, and there were threeor four of them quite ready to lay hands on Weston, while there wasnobody who sympathized with him. He stood facing them, one man againstan angry crowd, and held them off from the stranger who had no claimon him. Have you heard of anything finer?

"Again, when Arabella lamed herself up on a great snow range--he'dcarried our food and blankets since sunrise--he went down to bringhelp in the darkness, through the timber and along the edge ofhorrible crags. The man had badly cut his foot, and the wound openedon the march, but when he made the camp, almost too weary to crawl, hewent back right away, so that the Indians he took up might get there alittle quicker. "

She broke off for a moment, with a flush in her face and a curiouslittle laugh. 

"Now, " she said, "I think I've made the thing quite plain, and I'mglad I did. "

There was an expressive silence for a moment or two, and then MajorKinnaird looked at the others. 

"I know nothing about the first incident, but I think that MissStirling could have gone a little further when she described the lastone, " he said. "My daughter, who was badly injured, would probablyhave been left another day on the range, without food or anyattention, if it had not been for the courage and endurance the mandisplayed. I wish to say, however, that I had no idea he was anyconnection of Mr. Weston's until this moment. "

Ida's heart warmed toward Kinnaird. Reserved and formal as he was, theman could be honest, and it was evident that his few quiet words hadmade almost as deep an impression as the outbreak to which she hadbeen impelled. There was another rather awkward silence; and thenWeston, who seemed to have forgotten the others, made a little abruptmovement. 

"What had my son to do with you?" he asked. 

The question was flung at Kinnaird, but Ida saw that it was a reliefto him when she answered it. 

"My father hired him. He was our camp-packer, the man who set up thetents, made the fires, and poled the canoes, " she said. 

Weston stood up and, looking hard at Kinnaird, straightened himself. His face was an unpleasant red, and there was badly-suppressed angerin his eyes. 

"Time is getting on, and we have rather a long drive, " he said. "I mayask Miss Stirling's leave to call on her later. In the meanwhile, ifMrs. Kinnaird will excuse us----"

His hostess made no attempt to keep him; and, as he moved away, hisdaughter stopped for a moment beside Ida's chair. 

"I don't know whether what you have done was excusable or not, but youhave, at least, succeeded in making the breach between Clarence andhis father wider than ever, " she said. "That was probably what youintended?"

Ida was momentarily puzzled. 

"Intended?" she said. "If either of you had done your brother justice, I don't think I should have mentioned him at all. "

Miss Weston smiled scornfully and moved away, but the blood crept intothe face of the girl she left. That she had outraged these people'ssense of their importance she felt reasonably sure, and theirresentment, which she admitted was, perhaps, more or less warranted, did not trouble her, but the drift of Miss Weston's last observationfilled her with anger. They evidently regarded her as a raw Colonial, endued with no sense of what was fitting, who could not expect to becountenanced by an insolvent land-owning family. This was amusing; butthe suggestion that she recognized the fact, and because of it hadendeavored to alienate Clarence Weston from his relatives, who hadapparently been very glad to get rid of him, was a very differentmatter. However, she recovered her composure with an effort, andsucceeded in taking a part in the general conversation which broke outwhen Weston drove away. 

CHAPTER XIX

ILLUMINATION

It was three or four months later when Ida was carried swiftlywestward through the London streets toward twelve o'clock one night. The motor purred and clicked smoothly, slinging bright beams of lightin front of it as it twisted eel-like through the traffic. The glassthat would have sheltered Ida from the cool night breeze was down, butshe scarcely noticed the roar of the city or the presence of Arabellaand Mrs. Kinnaird. 

She was thinking of that afternoon at Scarthwaite, and wondering, asshe had done somewhat frequently since then, what had impelled her tospeak in that impulsive fashion. It had not been, as she nowrecognized, merely a desire to justify Clarence Weston in the eyes ofhis English relatives, for she had felt reasonably sure that this wasa thing beyond accomplishment while he remained a railroad-hand or abush chopper. The other explanation was that she had spoken toreassure herself; but that, as she would have admitted, seemedscarcely necessary, for in this respect he did not need an advocate. There was the third alternative, that the attitude of Weston and hisdaughter toward the absent man had fanned her dislike of shams into ablaze of downright rage, and that she had merely ridden a somewhatreckless tilt against her pet aversions. 

One thing, at least, was certain. Weston had not called on her, to askfor any further information about his son; and, for that matter, shewould have been astonished had he done so. She realized now that therewas truth in what Clarence Weston said when he told her that thefailures were soon forgotten. That, however, was a matter thatdepended largely on one's point of view, and she could not regard himas a failure. 

There was in Ida Stirling a vein of wholesome simplicity which madefor clearness of vision, and she seldom shrank from looking even anunwelcome truth squarely in the face. That Clarence Weston wasprobably shoveling railroad gravel did not count with her, but she wasreasonably sure that the fact that she was a young woman withextensive possessions would have a deterrent effect on him. She onceor twice had felt a curious compelling tenderness for him when in hispresence, but reflection had come later, and she could not be surethat she loved him well enough to marry him, should he offer her theopportunity. During the last few months she had become more uncertainon this point, for her English visit was having an effect on her thatshe had not expected. 

In the meanwhile the insistent clamor of the city was forcing itselfon her attention, until at length she became engrossed by it. Thetheaters had just been closed, and the streets resounded with thehumming of motors, the drumming of hoofs and the rattle of wheels. They also were flooded with what seemed to her garish light, for shehad swept through many a wooden town lying wrapped in darkness besideits railroad track. The hansoms and motors came up in battalions, andin most of them she could see men of leisure in conventional white andblack and lavishly dressed women, while the sidewalks streamed with afurther host of pleasure-seekers. She wondered when these peopleslept, or when they worked, if indeed in one sense some of them workedat all. Even in the winter they had nothing like this in Montreal, andthe contrast between it and the strenuous, grimly practical activityof the Canadian railroad camp or the lonely western ranch was morestriking still. There men rose to toil with the dawn, and slept whenthe soft dusk crept up across solemn pines or silent prairie. Thesemen, however, saw and handled the results of their toil, greatfreight-trains speeding over the trestles they had built, vast bandsof cattle, and leagues of splendid wheat. After all, the genius ofLondon is administrative and not constructive, and it is the latterthat appeals most directly to the Colonial. One can see the forests godown or the great rocks rent, but the results that merely figure inthe balance-sheet are less apparent. 

There was another matter that claimed Ida's attention. She would meetGregory Kinnaird at the dance, and she had seen a good deal of himduring the last few months. He was not formal like his father, and inmost respects she liked the man; and there was no doubt whatever thathe neglected no opportunity for enjoying her company. Indeed, he hadof late drawn rather close to her, and she wondered a little uneasilyhow far this approachment was to go. London, she was conscious, wasgetting hold of her, and there was, after all, a good deal it had tooffer that strongly appealed to her. 

By and by the motor stopped before a house with balconies andponderous pillars, and she and her companions went up the amplestairway and into several uncomfortably crowded, flower-bedeckedrooms. Ida, however, was getting used to the lights and the music, thegleam of gems, the confused hum of voices, and the rustle of costlydraperies, and, though she admitted that she liked it all, they nolonger had the same exhilarating effect on her. She danced with one ortwo men, and then, as she sat alone for a moment, Gregory Kinnairdcrossed the room toward her. His face was a little more serious thanusual. As a rule, he took things lightly. 

"I think this is mine, " he said, as the orchestra recommenced. "Still, perhaps you have had enough? I can find you a nice cool place where wecan talk. "

She went with him, because it certainly was uncomfortably warm whereshe was, and, besides, she was impelled by a certain curiosity toascertain just how they stood. He passed through one supper-room intoanother, and then drew back a heavy curtain from an open window. 

"It's quiet, anyway, " he said, and they passed out on to a littlebalcony where, late in the year as it was, a row of potted shrubs cutthem off from view. 

Below, there were dusky, leafless trees, among which a few big lightsgleamed, and the roar of the city came up across them brokenly. Idasat down, and a ray of light fell upon her companion, who leanedagainst the rails. Gregory Kinnaird was well-favored physically, andbore the stamp of a military training. He was, she understood, captainof a rather famous regiment, and she liked his direct gaze, which didnot detract from his easy suavity of manner. However, he appearedsomewhat unusually diffident that evening. 

"You like all this?" he asked, with a little wave of his hand which, she fancied, was intended to indicate the distant roar of the city aswell as the music and dancing in the rooms behind her. 

"Yes, " she said with a smile, for he appeared to take it for granted, as others had done, that they had no brilliant social functions inMontreal. "I think I do; but when you have so much of it, the thingseems a little aimless, doesn't it?"

"Aimless?" inquired Kinnaird, who appeared to ponder over this until alight broke in on him. "Well, " he admitted, "I suppose it is. Still, what else could half of them do?"

Ida laughed good-humoredly; and the man made a little expostulatorygesture. 

"I generally avoid any discussions of that kind. They never lead toanything, " he said. "I was wondering whether you could learn to likeLondon as well as Montreal?"

"I don't know, " replied Ida, in her most matter-of-fact manner. 

"Oh, " said her companion, "it seems a senseless question, but I wantto explain. I have been offered an opportunity to go away--to dosomething--very soon. I should be away two years, at least; and as thenotice is a short one, I have practically to make up my mindto-night. "

It almost appeared that he had expected Ida to show some sign ofinterest, or, perhaps, concern, but none was perceptible. 

"Where are you going?" she asked. 

"To a colony in tropical Africa. They want somebody to hammer a nativelevy into shape and keep the niggers in some kind of order. "

"Don't they have fever there?"

"I believe it isn't a particularly salubrious place, " said Kinnaird, smiling, "but that kind of thing affects only some constitutions, andit makes promotion quicker. "

Ida, who had perused a good many works of travel, knew a little aboutthe fevers that afflict the country in question. In fact, she fanciedthat she knew more than the man did; but his careless indifference tothe personal hazard pleased her. She noticed that he had spokennaturally, as he felt, without any idea of producing an effect on her. 

"What is the result of that kind of work?" she asked. 

"The result?" queried Kinnaird, with a puzzled air. "A battalion ofthick-headed niggers with some slight knowledge of civilized drill, and, perhaps, a few stockades blown up in the bush. "

Then, as he saw the half-veiled amusement in her eyes, a light seemedto break in on him. 

"If one managed the thing efficiently, it would, perhaps, lead to theoffer of a second-rate semi-administrative post somewhere else in thetropics, though I believe the emoluments are not what one could callliberal. "

"That is all?"

"Yes, " said Kinnaird. "I'm afraid one couldn't expect anythingfurther. "

Ida smiled rather curiously. She liked the man, but it was clear thathis mental capacity had its limits. Though she would not have had himexpatiate on the fact, she had expected him to realize that hismission was to uphold the white man's supremacy, and establishtranquillity, commerce and civilization in a barbarous land. It was, however, evident that he did not understand this. He was going out, ashe said, to drill thick-headed niggers, and would, in all probability, content himself with doing that. 

Then he turned toward her again. 

"What it leads to doesn't matter very much. I've been getting awayfrom the point, " he said. "You see, I don't know whether I'm going atall, at the moment. It depends a good deal on what you have to say tome. "

Ida started a little, though she had expected something of this kind. Still, she recovered her serenity quickly, and in a moment she lookedat him inquiringly with calm eyes. 

"I didn't mean to say anything for some while yet, but this thing hasforced my hand, " he said. "You see, I must let them know during thenext day or two whether I'm going. "

He broke off for a moment, and his manner became diffident. 

"Miss Stirling, " he added, "I think I fell in love with you the secondor third time I saw you, if not the first, and as I have seen yourather often since then, you can, perhaps, imagine what I feel now. I'm afraid there is no very strong reason why you should look kindlyon such a man as I am, but I came here to-night to ask if you wouldmarry me. "

Ida quietly met his gaze. The man was well-favored physically, honest, courteous and considerate, and in many ways she liked him. Indeed, shewondered with a certain uneasiness how far she had allowed the latterfact to become apparent, for it was quite another matter to marry him, as she now realized. 

"Is this offer quite spontaneous?" she asked. 

Kinnaird flushed a little, but she thought the more of him for thecandor with which he answered her. 

"In the first place, I believe my mother put the thing into my head, "he admitted. "After that, it got hold of me--and I was rather gladthat my people were apparently satisfied that it did. It promised tosave trouble, for I should naturally have gone on with it if they haddone their utmost to thwart me. "

He broke off abruptly, and Ida met his gaze. 

"Thank you, " she said. "The honesty of that admission would havecounted a good deal in your favor had the thing been possible. "

The man straightened himself and clenched one hand. 

"Ah!" he said. "Then it's quite out of the question?"

Ida saw the blood rise into his face, and noticed the sudden hardnessin his eyes. Her answer evidently had hurt him more than she expected, and she felt sorry for him. The man's quietness and control and theabsence of any dramatic protestation had a favorable effect on her, and she was almost certain that she could have married him had she methim a year earlier. In the meanwhile, however, she had met anotherman, dressed in old blue duck, with hands hard and scarred; and thewell-groomed soldier became of less account as she recalled the manshe had left in the mountains. Then Kinnaird turned to her again. 

"Can't you give me a chance?" he said. "If it's necessary, I'll wait;and in the meanwhile I may do something worth while out yonder, ifthat's any inducement. "

"I'm very sorry, " replied Ida. "I'm afraid it wouldn't be. "

She looked him steadily in the eyes, and he had sense enough torecognize that no words of his would move her. Though it was not aneasy matter, he retained his self-control. 

"Well, " he admitted, "it hurts, but I must bear it. And I want to saythat I'm glad in several ways that I met you. " Then the blood creptinto his face again. "I should, at least, like you to think kindly ofme, and I'm rather afraid appearances are against me. Because that isso, there's a thing that I should like you to understand. I'd havebeen proud to marry you had you been a beggar. "

"Thank you, " said Ida, who saw that he meant it. "I'm more sorry thanever, but the thing is--out of the question. "

Kinnaird gravely held out his arm, but she intimated by a little signthat she did not wish to go back with him, and in a moment thecurtains swung to behind him, and he had gone. 

Ida became conscious that she was growing cold; but she sat quitestill for at least five minutes, thinking hard, and wondering why shefelt so sorry to give up Gregory Kinnaird. It was a somewhatperplexing thing that one could be really fond of an eligible man andyet shrink from marrying him, and there was no doubt whatever that theone she had just sent away had in several respects a good deal tooffer her. 

She admitted that London was, as she expressed it, getting hold ofher. She supposed that its influence was insidious, for she no longerlooked on its frivolities with half-amused contempt, as she had atfirst. She realized the vast control that that city had over so muchof the rest of the world, and that when some of the men with whom shehad lightly laughed and chatted pulled the strings, new industriessprang up far away in the scorching tropics or on the desolateprairie, and new laws were made for hosts of dusky people. It wascertainly a legitimate bargain Kinnaird had suggested. She had wealthsufficient for them both, and he could offer her the entry into aworld where wealth well directed meant power, and this she undoubtedlydesired to possess. There was a vein of ambition in this girl whosefather had risen to affluence from a very humble origin, and while shelistened to Gregory Kinnaird she had felt that she could rise furtherstill. 

She knew that she had will and charm enough to secure, with the aid ofher father's money, almost what place she would, and for a few momentsshe saw before her dazzling possibilities, and then, with theresolution that was part of her nature, she turned her eyes away. After all, though a high position with the power and pride of leadingwas a thing to be desired, life, she felt, had as much to offer indifferent ways; and she recalled a very weary man limping, gray inface, up the steep range. The picture was very plainly before her asshe sat there shivering a little, and her heart grew soft toward thewanderer. She knew at last why nothing that Kinnaird could have saidor offered would have moved her, and she looked down at the lamps thatblinked among the leafless boughs with a great tenderness shining inher eyes. The stir of the city fell faintly on unheeding ears, and shewas conscious only of a longing for the stillness of the vast pineforest through which she had wandered with Weston at her side. 

Then she rose abruptly and went back into the lighted room. Though shedanced once or twice, and talked to a number of people who, perhapsfortunately, did not seem to expect her to say anything veryintelligent, she was glad when Mrs. Kinnaird sent for her, and theyand Arabella drove away together. The elder lady troubled her with noquestions; but soon after they reached home she came into the roomwhere Ida sat, and as she left the door open the girl saw Gregory godown the stairway with a letter in his hand. He met his sister nearthe foot of it, and his voice, which seemed a trifle strained, came upto Ida clearly. 

"I'll just run out and post this. I've told those people that I'll goas soon as they like, " he said. 

Then Mrs. Kinnaird quietly closed the door before she crossed the roomand sat down near the girl. 

"It's rather hard to bear, " she said. "Perhaps I feel it the morebecause Arabella will leave me soon. "

The woman's quietness troubled Ida, and her eyes grew hazy. 

"Oh, " she said, "though it isn't quite my fault, how you must blameme. It's most inadequate, but I can only say that I'm very sorry. "

"I suppose what you told Gregory is quite irrevocable?" inquired hercompanion. 

Ida saw the tense anxiety in the woman's eyes, and her answer cost heran effort. 

"Yes, quite, " she said. "I wish I could say anything else. "

"I can't blame you, my dear. I blame only myself, " said Mrs. Kinnaird. "I'm afraid I brought this trouble on Gregory, and it makes my shareof it harder to bear. Still, there is something to be said. I wantedGregory to marry you because I wanted him near me, but I can't haveyou think that I would have tried to bring about a match between himand any girl with money. My dear, " and she leaned forward toward hercompanion, "I am fond of you. "

Ida made a gesture of comprehension and sympathy, and the little quietlady went on again. 

"There is just another thing, " she said. "Gregory will have verylittle--a few hundred a year--but it would not have been a dreadfullyone-sided bargain. He had, after all, a good deal to offer. "

Ida raised a hand in protest. 

"Oh, " she said, "I know. "

"Still, " continued Mrs. Kinnaird, "I want you to feel quite sure thathe loved you. Without that nothing else would have counted. You willbelieve it, won't you? It is due to my son. "

She rose with a little sigh. 

"Things never go as one would wish them to. "

Ida was very sorry for her, but there was so little that could besaid. 

"I shall always think well of Gregory, " she answered. "You will try toforgive me?"

Then an impulsive restless longing came over her with the knowledgethat she had brought this woman bitter sorrow. 

"I will go home, " she broke out. "It will hurt you to see me near youwhen Gregory has gone away. There are friends of ours--Mrs. Claridgeand her daughter, you met them--leaving for Paris on Wednesday, andthey sail for New York in a week or two. "

It was a relief to both of them to discuss a matter of this kind, and, before Mrs. Kinnaird left her, all had been arranged. Still, it wasnot Montreal and its winter amusements that Ida thought of then, butthe shadowy bush, and the green river that stole out from among thesomber pines. 

CHAPTER XX

IDA CLAIMS AN ACQUAINTANCE

It was early on a fine spring evening when Clarence Weston laysomewhat moodily on the wooded slope of the mountain that rises behindMontreal. It is not very much of a mountain, though it forms aremarkably fine natural park, and from where Weston lay he could lookdown upon a vast sweep of country and the city clustering round thetowers of Notre Dame. It is, from almost any point of view, abeautiful city, for its merchants and financiers of English andScottish extraction have emulated the love of artistic symmetrydisplayed by the old French Canadian religious orders, as well astheir lavish expenditure, in the buildings they have raised. Churches, hospitals, banks and offices delight the eye, and no pall ofcoal-smoke floats over Montreal. It lies clean and sightly between itsmountain and the river under the clear Canadian sky. 

On the evening in question the faintest trace of thin blue vaporetherealized its clustering roofs and stately towers, and the greatriver, spanned by its famous bridge, gleamed athwart the flatchampaign, a wide silver highway to the distant sea. Beyond it, stretches of rolling country ran back league after league into thevast blue distance where Vermont lay. Still, Weston, who was jaded andcast down, frowned at the city and felt that he had a grievanceagainst it. During the last week or two he had, for the most partvainly, endeavored to interview men of importance connected withfinance and company promoting. Very few of them would see him at all, and those with whom he gained audience listened to what he had to saywith open impatience, or with a half-amused toleration that was almostas difficult to bear. Perhaps this was not astonishing, as most ofthem already had had somewhat costly experiences with what they calledwild-cat mining schemes. 

There was, however, a certain vein of dogged persistency in ClarenceWeston; and, almost intolerably galling as he-found it, he would stillhave continued to obtrude his presence on gentlemen who had no desirewhatever to be favored with it, and to waylay them in the hotels, butfor the fact that the little money he had brought with him was rapidlyrunning out. One can, in case of stern necessity, put one's pride inone's pocket, though the operation is occasionally painful, but onecannot dispense with food and shelter, and the latter are not, as arule, to be obtained in a Canadian city except in exchange for money. Weston, who had had no lunch that day, took out the little roll ofbills still left in his wallet, and, when he had flicked them over, itbecame unpleasantly clear that he could not prosecute the campaignmore than a very few days longer. Then he took out his pipe, and, filling it carefully, broke off a sulphur match from the block in hispocket. He felt that this was an extravagance, but he was in need justthen of consolation. He had wandered up on the mountain, past thereservoir and the M'Gill University, after a singularly discouragingafternoon, to wait until supper should be ready at his boarding-house. 

One or two groups of loungers, young men and daintily dressed women, strolled by; and then he started suddenly at the sound of a voice thatsent a thrill through him. He would have recognized it and the laughthat followed it, anywhere. He sprang to his feet as a group of threepeople came out from a winding path among the trees. For a moment ortwo a wholly absurd and illogical impulse almost impelled him to bolt. He knew it was quite unreasonable, especially as he had thought of thegirl every day since he had last seen her; but he remembered that shewas a rich man's daughter and he a wandering packer of no account, with an apparently unrealizable project in his mind, and in his pocketno more money than would last a week. While he hesitated, she saw him. He stood perfectly still, perhaps a little straighter than wasabsolutely necessary, and not looking directly toward her. If shepreferred to go by without noticing him, he meant to afford her theopportunity. 

She turned toward her father and said something that Weston could nothear, but he felt his heart beat almost unpleasantly fast when, amoment later, she moved on quietly straight toward him. She lookedwhat she was, a lady of station, and her companion's attire suggestedthe same thing, while, though Weston now wore city clothes, he wasmorbidly afraid that the stamp of defeat and failure was upon him. Much as he had longed for her it would almost have been a relief tohim if she had passed. Ida, however, did nothing of the kind. Shestopped and held out her hand while she looked at him with graciouscomposure. It was impossible for him to know that this had cost her acertain effort. 

"Where have you come from? We certainly didn't expect to see youhere, " she said. 

"From Winnipeg. That is, immediately, " said Weston, and added, "Ihired out to bring a draft of cattle. "

Ida, who was quite aware that the tending of cattle on trains was nota well-paid occupation, and was usually adopted only by those whodesired to save the cost of a ticket, fancied that she understood whyhe mentioned this, and was not sure that she was pleased. It was, asshe recognized, the man's unreasonable pride which impelled him tothrust facts of that kind into the foreground. Just then, however, herfather, who had waited a moment or two, stepped forward and shookhands with him. 

"Where are you staying in the city?" he asked. 

"At Lemoine's boarding-house, " answered Weston, mentioning a street inthe French Canadian quarter, from which any one acquainted with thelocality could deduce that he found it desirable to study economy. 

"Doing anything here?" asked Stirling. 

Weston said that he had some mining business in hand; and he lookeddown at his clothes, when Stirling 'suggested that he should come'home with them to supper, though, from his previous acquaintance withthe man, he was not astonished at the invitation. Stirling laughed. 

"That's quite right, " he said. "We call it supper, and that's how Idress. I don't worry about the little men when I bring them along, andthe big ones don't mind. "

Weston glanced at Ida, and when he saw that she seconded theinvitation, he said that he would run around to his boarding-housefirst to see whether there were any letters or messages for him. Stirling made a sign of comprehension, for this was a thing he couldunderstand. There had been a time when he had watched and waited forthe commissions which very seldom came. 

"Then you can come straight across as soon as you have called there, "said Ida. 

She presented him to her companion, who, it appeared, came fromToronto; and then she explained that they had climbed the mountain sothat her friend might see the surroundings of the city. They walkedback together until they reached a spot where two roads led downhill, and Weston left them. 

It was some little time later when he reached Stirling's house, andwas left to wait a few minutes in a very artistically-furnished room. Its floor was of polished parquetry with a few fine skins from BritishColumbia spread upon it here and there, and the dainty, spindle-leggedchairs, the little tables, the cabinets and the Watteau figures were, he fancied, either of old French manufacture or excellent copies. Thebig basement heater had apparently been extinguished, but a snappingwood-fire blazed upon the English pattern hearth, and, for the lightwas fading outside, it flung an uncertain, flickering radiance aboutthe room. Weston, sitting down, contrasted its luxury with the grimbareness of his match-boarded cubicle in the boarding-house, and withthe log shanties of the railroad and logging camps. He frowned as hedid so, for all that his eyes rested on made unpleasantly plain thedistinction between himself and the girl whose room it evidently was. 

Then he rose as she came in, attired in a long, trailing dress thatrustled as she moved. It seemed to become her wonderfully, and hebecame conscious of a faint embarrassment. He had not seen her dressedin that fashion before, and, after the years that he had spent inlonely bush and noisy railroad camp, her beauty and daintiness had analmost disconcerting effect on him. She drew a low chair a littlenearer the hearth, and, sinking into it, motioned to him to be seated. 

"My father is busy, and Nellie Farquhar will not be down for a littlewhile, " she said. "We shall probably have half an hour to ourselves, and I want you to tell me all that you have been doing since we leftyou. "

Weston understood that she meant to resume their acquaintance--thoughhe was not sure that was quite the correct word for it--at the pointat which it had been broken off, and he was rather glad that she askedhim what he had been doing. It was a safe topic and naturally one onwhich he could converse, and he felt that any silence or sign ofconstraint would have been inadmissible. 

"Oh, " he said, "we went up to look for the mine again. "

"You were not successful?"

"No, " said Weston. "It was winter, and we had rather a rough time inthe ranges. In fact, I got one foot frost-bitten, and was lame forsome while afterward. It was the one I cut, which probably made itmore susceptible. "

His face hardened a trifle as he recalled the agony of the march backthrough the snowy wilderness, and the weeks he had afterward spent, unable to set his foot to the ground, in the comfortless log hotel ofa little desolate settlement. 

"Wasn't it rather foolish to go up into the ranges in winter?" Idaasked. 

"It was, " admitted Weston, with a faint, dry smile. "Still, you see, Icouldn't stay away. The thing has become an obsession. "

Ida fancied that she understood. He had on several occasions revealedto her his stubborn pride, and she knew that, whatever he thought ofher, he would keep it to himself unless he found that mine. She alsohad some idea of what one would have to face floundering over thesnow-barred passes into the great desolation in winter time. 

"Well, " she asked quietly, "what did you do then?"

"We worked in a logging camp until spring, and then I went down toVancouver to raise money for the next campaign. Nobody seemed inclinedto let me have any, for which one couldn't very well blame them. Afterall, " and Weston laughed softly, "the thing looks uncommonly crazy. Later on, we got a pass to do some track-grading back east, on one ofthe prairie lines, and when we'd saved a few dollars I started to trymy luck in Montreal. "

Ida said nothing for a few moments. She could fill in most of what heleft untold, and it seemed to her that one who knew how men lived inthe lonely logging camps through the iron winter, or drove the newtrack across the prairie through the thaw slush in spring, could makean epic of such a theme. It was toil that taxed man's utmost strengthof body and mind, under the Arctic frost, and, what was even worse tobear, in half-thawed mire. She had once seen the track-graderstrooping back, wet to the skin, worn out, and clogged with soil to theknees, to the reeking shanty which was filled with the foul steam ofdrying clothes. As the result of it all, Weston had, perhaps, savedless money than she often spent on one gown. She felt verycompassionate toward him, and he was troubled by the softness in hereyes. He felt that if he watched her too closely he might lose hishead. 

"I tried to study a few works on trigonometry and surveying during thewinter, but it was a little difficult, " he said. "For one thing, ifyou sat near the stove in the logging shack the light was dim, and youcouldn't very well read anywhere else in the frost we had. Besidesthat, the boys generally insisted on everybody's playing cards, and ifany one refused they had a playful trick of throwing things at him. "

The girl, who had imagination, could picture the dimly-lighted shantyand the bronzed and ragged men flinging their long boots, as well asvery pointed badinage, at the comrade who tried to read. It would, sheadmitted, certainly be a little difficult to study trigonometry insuch surroundings. 

"You see, I wanted to go into the thing systematically, " continuedWeston, who felt that he was safest when he kept on talking. "We havedecided that Verneille couldn't have made more than forty miles fromthe lake, and, as he was heading south, that gives us at most a sweepof about a hundred and twenty miles to search, though the whole of itis practically a nest of mountains. As I wasn't able to read up thesubject quite as much as I should have liked, we have thought ofhiring a professional surveyor and raising money enough to spend thewhole summer over the thing, even if we have to let the men who helpus take a share in the mine. "

"I wonder whether you would be very much offended if some of yourfriends were to offer to bear part of the expense?" Ida asked quietly. 

"I'm afraid I couldn't permit it. " The man's face flushed. "Theyprobably would never get their money back. After all, it's only awild-cat scheme. "

"That doesn't sound very convincing, " said Ida. "Haven't you anotherreason?"

She had expected to find the suggestion useless when she made it, forshe understood his attitude. He would not take her money, and that, ofcourse, was in one respect just as she would have had it; but, on theother hand, there were so many difficulties, and probably hazards, that she could save him. 

"Well, " he said quietly, "it's the only reason I can offer. "

There was silence for almost half a minute, and Ida felt that it wasbecoming singularly uncomfortable. So much could have been said byboth of them that their conversation up to this point had suggested toher the crossing of a river on very thin ice. On the surface it wassmooth, but the stream ran strong below, and there was the possibilitythat at any moment one of them might plunge through. Pride forbade hermaking any deliberate attempt to break the ice, but she would not havebeen very sorry had it suddenly given way. The man evidently washolding himself in hand, and she felt that she must emulate hisreticence. She clung to the safe topic, in which she really wasinterested, as he had done. 

"Won't you go on?" she asked. "You were not successful in Vancouver, and you tried to raise the money in Montreal. It's a little difficult, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, " said Weston, laughing, "as I'm situated, it certainly is. Of course, a good deal depends on how you set about this kind ofthing, and the correct way would have been to come in on a Pullmaninstead of a cattle-car, and then engage a suite of rooms at thebiggest hotel. Financiers and company jobbers seem rather shy of a manwho gives Lemoine's boarding-house as his address, and some of themare not quite civil when they hear what he has to say to them. Infact, I'm afraid that I shall have to give them up in a day or two. "

It was evident that he took his defeat quietly; but Ida thought thatshe knew what that quietness cost. 

"How are you going to get back?" she asked. 

She felt that it was rather a cruel question, for this was not the manto give up while he had a dollar in hand, and she was sure that he wasgoing back to search for the mine again. Still, in one respect, shewas a little vexed with him. His self-control was excellent, but therewas rather too much of it. 

"That, " he said, with a whimsical twinkle in his eyes, "is a pointthat will require rather careful consideration. "

Ida liked his smile, but the desire to startle him out of hisreticence in one way or another became suddenly irresistible, and shechanged the subject abruptly. 

"I told you I was going to England, " she said. "I wonder whether youwould be surprised to hear that I spent a month or two at ScarthwaiteHall?"

Weston did not seem exactly astonished, but he was clearlydisconcerted and off his guard. 

"I heard that you did, " he said. 

"Then you know that I met your father and sister and didn't keep mypromise, or, at least, that I didn't do what you wanted me to?"

"Yes, " said Weston simply. 

His quietness was too obvious, and she felt that it covered a gooddeal. 

"One of them wrote you?" she asked. 

"Yes, " admitted Weston, "my father indulged in a few reproaches. Hedidn't seem to like the notion of my having served as yourcamp-packer. After that, you were in London?"

He was at fault on two points, for, though compelled to answer her, heshould not have volunteered any information as to what was in theletter, nor should he have attempted to change the subject, for thismade it clear to Ida that things had been said which he did not wishher to suspect. There would, of course, be reproaches, but it seemedprobable that there would be a word or two of half-contemptuous adviceas well, and she felt reasonably sure what this would be. Weston ofScarthwaite had, no doubt, suggested that the man of whom she hadspoken so favorably would be a fool if he did not marry her. A traceof color crept into her face, and, seeing that there was a certaindiffidence in her companion's manner, she felt that she hated Westonof Scarthwaite. It was, however, evident that silence would be toosuggestive just then. 

"I didn't make a promise, after all, " she said. "Are you afraid that Igave your people a wrong impression about you?"

"No, " replied Weston quietly, looking her in the eyes. "I know youwould say nothing that was not kind of me. Still, the only thing thatwould affect my people would be the fact that I haven't succeeded atanything yet. " He smiled rather grimly. "I'm not sure it wouldn'tplease them, in a way. You see, they probably expected it. "

On the whole, both of them were glad that Miss Farquhar came in justthen; and in a few more minutes Stirling appeared, and they went in todinner. It was not a very elaborate meal, for the contractor, who hadonce toiled much as Weston had done, was, like a good many others ofhis kind, in some respects a simple and frugal man. Still, when Idaand Miss Farquhar left them, he laid a cigar-box on the table andfilled Weston's glass with wine. 

"Now, " he said, "if you have no objections, you can tell me whatyou're doing in Montreal. "

Weston supplied him with a brief account of his business, andStirling, who asked one or two very shrewd questions, sat apparentlyreflecting for a minute or two. 

"You struck nobody in Vancouver who seemed inclined to take a hand init?"

"Only one concern, and they seemed very doubtful. Anyway, their termswere practically prohibitive. "

"Grafton?"

"No. Norris & Lander. "

"Well, " said Stirling, "before you could expect to do anything here, you'd want to locate the reef and get some big mining man to visit itand give you a certificate that it was a promising property. If youhad that, and a bag of specimens of high-grade milling ore, peoplewould listen to you. "

"The trouble is that I can't get them. "

"Then, " observed Stirling, "I guess you'll have to fall back on yourfriends. "

"I'm afraid that none of my friends have any money to invest; and, inany case, I'd rather deal with strangers, " said Weston. 

His host glanced at him very keenly. 

"Seems to me you have got to let the thing go, " he said. 

"No, " declared Weston. "In some respects, it's a crazy project; butI'm going on. "

Stirling quietly turned the conversation into another channel, butwhen Western took his departure he called up his secretary on thetelephone. 

"I want you to write Norris & Lander, Vancouver, the first thing inthe morning, and get it off by the Pacific express, " he said. "Tellthem they can let a young man named Weston, with whom they've been incommunication, have the money he asks for, to count as stock when hestarts his company, at the biggest discount they can get. They cancharge me usual brokerage, but they're to keep my name out of it. "

The secretary said it should be done, and Stirling sat down to hiscigar with a smile. He was inclined to fancy that Weston would findNorris & Lander much more amenable after that. It was an hour laterwhen Ida came into the room, and he looked at her thoughtfully. 

"There's some grit in that young man, and I guess it's just as well, "he observed. "He's up against quite a big proposition. "

He saw the faint gleam in Ida's eyes. 

"If he has taken hold, I think he will put it through, " she said. 

She turned away the next moment, and moved a glass on the table; but, when she looked around again, she saw Stirling's smile. 

"Well, " he said, "considering everything, it's quite likely. "

After this, he carefully picked out another cigar, and Ida left him, wondering what he could have meant. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE BRÛLÉE

Stirling, who hitherto, like a wise man, had carefully avoidedwild-cat mining schemes, and, indeed, ventures of any kind outside hisown profession, had for once thrust his prudence into the backgroundand done what he could to further Weston's project, for a reason whichhe would not have admitted to anybody else. He was not famous as acharitable person, but he had, for all that, unobtrusively held out ahelping hand to a good many struggling men in need of it during hiscareer, and there were now certain conjectures and suspicions lyinghalf-formulated at the back of his mind. He had acted on them with theimpulsive promptness which usually characterized him, and it was nothis fault that his efforts proved fruitless, for Weston, as ithappened, neither revisited Vancouver nor communicated with Norris &Lander. 

A week after he left Montreal, Weston met Grenfell in a little BritishColumbian settlement shut in by towering ranges and leagues of shadowybush, where they were fortunate enough to find a storekeeper whoseemed inclined to place more credence in their story than any of thecompany promoters had done. What was more to the purpose, he offeredto provide them with a horse, camp-gear and provisions, in exchangefor a certain share in the mine should their search prove successful. The share was rather a large one, but, as the man pointed out, it wasvery probable that they might not strike the lode at all. They alsomade the acquaintance of a young surveyor who had set up in the woodensettlement several months earlier and had done very little businesssince. He was quite willing to give them the benefit of hisprofessional services on somewhat similar terms to those thestorekeeper had made. 

The result of this was that early one morning they set out once moreon the gold trail. When they made their first camp at sunset in agrove of towering pines they held a council. It was almost dark amidstthe serried rows of tremendous trunks, but the light of the snappingfire fell upon their faces, which were all a trifle grave. In the caseof two of the party, at least, their faces were stamped with a certainquiet resolution and a hint of the forcefulness which comes of rigidand continuous self-denial. Men discover in the bush that abstentionfrom most of the little comforts and amenities of life notinfrequently tends to vigor of body and clarity of mind. This, however, is a fact that has been accepted long ago, for it is not, asa rule, the full-fleshed, self-indulgent man who does anything worthwhile. Their skin was clear and bronzed, their nerves steady, and, though Grenfell differed from them in these respects, their eyes werevery keen, with a snap in the depths of them. They were eyes thatcould look peril and defeat squarely in the face without flinching. 

Devine, the young surveyor, laughed as he flung his empty enameledplate aside. 

"It's quite a long time since I had a meal of that kind, " he said. "After all, there is a certain satisfaction in the feeling that youcouldn't eat very much more even if you had it, though that's anopportunity to which I've not been accustomed lately. I've made mysupper rather frequently on half of a stale flapjack, and had theother half for breakfast the next day. Having admitted that, supposewe turn our attention to the proposition in front of us. You wereheading south when you separated from Verneille, Grenfell?"

"About south. I can't be sure. "

"That, " observed the surveyor, "may mean anything between southeastand southwest; and if we take the spot where you found your partnerafterward, and make a sweep with a forty-mile radius, which is whatwe've concluded was the distance he probably covered, it gives usquite a big tract of country to search. Still, we ought to find a lakethat's a mile or two across. "

Weston laughed softly. 

"It's my third attempt, and I don't know how often Grenfell has tried. One could almost fancy that the lake has vanished. That sounds alittle absurd, doesn't it?"

"Well, " said Devine, with an air of reflection, "we won't admit thatit's an impossibility. If you can take that for granted, it simplifiesthe thing. "

Grenfell, who lay with his back against a fir trunk, roused himselfsuddenly. 

"I never thought of it in that way, " he said. "Still, lakes as big asthat one don't vanish. "

"Anyway, mines seem to do so. The woods are full of them, if all onehears is true. "

"It isn't, " said Weston dryly, "though I've no doubt there are a fewlost mines. Are you sure you haven't done a crazy thing in joining usin the hunt for this one? Of course, I've tried to put that aspect ofthe matter squarely before you already. "

Devine, who was a young man, flushed slightly. 

"The cold fact is that I was only afraid you wouldn't take me. It's abig inducement to know that one has a reasonable supply of provisionsin hand. "

"You've evidently been up against it, like the rest of us, " Grenfellsuggested. 

"I've lived for three months on the proceeds of the only job I got;and it's quite likely I shouldn't have held out if I hadn't beenbroken into the thing while I got through with my studies in Toronto. I don't quite know now how I did that, but I had to hire out betweenwhiles, teaming and dredging up building stone from the lake, to makemy fees, and now and then I lived on one meal a day to spin out themoney. It would have been easier at the settlement, but I had a lessonsoon after I put up my sign. Two city men sent up by a syndicate tolook for a pulp-mill site and timber rights came along one hot day andfound me splitting cedar shingles, with mighty few clothes on. Theresult was that while I might have made a small pile of money out ofthem, they sent back to Vancouver for another man and paid him twiceas much, though they didn't locate the mill. I felt I had to tell youthis. "

It was not at all an uncommon story in that country, and when Westonlooked at Grenfell with a smile, the latter waved his hand. 

"Oh, " he said, "we're a most worshipful company of broken deadbeats, fed on credit, and out on a forlorn hope; but it seems to me that thestorekeeper who supplied us with provisions is the craziest of all thecrowd. "

"It was the broken men who made this country, " said Devine. 

There was a certain truth in this observation, as the rest of themknew, for, after all, it was the outcast and the desperate who firstpushed grimly on into the wilderness, up tremendous defiles and overpasses choked with snow, and afterward played a leading part in theTitanic struggle with nature in the strongholds where she had ruledsupreme. The wilderness is merciless; the beaten men died, but therest held on, indomitable; and now those who from the security of arailroad observation-car gaze upon orchard and oat-field, awful gorgeand roaring torrent, can dimly realize what the making of thatprovince cost the pioneers who marched into it with famine-worn facesand bleeding feet. That the valor of that army has not yet abated allare sure who know what the vanguard of the last host had to face onthe trail to Klondyke a few years ago. 

It is unpleasant to sleep in half-thawed slush around a sulky fire, orto grip canoe pole or paddle until one's swollen fingers will notstraighten and the palms are raw. There is an exhilaration in plungingdown a roaring rapid through a haze of spray, but it loses somethingof its charm when each movement required to keep the canoe straightcauses the man who holds the paddle agony from the wounds the floor ofthe craft has rubbed on his knees; and a portage through tangledbrushwood and over slippery rock around a fall forms a tolerablyarduous task when he is stiff from constant immersion in very coldwater and has had little to eat for a week or so. It is a littledifficult to convey a clear impression of the sensation experiencedduring the execution of these and similar tasks, though they areundertaken somewhat frequently in that country, and, as it happens, the men most qualified to speak are not as a rule gifted withdescriptive powers. 

In any case, nobody answered Devine, and instead of moralizing theypresently went to sleep. They were up at sunrise the next day, andstarted soon afterward on a march that led them through tangled pinebush, the tall grass of natural swamp prairies, rotting muskegs, andover stony hill-slopes. It was repeated with no great variation forseveral weeks, except that now and then they swam or ferriedthemselves on logs over very cold and rapid rivers. Still, thanks tothe surveyor's professional skill, they were quartering the countrysystematically, and, though now and then they had to leave the horseat a base camp under Grenfell's charge, they had to grapple with noinsuperable difficulty. 

A good many leagues of range and forest had been traversed when theyreached a tract where they had trouble in finding water. There wassnow above them, but it either soaked down through the strata, or thedrainage from it descended on the other side of the divide. It wasalso, though not quite summer yet, unusually hot weather, and theseason had been exceptionally dry, and they had contented themselvesfor a week with the little muddy fluid they scraped up here and therefrom oozy pools that were lined with pine needles and rotting leaves, when they came to a big brûlée. 

It filled a deep valley that was hemmed in by almost precipitouscrags, and though charred logs and branches lay here and there, mostof the burned forest was still standing. As a matter of fact, a firein this region very seldom brings the trees down. It merely stripsthem. As the men pushed wearily on, endless ranks of blackened trunksmoved steadily back before them. There was not a branch left. Thetrees were tremendous, half-calcined columns, and, for it was evidentthat any wild wind seldom entered the deep hollow, they might havestood in that condition a year or more. The trouble in traversing abrûlée is that one cannot tell when, from some cause or other, one ofthem may come down. 

It was about noon, and they had with some difficulty dined ongrindstone bread and canned stuff without a drink of any kind, whenWeston, who was leading the horse, pulled it up suddenly. He wasthirsty and short of temper, and in a mood that would have made iteasier for him to smash through an obstacle instead of stopping, buthe fancied that he saw a great blackened trunk close in front of himlean over a trifle. He was sure of it in another moment, and he urgedthe horse aside, for the towering column swayed and oscillated asthough it strove to recover its equipoise, and then suddenly rushedearthward. He felt the wind it made strike cold upon his cheek, andthen there was a deafening crash, and a cloud of fine black dust roseup. It whirled and eddied about him like the smoke of a great gun, andthe powder that settled thick upon him clogged his eyelashes andfilled his nostrils. The horse plunged viciously and came neardragging him off his feet. 

After that there was for a few seconds a silence that seemedoppressive by contrast, until it was suddenly broken by anotherstartling crash. It was repeated here and there, as though when eachtree fell the concussion brought down another, and the brûlée wasfilled with shocks of sound that rang in tremendous reverberationsalong the steep rocks. In the meanwhile the men stood fast with tense, blackened faces peering at the eddying dust out of half-blinded eyes, until the crashes grew less frequent and there was deep silence again. 

Then Weston, who patted the trembling horse, sat down and pointed tothe great, shapeless pile of half-burned wood and charcoal close infront of him. 

"A near thing. I think I'll have a smoke, " he said. 

"A smoke!" gasped Grenfell. "With your mouth and tongue like anash-pit! I'd much sooner have a sherry cobbler, as they used to makeit with a big lump of ice swimming in it, at the--it's the club, Imean. That is, " he added, with a sigh, "if I could get it. "

"You can't, " observed Devine, dryly. "I'd be content with water. Butdidn't you break off rather suddenly in one place?"

"You're young, " said Grenfell, looking at him solemnly. "If youweren't, I should regard that observation as an impertinence. I saidthe club, which is sufficient. They used to make you really excellentsherry cobblers there. "

"Well, " said Devine, with his eyes twinkling, "I guess it is, and thename was half out when you stopped. I was naturally never inside theplace in question, but I've been in Montreal. It's kind of curious, isn't it, to find a man who talks about such things leading a forlornhope, as you call it?"

"No, " said Grenfell, "it isn't curious at all. There are cases inwhich a fondness for sherry cobblers provides a sufficient explanationfor greater incongruities. "

It was apparently a relief to talk of something, for there was nodoubt that all of them had felt the tension of the last few minutes;but Weston cut short the discussion. 

"We must get water to-morrow, anyway, " he said. "Had you any troubleabout it, Grenfell, the time you struck the lake?"

Grenfell sat down on a fragment of the charred log and seemed toconsider. 

"No, " he said slowly. "That is, we didn't quite run out of it, thoughonce or twice for several days we came across only a small creek ortwo. There were signs that in some seasons it would be a dry country. "

He broke off and looked up at the range, while the faces of the othersgrew intent as they watched him. 

"In a way all that's familiar, " he said; "but I've felt the same thingin other places, and I can't be sure. "

"Anyway, " remarked Weston, "if there was a lake up yonder, the creekwould naturally flow through the valley. It must have an outlet, andwe're going up-grade. "

"The creek, " said Grenfell, sharply, "went down the other side. Thelake lies just over a low divide. "

Weston started a little and put away his pipe. 

"Boys, " he said, "we'll get on again. "

They went on, and the memory of that afternoon long remained withthem. They were grimed with black dust and ashes, and the ranks ofcharred trunks cast only thin strips of shade, while a scorching sunpoured down an almost intolerable heat into the deep valley. Theground was ankle-deep in dust and charcoal, and, as they flounderedthrough it, feathery ash rose in clouds. Their clothing grew crustedwith it, and it worked through and irritated their heated skin; whileevery now and then one of them was compelled to stop and splutter. Their throats, as Grenfell remarked, certainly felt very much likeash-heaps. None of them had drunk anything since supper the nightbefore, and then only a very little water that tasted alkaline. 

Still, except for the loose deposit that made walking difficult, theground was comparatively clear, and they pushed on, making a detouronly now and then around a fallen tree, or waiting for Grenfell, wholagged behind and limped, until the slanting rays beat pitilessly intotheir faces and their aching eyes were dazzled by the burning glow. Then Grenfell sat down rather frequently. 

"We're going northwest, " said Weston once, while they waited for him. "You said that was how you headed the day before you struck the lake. "

"Yes, " said Grenfell, with an air of trying to recall something. "Itwas summer, and at sunset the light was in our eyes. There was a veryrugged strip on the range--not unlike that one yonder. Still, I can'tbe sure. "

Nothing more was said. It was quite clear that Grenfell's memory wasnot to be trusted, and they were in no mood for talking. They went ona little more slowly, but Grenfell lagged again, and it was a vastrelief to all of them when the glare that hurt their eyes died outsuddenly as the red sun dipped behind a wall of rock. Half an hourlater the heat of the brûlée seemed to dissipate, and a wondrousinvigorating coolness crept in with the dusk, when they made theircamp and picketed the jaded horse. It did not seem worth while tolight a fire, as they had no water to use for tea; and, after eating alittle grindstone bread and salt pork cooked the previous day, theylay down rolled in their blankets. 

CHAPTER XXII

GRENFELL GOES ON

Weston, tired as he was, did not sleep well that night. Although theyhad a pack-horse he had carried two blankets and a bag of flour, andwhen a man has marched from sunrise until dusk under a heavy burden, his shoulders, as a rule, ache distressfully. In addition to thisdiscomfort, Grenfell's manner throughout that day's march had rousedan unsettling sense of expectation in his comrades. The man had limpedwearily and continually lagged behind, but he had, in spite of it, resolutely insisted on their pushing on as fast as possible. He hadalso looked about him with a certain suggestive curiosity every nowand then, and though he had once or twice admitted that he could notpositively identify anything he saw, his air of restrained eagernesshad made its impression on Weston. 

A half-moon had sailed up into the eastern sky when the latter wakenedand raised himself drowsily on one elbow. All round him the greatburned pines towered in black and shadowy columns against the silverylight, and a stillness that was almost oppressive brooded over thevalley. No sound of running water came out of it, and there was not abreath of wind. It was cool, however, and Weston drew his dustyblanket higher about his shoulders as he glanced round the camp. Devine lay close by sleeping like a log; but Grenfell was huddled atthe foot of a tree, and it became evident to his comrade that he, atleast, was wide awake. 

"Haven't you done enough to make you sleep?" Weston asked. 

Grenfell laughed softly. 

"I haven't closed my eyes. I can't keep them off the range in front ofus. "

Weston looked up and saw a huge black rampart cutting sharp and clearagainst the blueness of the night. 

"Don't tell me that you recognize it, " he said. 

"Three nicks, " replied Grenfell. "After the third one, a rounded peak. I can't tell whether I remember it from another time, but thatdescription came to me as if I'd used it, and I think I must have doneso. Anyway, you can see them yonder. "

He broke off for a moment, and when he went on again his manner wasdeprecatory. 

"Since sunrise I've been troubled with a haunting sense of thefamiliar, though when I found the lake with Verneille we marchedthrough no brûlée. "

"That's years ago, and this brûlée is probably not more than twelvemonths old--I mean as a brûlée, " said Weston, impatiently, for thestrain of the long march was telling on him. "Anyway, you've beenhalf-recognizing places ever since we started on this search, and I'drather you didn't make half sure of anything else. In fact, I can'tstand much more of it. "

Grenfell, who showed no sign of resentment, laughed again. 

"As I think I told you, I've been troubled with memories that seemhalf dreams. I'm not sure that's quite unusual in the case of a manwho has consumed as much whisky as I have. Besides, it's a littledifficult to distinguish between dreams and what we look upon asrealities, since the latter exist only in the perception of oursenses, which may be deceptive. They agree on that point, don't they, in places as dissimilar as India and Germany?"

"Are you sure you didn't dream about the lead?" Weston asked bluntly. "It's a point that has been troubling me for a considerable time. "

"Then why did you come up with me to search for the lake?"

"I was once or twice told at home that I was a persistent imbecile. That may account for it. "

"Well, " said Grenfell, reflectively, "your action on one or twooccasions seems to warrant the observation--I mean when you stood theboys off me after I'd spoiled their supper, and the other time whenyou decided on my account not to stay on at the copper-mine. Still, Iwant to say that while I seem to know I will not make another journeyon the gold trail, I've had a subconscious feeling of certainty sincesunrise yesterday that the lake lies just ahead of us. I know nothingdefinite that justifies it, but we'll probably find out to-morrow. There's just another thing. If I leave my bones up here my share fallsto you. "

He seemed disinclined for any further conversation, and Weston went tosleep again. When he awakened the moon had sunk behind the range, anda faint gray light was filtering down beneath the blackened pines. Itshowed the pack-horse standing close by, and Devine stretched outbeneath his blanket, a shadowy, shapeless figure, but there was, asfar as Weston could see, no sign of Grenfell anywhere. He called outsharply as soon as he was sure of this, and his voice rang hollowly upthe valley, but there was no answer until Devine slowly shook clear ofhis blankets. 

"What's the matter?" he asked. 

"Grenfell's gone. "

"Gone!" Devine was on his feet in a moment. 

"It looks like it, " said Weston, sharply. "Can you see him?"

Devine gazed into the shadows, but he saw nothing beyond the rows ofdusky trunks. 

"Where's he gone?"

"That, " said Weston, "is naturally just what I don't know. It's up tous to find out. "

Then he briefly related his conversation with Grenfell, and the twolooked at each other. There was just light enough to show the anxietyin their faces. 

"Well, " said Devine, "it's quite clear to me that he's on the trail;and it's fortunate in one way that he's left a plain trail behind him. Whether the whole thing's a delusion on his part, or whether he didstrike that lode, I don't know, but I didn't like the man's looksyesterday. He seemed badly played out, and it kind of struck me he wasjust holding on. " He turned toward the pack-horse and pulled up thepicket. "Anyway, we'll get upon his trail. "

They both were men of action, and inside of five minutes they hadlashed their packs together and started without breakfast. Weston ledthe horse, while Devine picked up Grenfell's trail. Weston was alittle astonished at the ease with which his companion did this. 

"It's quite simple, " said the surveyor, when the other stopped amoment where the footprints seemed to break off, and questioned hisdecision. "He's heading straight on, and not walking like a man withmuch strength in him. I wish I knew just how far he is ahead of us. "Then he added in explanation: "I went east for a while, but I wasraised in this country, and this is 'way easier than trailing a deer. "

They went on a little faster after that, for Devine had promptlypicked up the trail again, and by the time the red sun had cleared therange it led them out of the brûlée and into a waste of rock andgravel, where there were smaller firs and strips of tangledundergrowth. Here and there Devine stopped for a few minutes, but hefound the trail again, though it led them through thickets, and nowand then they floundered among half-rotten fallen trunks and branches. Fortunately, the horse was a Cayuse and used to that kind of work. 

It rapidly grew hotter, until the perspiration streamed from them, andWeston, who had eaten very little the previous evening, becameconscious of an unpleasant stitch in his side; but they pushed onwithout flagging, urged by a growing anxiety. At length the ground, which was a little clearer, rose sharply in front of them. Westonpulled up the pack-horse and looked significantly at Devine, whonodded. 

"Yes, " he assented, "he said a low divide. The lake lay just beyondit. "

Then he cast about with his eyes fixed on the loose gravel over whichthey had scrambled, until he came to a spot where a wide patch ofhalf-rotted needles lay beneath another belt of pines. 

"He stopped here and sat down, " he commented. "Seemed to have had sometrouble in pulling out again. I don't like those footsteps. You and Idon't walk like that. "

"Get on, " said Weston, sharply, and, turning, struck the horse. 

The sun was overhead when they scrambled, gasping, over the crest ofthe divide and looked down into another long, winding hollow. Thenthey stopped again and looked hard at each other, for the hollowseemed filled with forest, and there was nowhere any shimmer ofshining water. 

"He can't be far ahead. Went through those vines in front of you, "said Devine. 

Then ensued an hour's wild scramble through undergrowth in shade, until they broke out, dripping with perspiration, from the gloom amongthe pines into a comparatively open space on the edge of a wide beltof willows. They left the horse tethered on the outskirts of thelatter; and twenty minutes afterward Devine, who had scrambled up anddown among the undergrowth, stopped suddenly. 

"Come here, " he cried with a suggestive hoarseness. "We're throughwith this trail. "

He was standing waist-deep among the tangled brushwood, and it was aminute before Weston smashed through it to his side. Then he, too, stopped and started, for he saw a huddled object in tattered ducklying face downward at his comrade's feet. The latter made a littlegesture when he met Weston's eyes. 

"We'll make sure, " he said quietly. "Still, you see how he's lying. "

Weston dropped on his knees, and with some difficulty turned theprostrate figure over. Then he took off his battered hat and looked upat Devine with it in his hand. The latter nodded. 

"Yes, " he said, "he has pulled out once for all. Started two or threehours ago on a trail we can't pick up yet. "

They drew back a little and sat down heavily on a ledge of stone, forthe sight of the huddled figure in the tattered duck troubled them. Itwas a minute or two before either of them spoke. 

"Heart trouble of some kind, " said the surveyor. "If not, it isn'tgoing to matter. "

He looked around at his companion with a little wave of his hand whichseemed to deprecate the mention of the subject. 

"He can't tell us now where that lode is. "

Weston said nothing for a minute. After all, there was so little thatcould be said. Then he stretched himself wearily. 

"There is something to be done, but I don't feel quite equal to ityet, and I'm parched with thirst. Willows grow only where there'swater. "

"These, " said Devine, "look kind of sickly. You can see quite a few ofthem have dried up; but it's a sure thing they had water to startthem. Wish I knew how to strike it. It's most three days since I hadwhat one could call a drink. "

"Did you ever hear of water-finding?"

"Yes, " answered Devine. "I've read a little about the old country. Kind of old English charlatanry, isn't it?"

"Well, " said Weston, simply, "I could find water once upon a time. Iknow that, because I've done it. "

"Don't you need a hazel fork? You can't get one here. "

"I don't think the hazel matters. The power is in the man. I can cut afork out of something. "

Devine made a little gesture which seemed expressive of resignation. 

"Well, " he said, "whether we go on or go back we have to have a drink. That's a sure thing; and I feel, like you, that I want it before weset about the work that's awaiting us. "

After that they both sat still again. They had to decide whether theywould go back or go on, and both of them realized what the decisionwould be. Their guide had left them, and the last expectation offinding the lead had melted away. At first the sight of his deadcomrade had driven all other thoughts from Weston's mind, but now hewas compelled to admit that he had wasted time and money on adelusion. That perhaps was no great matter in itself, but it made itclear that all he could look for was to earn food and shelter as apacker, logging-hand, or wandering laborer. Impassable barriersdivided Ida Stirling from a man of that kind, and he dare no longerdream of the possibility of tearing them down. At last, and theknowledge was very bitter, he was face to face with defeat. He forgotfor the moment that Grenfell lay just beyond the tangled undergrowth. He gazed straight in front of him, with a hard hand clenched and alook in his wavering eyes that puzzled his companion. At length heraised himself wearily to his feet. After all, the needs of the bodywould not be denied, and, as Devine had said, before they set aboutthe task that awaited them they must drink. 

"Well, " he said hoarsely, "I'm going to cut a fork. "

He smashed back through the undergrowth toward the pines, unlashed theax from the horse's back, and, though he was never afterward surewhether he cut it from a young fir or a bush of juniper, Devine cameupon him some time later trimming a forked twig with a short stemwhere the two slender branches united. The surveyor glanced at it andsmiled. 

"Any water that ran into this hollow must have come from the range, "he said. "We'll try close beneath it and give the thing a show. "

They did as he suggested, and his expression was sardonicallyincredulous when Weston proceeded along the foot of the hillside, where the ground was a little clearer, with a branch of the forkclutched in each hand. The pointed stem was directed almosthorizontally in front of him, and it remained in that position forabout twenty minutes, when he lowered it with a gesture ofdiscouragement. 

"Felt nothing yet?" Devine inquired eagerly. "There's a kind of hollowyonder running into the thicket. "

Weston made no answer, but he turned in among the willows, and forhalf an hour or so they stumbled and floundered among the clingingbranches. Still there was no deflection of the fork, and when atlength they stopped again, gasping and dripping with perspiration, Devine laughed rather grimly. 

"Oh, give it a rest; I guess that's what it wants, " he said. "I'llhang on for another half-hour, and then I'm going prospecting on myown account. We've got to strike water. "

That, at least, was evident. They were parched with thirst and it wasvery hot. No breath of air seemed to enter that dense thicket, and acloud of tormenting flies hung about them. Weston's head was throbbingwith the heat, and his sight seemed dazed. Both of them were dusty, ragged, grim of face, and worn with travel, and the longing for even afew drops of muddy liquid was becoming almost insupportable. 

It was only by a strenuous effort that Weston went on again. He feltscarcely capable of further exertion, but he could not overcome thehorrible bodily craving that seemed to grow stronger with everypulsation of his fevered blood, and he plodded on into the thicketvery wearily. At length Devine saw the twig bend downward for a momentin his hands, "You did that?" he asked sharply. 

"No, " said Weston in a strained voice, "I certainly did not. "

"Let me take hold, " said Devine, and when Weston handed the fork tohim he walked back a few paces and crossed the same spot again. Thefork, however, pointed straight in front of him. He threw it down andsaid nothing, but Weston looked at him with a little grim smile. 

"I've heard it said that anybody could do it, but that's not myexperience, " he observed. 

Devine's gesture might have expressed anything. 

"Oh, we were both crazy when we started with Grenfell, " he said. 

Weston moved forward with the fork, and, while Devine looked on, thestem once more inclined. It wavered, tilted downward a little farther, and then slowly swung back to rest again. Still, Weston held on, andwhen there was a further inclination it became clear that hiscompanion was convinced. 

"The thing's picking up the trail!" he exclaimed. 

For a time they wandered up and down the thicket, Weston apparentlydirecting his course by the spasmodic movements of the fork, which nowand then would lie still altogether. At length it commenced to jerksharply, and Devine looked at his companion in a curious manner. 

"It's heading right back for Grenfell, " he said in a hoarse whisper. 

They went on until they almost reached the spot which they had leftmore than an hour ago. Then the fork suddenly pointed straightdownward, and Weston stopped. His face was flushed, and his voice wassharp and strained. 

"Go and bring the shovel!" he said. 

Devine strode into the bush, and Weston struggled through theundergrowth to where Grenfell lay, scarcely a stone's throw away. Stripping off his jacket, he laid it over the dead man to keep off theflies. Then he went back and sat down with a dazed look in his eyesuntil the surveyor broke out from among the trees with the shovel. 

"Sit still, " said Devine, "I'll go down the first foot or two, anyway. "

Weary as he was he plied the shovel savagely, flinging out the mouldin showers, but he was knee-deep in the hole before there was a clinkas the blade struck stones. 

"Gravel. The water would work right through that, " he said. 

He toiled on until the hole was a yard in depth, but the gravel heflung out was dry, and at length he stopped and sat on the side of theexcavation, gasping. 

"Nothing yet, " he said. "You're sure you struck it?"

"Yes, " replied Weston, quietly, "I'm sure. "

Once more Devine seized the shovel, but in a moment he flung it downsuddenly, with a sharp, glad cry. 

"It's sluicing out!"

Weston rose and strode to the edge of the hole. There was a littlewater in the bottom of it, and this spread rapidly until it crept upabout his comrade's boots. In one place he could see a frothing, bubbling patch with an edge that was crystal clear. Then Devinestooped and, filling his wide hat, held it up to him dripping. 

"We're through with one trouble, anyway, " he announced exultantly. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE LODE

Weston, sitting down on the pile of gravel, took the hat from hiscomrade, and the trickle from the brim of it splashed refreshinglyupon his hot and grimy face when he tilted it to drink. It wasshapeless, greasy, and thick with dust, and few men who fare daintilyin the cities would have considered it a tempting cup. That, however, did not occur to Weston, but another thought flashed into his mind ashe glanced toward the undergrowth behind which the man who had ledthem there lay. He lowered the hat a moment and rose wearily. 

"A few drops of this might have saved our partner, " he said. "Now hehas gone on; may the trail he has taken be a smooth and easy one. "

Then he drank, standing, a deep, invigorating draught, which seemed tocool his fevered blood and put new life in him. He gasped for a momentor so, and drank again, and then, flinging wide the splashes upon hotearth and leaves, sat down heavily. As he fumbled for his pipe, Devine, who had drunk in the meanwhile, turned to him. 

"No, " he said reflectively, "I don't quite think you're right. Itwasn't thirst that brought Grenfell to his end. He had more water thaneither of us--you saw to that--and, though it wouldn't have beenpleasant, you and I could have held out another day. "

"What was it then?" asked Weston. 

"The strain of the journey on a played-out constitution, and, as Ithink I suggested, the effect of excitement on a diseased heart. Theman was under a high tension the last day or two. It's a sure thing hehad something on his mind. After all, I guess it was a delusion. "

Weston said nothing, but lay still with his pipe in his hand. Therewas before him a task from which he shrank, but he was worn-out andcould not nerve himself to undertake it yet, and in the meanwhile hethought of his dead comrade with a certain regretful tenderness. Theman had had no claim on him, and there had been much that wasdissimilar in their natures, but they had, after all, borne manyhardships together, and that counted for a good deal. Still, in oneway he could not be sorry that Grenfell had gone on, for life, as hehad said, had very little to offer this outcast. It was clear that thesame thing held true in his own case, and he remembered with a littlewry smile that Grenfell had said his share was to go to him if theyfound the mine. They had not found it, and there was no prospect oftheir doing so, for his faith in the project had vanished now thatGrenfell was dead. It remained for them only to go back to thesettlements, defeated. 

At length Devine broke in upon his reflections. 

"I don't know whether you remember that we've had nothing since supperlast night, " he said. "Anyway, I don't feel equal to undertakingwhat's before us as I am. Seems to me the pack-horse would like adrink, too. "

Weston felt a little guilty, for the events of the past hour haddriven all thought of the beast out of his mind. Going back for it, heled it to the water, after which they made a simple meal. When it wasover, Devine stood up resolutely. 

"Now, " he said, "there's a thing that must be done. "

They set about it, and in another hour had laid to rest the man whohad brought them there. Then Devine put down his shovel and turned toWeston. 

"This thing has had its effect on me, and I guess you feel it too. Hewas your partner quite a while, " he said. "We want to get a move onand work this depression out of us. Well, you can make camp--a littlefarther back--while I crawl along between the willows and the range. Iwant to see what's back of them. There's an idea in my mind. "

Weston, who did not ask him what it was, fell in with the suggestion, and, when his comrade floundered away through the willows, proceededto pitch the camp and build a fire ready for lighting among a fewstraggling firs a little back from the water. Then he went to sleep, and when the horse awakened him as it strove to pull out its picket toget another drink, he was a little astonished to see that the sun nowhung low down above one range, and that Devine had not come back. Helay still, however, in the blissful content that only the worn-outknow when, for a few hours, they can cease from toil. Presently heheard the willows rustle, and, though it cost him an effort, he stoodup when Devine strode into camp. The latter glanced toward the holethey had dug to reach the water. 

"You've let the horse break the sides down and stand in it, " he said. "We'll clean it down to the gravel and pitch the soil out. "

"Is it worth while?" Weston asked. 

"Yes, " said Devine, dryly, "as we'll probably be here a day or two, Iguess it is. I'll tell you about it when we get supper. "

Weston might have noticed that there was something curious in hismanner, but he was very weary, and his mind was a little hazy then. Hetook the shovel, and toiled for some few minutes before a strip ofstone he was endeavoring to wrench out broke beneath the blade. Heflung the fragments out of the hole, and one of them caught Devine'seye. 

"Pitch me up that big round stone, " he said sharply. 

Weston did as he was bidden, and his comrade, falling upon his knee, smashed the fragments into little lumps, and then, clutching some ofthem tight in one hand, stood up with a hoarse, exultant laugh. 

"We've struck the lode!" he exclaimed. 

Weston was beside him in a moment, and Devine poured the crushedfragments into his hand. 

"Look!" he said. 

Weston did so, and while his heart thumped painfully the blood creptto his face. The little lumps he gazed at were milky white, andthrough them ran what seemed to be very fine yellow threads. 

"That is wire gold?"

"It is, " said Devine. "A sure thing. "

Then the surveyor swept off his battered hat and swung round towardthe willows, a grotesque ragged figure with his hands spread out. 

"You weren't crazy, partner. You brought us up out of the swamps andsloos of poverty, and planked us down right on to the lode, " he said. 

Weston said nothing. After all, he was English, and to some extentreticent, but he felt that his comrade's dramatic utterance was moreor less warranted, for the irony and pathos of the situation was clearto him. Grenfell had found the mine at last, but the gold he hadsought so persistently was not for him. Men great in the mining worldhad smiled compassionately at his story, others with money to investhad coldly turned their backs on him, and it had been given to arailroad hand and a surveyor, who had longed for an opportunity forsplitting roofing shingles in return for enough to eat, to prove that, after all, the skill he had once been proud of had not deserted him. He had patiently borne defeat, and now the thrill of the long-deferredtriumph had crushed him out of existence. 

In a moment or two Devine spoke again in a different tone. 

"Well, we'll get supper. You want to cool off and quiet down. "

Weston felt that this was true, and it was a relief to start the fireand prepare the meal, for he had found the rush of emotion which hadswept over him almost overwhelming. It was, however, not until themeal was ready that he was quite master of himself, and they ate itbefore they said anything further about the matter. Then Devine tookout his pipe, and lying with his back against a fir, turned to hiscomrade as the soft dusk settled. 

"Whether Grenfell knew where he was going when he started out lastnight, or was led by some blind impulse or subconscious memory, ismore than I can tell, and, anyway, it's not a point that greatlymatters now, " he said. "The cold fact is that you struck the water onthe creek where, as he told you, he once got a drink. "

"But things don't fit in, " objected Weston. 

"Oh, " said his companion, "you let me talk. You've been in thiscountry a few years. I was raised in it. He said that a creek ran fromthe range, and, though there's mighty little water in it, I guess itdoes that now. There's rock, milling rock shot with gold, under it, and a small flow of water will filter a long way through gravel. "

"But he described it as an ordinary open creek, " persisted Weston. 

"That's easy, " said Devine. "It was, quite a while ago, and naturehandles these mountains mighty roughly, as you ought to know. Shesweeps them with cloudbursts that wash half a hillside into thevalleys, and now and then with snowslides and tremendous falls ofrock. One of them filled up that creek, and, as far as I can figure, it did rather more. It filled up the gully through which the creekflowed high up on the range, and, while a little water still creepsthrough, most of the melted snow goes down another creek. As I tookthe trouble to ascertain, it splits right through the lower slopes andcomes out most a league away. "

This seemed reasonable. Most of the streams among those rangesoriginate, as Weston knew, in the melting snow, but there was still apoint his comrade had left unexplained. 

"Then where's the lake?" he asked. 

Devine laughed. 

"You're sitting right beside it now. "

Weston gazed at him in blank astonishment, and then a light broke inon him. 

"The willows?" he said. "The water in that creek would no doubt spreadunderground, and this is evidently an unusually dry season. Still, Grenfell spoke of a mile or two of water. Where has it gone?"

"That, " explained Devine, "seems the simplest thing of all. Anyway, I'll give you my theory. When I crawled along the edge of the willowsthis afternoon, I found the outlet of an old creek and a beaver-dam. Now we're assuming that the creek I've mentioned once ran into thelake just here, that is, before a snowslide filled up the ravine withdebris and diverted the creek into the other gully, the mouth of whichis--below--the beaver-dam. "

"You have explained how the water got here, not how it got away, " saidWeston, impatiently. 

"No, " replied Devine. "I haven't explained either of them yet; butwe'll get on a little. Once, and I don't think it was very long ago, there was a little water with a creek flowing out of it in thishollow. A colony of beavers came along and put up their dam acrossthat creek, and that backed the water up a foot or two. If you'dskirted this hollow you'd have seen that it's tolerably level, and afoot rise would spread the water quite a way. I want to say that itwas probably a swamp with only grass on it when the creek ran throughit. Well, the beavers liked the place, and piled up their dam, whilethe water went farther and farther back across the swamp. Finally, thebeavers either died off or something drove them out. It was probablyafter that that the dam broke down and the water ran off. Then thesnowslide cut off the creek, and as the hollow dried out the willowsspread across it. "

Weston could find no fault with this train of reasoning, which madecomparatively plain Grenfell's long and unsuccessful search. 

"Yes, " he admitted, "it's logical, and I think it's correct. Ibelieve, from what Grenfell once said, that he crossed the range tothe east of us, not far away, some years ago with another man, and hemust have noticed this valley. Further, I now feel reasonably surethat he and I once stood on the shoulder of the big peak in thesouthwest and looked right up the hollow. " He smiled rather grimly. "We naturally saw nothing. We were looking for a lake that had driedout. "

He lay still for a minute or two, and then broached the subject thatboth had held in abeyance. 

"Well, " he said, "what's to be done?"

"Stay here two days, " advised Devine. "Gather up a load of specimensand try to trace the vein. Then we'll put in our stakes, and startright off for the settlement, to record as many feet of frontage asthe law will allow us. After that, you, as holding the larger share, will see what can be done about handing it over to a company, while Icome back with provisions and get the assessment work put in. You'regoing to have mighty little trouble about raising the money whenpeople see those specimens. "

He broke off for a moment and glanced back toward the willows. 

"In a way, " he added, "it's rough on Grenfell. "

"Ah, " said Weston, quietly, "neither you nor I can be sure of that. "

After that there was silence, and it seemed to both of them that theshadows crept in closer about their flickering fire, and that thelittle wind which sighed among the pine-tops had grown colder. Thecamp seemed strangely empty, and, glancing around from force of habitonce or twice, they realized with a little start that there was now nothird figure sitting beside the blaze. The man who had made that wearymarch with them had taken the unmarked trail. 

It was two days later when they started south. Reaching a littledesolate settlement in due time, without misadventure, they limpedinto it, ragged and dusty, leading the pack-horse, which was verylame. They stopped outside a little wooden store which had a kind ofrude veranda in front of it, where the loungers sat on hot afternoons, and a man in a white shirt and store trousers came out and leaned onthe railing. He had a hard face, and it grew a trifle more grim as helooked at them, for the light had not quite gone, although it was latein the evening. 

"Where's Grenfell?" he asked. 

"Dead, " said Weston. 

The man made a gesture of resignation. He had acquired his money withsome difficulty, and there was no great trade in that neighborhood, while it not infrequently happened that his customers failed to payhim when the Government became economical and voted no money for themaking of roads, which is the small bush rancher's chief source ofsupport. 

"Well, " he said, "I'm sorry. You're broke?"

They certainly looked it, and for a moment Weston said nothing. He wasaware that there was a spice of cruelty in this, but he was curious tosee what the man would do. It became evident that he could, at least, face an unpleasant situation with equanimity. 

"Anyway, " he said, "you can come right in, and I'll get you somesupper. You can put the horse in Musgrave's stable yonder. "

Then, while Devine laughed softly, Weston strode up to the veranda andthrust a heavy bag into the storekeeper's hand. 

"Get a light, " he said, "and look at them. "

It was ten minutes later when they sat around a little table in theback store, which smelt unpleasantly of salt pork and coffee. A bigkerosene lamp hung above their heads, and the storekeeper gazed withalmost incredulous eyes at the litter of broken stones in front ofhim. 

"Oh, yes, " he said, "it's high-grade milling ore. You'll say nothingto the boys, and get your record in to-morrow. Then what's yourprogram?"

"I'll go on to Vancouver and see about getting a well-known mining manto go up and certify my statements, " said Weston. "Then I'll try toraise sufficient money to make a start with. I ought to get it thereor in Victoria. "

"No, " said the storekeeper, "you go on to Montreal. They've more moneyyonder, and it's good policy to strike for the place you're likely toget the most. "

"One understands that it's difficult for the little man who has aclaim to sell to get much for it anywhere, " said Weston, with a smile. 

The storekeeper straightened himself resolutely in his chair. 

"That's a cold fact, but in this case it has to be done. I got mymoney hard. " In proof of it he held up one hand from which threefingers were missing. "That was the result of working sixteen hoursright off in a one-horse sawmill. We had one light above the bench, and when I was too played out to see quite what I was doing I got myhand drawn in. I made the rest of my pile--it's a mighty littleone--much the same way, and now I'm holding tight to what is mine. Iprovided your outfit, for, crazy as it seemed, I believed Grenfell'stale, and I figured that you were straight men; but I know whatgenerally happens when the little man goes around the city with a mineto sell. "

He brought his hand down upon the table with a bang. 

"You're going right into Montreal--I'll find the money--and you'llstand off just as long as it seems advisable for the biggest figure. When this thing's floated, we're going to get our share. "

Weston, who sat on a packing-case because there was only one chair, glanced around the store. Its walls were of undressed pine logs, andit was roofed with cedar shingles hand-split. There were a few dozenbags of somebody's "Early Riser" flour standing upon what appeared tobe kegs of nails, and across the room odd cases of canned goods, lumpsof salt pork, and a few bags of sugar apparently had been flungtogether any way. Building and stock were of the crudest description, and there was certainly nothing about either that suggested any degreeof prosperity. Then he glanced at his companions: the storekeeper, dressed in shirt and trousers of a kind that no fastidious man wouldthink of wearing, and Devine, who had worn-out boots and wassuggestively ragged and lean. They did not look the kind of men whowere likely to pit themselves successfully against opulent financiersand stock-jobbers in Montreal, but something in their grim facessuggested that at least they meant to fight. 

"Well, " he said, "I'll start to-morrow, and do what I can. It's quitelikely that before we put the thing through we'll have trouble. "

CHAPTER XXIV

A QUALIFIED SUCCESS

Ida Stirling was sitting by an open window of a veryartistically-furnished room, with an English newspaper lying on thelittle table beside her, and _The Colonist_, which is published inBritish Columbia, on her knee. She fancied from the writing on thewrapper that Arabella Kinnaird had sent her the former, and there wasa paragraph in it which had interested her more than a little. 

Trouble, it seemed, had broken out up a muddy African river, and awhite officer lying sick of fever at the time had forthwith set offfor the scene of it, with a handful of half-drilled black soldiery. They had vanished into the steamy bush, and for several weeks nothinghad been heard of them; then, when those acquainted with the countryhad decided that the little detachment had probably been cut off to aman, half of them had unexpectedly appeared again. They now carriedtheir leader in a hammock, as he had been wounded by several pieces ofcast-iron fired out of a gaspipe gun; but they also brought back thedusky gentlemen who had been responsible for the abortive rising. Gregory Kinnaird had, it transpired, blundered into a couple ofambushes, but that, and the fact that he had marched straight throughthem, did not astonish Ida, who was more or less acquainted with hischaracter. He was, the paper stated, recovering from his injuries, though it judiciously refrained from mentioning whether theauthorities applauded or censured him. 

It was not an uncommon story in connection with the country inquestion, but it sent a little thrill through the girl as she read it. The rising from the sick-bed and the blundering into the ambuscadeswere so characteristic of the man. He had recognized what was expectedof him, and had immediately set about doing it, without anyconsideration for his safety, or, indeed, for that of his men. GregoryKinnaird was not a man of marked ability, but he was, at least, onewho could be relied on to attempt the carrying out of a duty he hadundertaken, at any cost to himself, and this is, after all, a gooddeal to say in the favor of any man. 

Ida had thought of him with a certain tenderness during the lasthalf-hour. She liked these simple, downright men, and fancied that theabsence of ostentation which usually characterized them wasessentially English, though she had certainly met a few in thatcountry who came under quite a different category. They werecontinually posing; men who could not afford to be natural lest theyshould give themselves away. Though she liked him, Gregory Kinnairdhad, however, passed out of her life. There was a good deal he couldhave offered her, but, after all, she had almost as much already inCanada, and it had become suddenly clear to her, outside of a Londonballroom one evening, that to like the man one would have to live withwas by no means going far enough. She also admitted that she couldhave gone considerably further in the case of the man on whose accountshe had been somewhat anxiously turning over _The Colonist_, which shehad done regularly during the last few weeks, without, she fancied, her father, who purchased a good many provincial papers, becomingaware of it. 

There was, however, once more nothing whatever in it about theadventures of any prospectors, though the paper in question now andthen detailed such things at length; and she laid it down with alittle sigh of weariness, for two men, in one of whom she wasinterested, had gone up into the wilderness some time earlier, andnothing apparently had been heard of them since. Gregory Kinnaird had, it seemed, won credit as well as blame, serving the Empire under armsin steamy Africa; but it was, she felt, a sterner and longer fight themen who were up against it--and she liked the expressive phrase--madewith savage nature in the west. 

After all, the rush on a rebel stockade was soon over, while it seemedto her that the march through the black pine forest, half-fed, withprovisions running out, the sleeping in dripping fern or slushy snow, and the staggering along the rangeside under a crushing load for daystogether, with galled feet and shoulders that bled beneath thepack-straps, was a much more difficult matter. Weston, her campattendant, had done all these things, and, as very frequentlyhappened, had so far gained nothing by them. She was glad that he haddone them, for the pride of a colonizing people was strong in her, but, after all, that was not why she loved him. Indeed, it was ratherhard to find a reason for the latter fact. The only thing thatmattered was that she admitted it, and now she was wondering, with analmost torturing anxiety, whether there would be any news of him inthe next issue of _The Colonist_. 

Laying aside the paper, she looked out on the city, which stretchedaway before her, with its roofs and spires and towers clear in theevening light, toward the great gleaming river; but, fair as theprospect was, her thoughts sped back to the shadowy forests andtowering ranges of the Pacific Slope. As they did so, her eyes grewcuriously soft, for when she had last looked upon those snow-barredheights the camp-packer had been at her side. Then she turned with asudden start and a swift rush of blood to her face as a maidannounced, "Mr. Weston. "

It was, however, a moment or two before the man came in, and she wasthen mistress of herself, and it was reassuring to know that if therewas anything dramatic in his appearance at that particular time he wasevidently unaware of it. In fact, he entered the room as though he hadleft it just on the previous day, and, taking her hand, merely held itfor perhaps a second longer than was absolutely necessary. Then he satdown and inquired after her health and Stirling's, at which Ida, whocould not help it, laughed. She did not like effusiveness, but thisconventional formality seemed to her singularly out of place, untilshe remembered that she had once or twice already found thematter-of-fact quietness with which the man made his appearance andwent away again almost disconcerting. If this had been the result ofaffectation it would have been provocative, but, as Ida was aware, itseldom occurred to the man that anybody else was greatly interested inhis doings. She felt, however, that he might have made an exception ofher. 

"Where have you come from now?" she asked. 

Weston named a hotel of repute in that city, and, though this was notthe information Ida had desired, she favored him, unobserved, with aglance of careful scrutiny. He was attired for once like a prosperousman, in garments that became him, and, as she had noticed already, hepossessed the knack of wearing anything just as it should be worn, which, as far as her observation went, was the particularcharacteristic of some Englishmen. 

"Then you are not at Lemoine's this time?"

"No, " said Weston, with a whimsical twinkle in his eyes. "You see, wehave at last succeeded in finding the mine. "

Ida started. She regretted this, but she was human, and she knew thatthe man loved her. It seemed only reasonable to expect that he wouldproceed to make that fact clear to her now that he had found the mine, but she was a little puzzled about his smile. It indicated rather toomuch self-possession for a man on the verge of a proposal, and she didnot know that since he entered the house he had been endeavoring toimpose a due restraint upon himself. 

"Oh, " she said hastily, "I'm very glad. You found the mine?"

"No, " replied Weston, gravely, "Grenfell found it. "

"Where is he? Have you brought him with you?"

"I haven't, " said Weston, and she noticed the sudden dropping of hisvoice, "Grenfell's dead. He--went on--the night before we struck thelode up there in the bush. "

"Before you struck the lode? But you said he found it. "

"Yes, " admitted Weston, quietly, "I think he did. "

He told her the story in a few forceful words, and when he hadfinished, her eyes grew a trifle hazy. She had sympathy and intuition, and the thought of the worn-out man lying still forever beside thegold he so long had sought affected her curiously. Weston, who felthis heart throb painfully fast as he watched her, nodded. 

"Yes, " he said, "it was rather pitiful, and there was a certainghastly irony in the situation; but, after all, as he once admitted, there was very little that gold could have given him. "

Ida sat silent a moment or two. She was sorry for Grenfell, but hehad, as his comrade said, gone on, and she was more concerned aboutthe results of his discovery to those who were left behind. 

"The lode, " Weston added, "is all that he described it. "

It cost Ida an effort to sit perfectly calm while she waited for hisnext observation. It was, as she recognized, only his stubborn Britishpride which had prevented him from declaring what he felt for herearlier, and now the obstacle that had counted for most with him hadsuddenly been removed. As it happened, however, he said absolutelynothing. 

"Then you and Devine and that storekeeper are prosperous men?" sheasked. 

Weston laughed in a rather curious fashion, and when he spoke it wasas if he felt that an explanation of his attitude were due from him. 

"No, " he said, "not yet. In fact, so far we're nothing more than threeremarkably rash adventurers--little men of no account--who have setourselves up against the big professional company jobbers. We have wonthe first round, but that was fought with nature. It's comparativelyeasy to face weariness and wet and frost when one is used to it, butto fence with the money handler is quite a different matter. To cryour wares in the market is a thing to which we're wholly new. "

He had said all that was required to make the situation reasonablyclear to a girl of her understanding. The battle was less than halfwon, and it seemed that he would not claim her unless he came outvictor, which was, in some respects, as she would have it. Though shenow and then chafed at it, she loved the man's pride, and what hecould win by force she would not have him purchase with the money thatshe could give him. She fancied, however, that if she chose to exerther strength she could sweep away all the resolutions he had formed;and she made a little of her power felt as she turned and looked athim. 

"You feel that you must fight this thing out with such weapons as youhave?" she asked. "I suppose you wouldn't allow your friends toprovide you with more efficient ones? I know I have suggested as muchalready, and you would not listen, but it would make success so mucheasier. "

It was not remarkably explicit, but Weston, to some extent at least, understood what she had implied, and he gazed at her with a curiouskindling in his eyes. She leaned forward in her chair, wonderfullyalluring, with a suggestive softness in her face, and he felt hisresolution deserting him. It was clear to the girl, who watched everychange of his expression, that the issue of the moment was in herhands, and had he told her that the rest of the struggle he wasengaged in would be fought out in the snow-bound ranges where men notinfrequently died, she would have exerted all her strength. As it was, however, and because of her pride in him, she suddenly determined thatshe would let him win his spurs. Though it was beyond defining, therewas a subtle change in her manner when she leaned back in her chair. 

"I think, " said Weston, "the first course you mentioned is the onlyone open to me. "

The words did not cost him as great an effort as they would have amoment or two earlier. He felt that in the meanwhile something hadsnapped and the tension had suddenly slackened. This was a vast reliefto him, and he had recovered a good deal of his composure when thegirl spoke again. 

"Still, " she said, "you evidently have no great liking for themarket-place. "

"I'm afraid I haven't, " admitted Weston, with a little laugh. "Afterall, when one has seen how some of these mining syndicates andmortgage companies get in their work, a certain prejudice against suchthings isn't quite unnatural. "

"Ah, " said Ida, who had now decided that the conversation must be keptwithin safe limits, "you don't, however, mind using the shovel. "

Weston was quite ready to follow the lead she had given him. 

"What are we to do when we come out here?" he asked, with an air ofwhimsical reflection. "Half of us have no professions, and we haven'ta trade. They bring us up to take life easily, and then, when someaccident pitches us out into the Colonies, it's rather a shock todiscover that nobody seems to have any use for us. As a matter offact, I don't blame your sawmill bosses, your railroad men and yourranchers, considering that it takes several years to learn how to chopa tree, and that to keep pace with an average construction gang is aliberal education. "

Ida laughed. The further they got away from the crisis now the bettershe would be pleased. 

"I fancy there's still a notion in the old country that thewell-brought-up young Englishman excels at anything he cares toundertake, even if it's only manual labor, " she said. 

"Oh, yes, " laughed Weston, "I've heard it. Let them keep such notionsover yonder if it pleases them. One naturally likes to think we're asgood as the rest, and perhaps we're warranted, but it seems to me thatthe man of equal muscle raised to swing the ax and shovel is going tobeat the one who's new to it every time. "

"But the pride of caste!" said Ida. "Doesn't that count? Doesn'tsuccess even at such things as track-laying or chopping trees dependon moral _as_ well as physical strength?"

"I think with most of us courage is largely a matter of experience, "said Weston. "We learn to know what can't hurt us and to avoid thethings that can. As to the other kind, the man who hazards his lifeand limbs in half-propped wild-cat adits, or running logs down therapids, is hardly likely to be less cool in a tight place than the onewho has never been accustomed to anything of the kind. "

He was evidently expatiating on this subject merely because he feltthat it was safe ground, but Ida, who partly agreed with what he said, felt that, after all, there was probably something in the insularEnglish notion that he was too proud to uphold. This man, at least, possessed a courage that made him willing to carry the fight into themarket-place with wholly unaccustomed weapons, and a pride thatimpelled him to lay a stern restraint upon his passion. She fanciedthat there were men in Canada who would not have been deterred by hermoney had they wished to marry her, and, for that matter, one or twoin England had delicately permitted the fact to become apparent. Inthe meanwhile she had decided that he should have his wish. It wouldperhaps be possible to offer support in some shape later on, if itbecame apparent that he was badly beaten. 

"I suppose it is not a very easy matter to dispose of an undevelopedmine?" she inquired. 

Weston smiled rather dryly. 

"It can be done without much trouble if you're content to give thething away, but it's rather different if you wish to sell it. In fact, until the last week I'd no idea how hard the latter was. "

"Then you have been here a week?"

There was a hint of reproach in her tone, and Weston, who understoodher to mean that she was a little astonished that he had not presentedhimself earlier, realized that here was an opportunity that he mighthave profited by had he only succeeded in selling the mine. As it was, he let it pass, for he felt that if once he let himself go he wouldprobably say a good deal more than was advisable. 

"Yes, " he said, with a laugh. "Still, at the rate I'm progressing, several months will hardly see me through. "

Ida had formed a reasonably accurate notion of what was in his mind, and she was half vexed with him and half pleased. He was, at least, consistent, and meant to persist in the attitude he had adopted; butit was significant that he evidently was afraid to venture an inchoutside his defenses. After all, she decided that it was probablyadvisable that he should remain behind them in the meanwhile. It was, however, more or less of a relief to her when her father came in. Hedid not appear in the least astonished to see Weston, and shook handswith him as though it were the most natural thing to find him sittingthere. 

"Business in this city?" he asked. 

"Yes, " said Weston, "I've been endeavoring to sell a mine. "

"Then you struck the lode?"

"I've been abusing Miss Stirling's good-nature with an account of howwe did it. "

Stirling made a little gesture that might have meant anything, but Idawas pleased with the fact that he expressed no astonishment. It seemedto her that he had expected Weston to succeed, and she knew that hewas very seldom wrong in his estimate of any man's character. She madesome excuse and left them together; and when the door closed behindher Stirling turned to Weston. 

"If you'll come along to my room I'll give you a cigar, " he said. "Then, if you feel like it, you can tell me about the thing. "

CHAPTER XXV

STIRLING GIVES ADVICE

The contractor lay back in an easy-chair when he had lighted a cigar, and watched Weston, who glanced with evident interest around the room. Its furniture consisted of very little besides a roll-top desk and acouple of chairs, but the walls were hung with drawings of machinesand large-scale maps, which had projected railroad routes tracedacross them. An Englishman, as a rule, endeavors, with a success whichvaries in accordance with his temperament, to leave his businessbehind him when he goes home, but across the Atlantic the man ofaffairs usually thinks and talks of nothing else. As one result ofthis he has very little time to discuss the concerns of other people, which is apt to become a habit of those who have very few of theirown. Stirling was, however, for private reasons willing to make anexception of Weston in this respect, and when he noticed how thelatter's eyes rested on two or three models of machines which stood ona shelf near him, he took down one of them. 

"I bought up the patent rights of that thing, " he said. "As you see, it's a power excavator, and, while it works all right in loose stuffand gravel, the two I have on the Mule Deer road have been giving metrouble. "

Weston, who was deeply interested, laid the machine on his knee andspun it round once or twice. 

"The elevator buckets are the weak point, " he said. "They won'tdeliver stiff, wet spoil freely. "

Stirling's nod was very expressive, in that it suggested that he hadexpected his companion to locate the cause of trouble. 

"You've hit it, " he said, and opening the desk took out a little modelof an excavator bucket, beautifully made in burnished copper, andanother one more rudely fashioned out of bent card. He handed Westonthe former. 

"That's a rather famous man's idea, " he added, with a little drysmile. "I had to leave the thing to my secretary when I was west. I'vetried it on the Mule Deer road, and I'm not quite satisfied. Theother's one that I've been thinking over. "

Weston looked at both the models, and then, taking up the card one, unfolded it, and, after paring part of it away with his knife, bent itinto a slightly different shape. 

"I think that should meet the purpose. I once worked under theengineer of a very similar machine for a month or two, " he said. 

Stirling picked up the model and examined it carefully before hereplaced it in the roll-top desk, which he shut with a snap. 

"Do you feel like taking a hundred dollars for the notion?" he asked. 

"I'd rather make you a present of it, " said Weston, quietly. 

"Well, " laughed Stirling, "I'll take it. My secretary paid the otherman a good deal more than that for the copper one, and it won't doquite what is wanted. If that man had run an excavator in the mud andrain I guess he'd have made it different. He sits tight in a smartoffice, and tries to remember what they taught him twenty years ago inthe erecting shop. "

It seemed to Weston that there was a good deal to be said for thispoint of view, though it was a matter which did not concern him. Hiscompanion's manner was friendly, and to some extent familiar, butWeston had already had an uneasy feeling in his presence that he wasbeing carefully weighed, or measured, by an astonishingly accuratestandard. His only defense, he decided, was to be perfectly natural, and in this he was judicious, as the assumption of any knowledge orqualities he did not possess would in all probability have beenpromptly detected. He said nothing, which is a very excellent rulewhen one does not know what to say, and Stirling changed the subjectwhen he spoke again. 

"So you have found the mine and come here to sell it, " he observed. "Iguess you have had the usual experience?"

"I don't quite know what is usual, " said Weston, with a smile. "Still, I've been round this city with a bag of what people admit are ratherpromising specimens of milling ore, and I certainly haven't succeededin selling the mine yet. "

"The trouble is that the specimens might have been obtained fromanywhere, " said Stirling, dryly. 

"There's one concern anyway in whose case the objection does notapply. I got a telegram from my partner, the storekeeper, to theeffect that the Hogarth Combine had sent up Van Staten from Vancouverto inspect the lode. I gather that one of the boys spotted him, thoughhe meant to do it quietly. The fact that he didn't announce his nameis rather suggestive. You can read the message. "

He took it from his pocket and handed it to Stirling, who wrinkled hisbrows. 

"Well, " he observed, "what Van Staten says goes. Very few of the bigconcerns would hesitate to purchase when he was satisfied with thething. That storekeeper seems quite a smart man. The Hogarth peoplehave, no doubt, made you an offer since then?"

"Four thousand dollars, all rights, and they'll meet expenses while Iput in the assessment work and do all that's necessary to get titlefrom the Crown. They were kind enough to say that it was rather ahazardous venture, but they wanted another workable reef to round uptheir mineral properties. The reason seemed a little vague. "

Stirling smiled rather grimly. "They want everything they can gettheir hands on in the shape of a mineral property, as long as it coststhem 'most nothing. What did you tell them?"

"That they'd have to go up six times, anyway, before I considered thething, and then I'd want half payment in ordinary stock. They asked ifI meant to stick to that, and I said I did. "

"Then, " asserted Stirling, "you're going to have some trouble inkeeping that mine. The Hogarth people have frozen out more than onelittle man who didn't want to part with his property. They're said tobe quite smart at it, and there are various ways of getting hold ofyou. "

He studied Weston's face and saw it harden, which, as a matter offact, rather pleased him. The stubbornness which had sent this youngman back up the range, aching in every limb, with one boot full ofblood--and Stirling had heard that story--was now, it seemed, impelling him into a struggle with a group of remarkably clever andpowerful mining financiers. The successful contractor appreciatedability, especially when it was of the practical order, but perhaps hewas right in rating character higher. 

"Yes, " said Weston quietly, "I quite expect that will be the case. "

"Have you had any other offer?"

"Wannop made me a conditional one. Pending investigation, he talks offloating a company here or in London. After the success of theHazleton and Long Divide concern, he says they're disposed to regardBritish Columbian ventures favorably yonder. If it goes through, I'dhave to take most of the vendor's payment in shares, which I'm quiteready to do. That's a rough sketch of the scheme, sir, but in themeanwhile it's only tentative. "

Stirling perused the paper handed him with close attention; and beforehe answered he lighted another cigar. 

"Wannop's straight, but he and his friends are little men, " he said atlength. "You'd have the Hogarth Combine right on to you in London. Oneor two of their subsidiary concerns are registered there. Now, I don'tknow whether they really want your mine, but supposing they do, andyou won't sell out to them, I guess you have some idea of what theirgame would be?"

"I'm afraid I haven't, sir. "

"Well, " said Stirling, "you'll be fortunate if you get half yourauthorized capital applied for, and it would be quite an easy thingfor the Hogarth people to send somebody on to the market to sell yourstock down. That would freeze off any other investors from coming in, and scare those who had applied for stock into selling. You can't putup a crushing and reducing plant without a pile of money, and dams andflumes for water-power would cost 'most as much; but you'd have tohave them, for you could never pack your ore out to a smelter throughthe kind of country you have described to me. Now, unless you couldget money enough to start clear with, the concern is bound to cave in. Then somebody acting for the Combine would quietly buy it up. "

He broke off for a moment and looked hard at Weston. 

"Suppose those people let you feel their hand and then make you arather higher offer? What are you going to do?"

"Disregard it, " said Weston, quietly. 

Stirling nodded in a manner which suggested that this was what he hadexpected. 

"Well, " he said, "I guess that's the course most likely to appeal to aman constituted as you seem to be. But the question is, are you toughenough to see it through? It's one that may cost you a good deal. "

"I don't know, " said Weston. "I can only find out by trying. "

It appeared from his companion's manner that the answer pleased him. 

"Now, " he said, "are you open to take advice or help from me?"

Weston met his gaze, which was now unpleasantly steady. 

"Advice, sir, " he answered. "I'm afraid I couldn't take help. "

"From me?" said Stirling, dryly, with an emphasis on the last wordwhich brought the blood to Weston's cheek. "Well, you can come for theadvice on any matter of detail when you feel like it. In a general wayI can only throw out one suggestion now, and it's at variance with theviews you seem to hold. Go over to the Hogarth people, and make themost reasonable terms you can with them. "

"That's what you would do in my place?" Weston asked, with a twinklein his eyes. 

"I've been a blame fool once or twice in my time, " Stirling admitted. "It's curious that it didn't cost me quite as much as most peopleexpected. Still, what I've given you is excellent advice. "

He waved his hand as though to indicate that he had closed thesubject, but when Weston took his departure half an hour later thecontractor looked remarkably thoughtful. 

"If he weren't up against the Hogarth Combine he and Wannop might putthat scheme through, " he mused. "As it is, I guess one way or anotherI've got to help him out. "

Then he rose and descended to the room where his daughter was. 

"I've had an interesting talk with Mr. Weston, " he said indifferently. "That's quite a smart young man, but I guess one could call him alittle obstinate. "

Ida smiled at this, though she suspected her father's observation wasnot quite as casual as it seemed. 

"Yes, " she said, "in some respects I think he is. But how has he madethat clear to you?"

Stirling, sitting down opposite her, laughed. 

"He's had an offer for his mine that most of the bush prospectorswould have jumped at, and if he'd played his cards judiciously thepeople who made it would no doubt have doubled it. I suggested thatcourse to him, but it wasn't any use. Mr. Weston is one of the men whocan't make a compromise. "

"Isn't that a reasonable attitude? He presumably wants his rights. "

"The little man, " observed Stirling, "has no rights that he isn'tprepared to hold on to in a rather uneven fight. With Weston it's allor nothing, and just now I don't quite know which he'll get. He andhis partners will have to stake everything they own on a veryuncertain game. "

"Hasn't everybody who goes into business speculations to do that nowand then?"

"No, " said Stirling, reflectively, "I don't think they have. Quiteoften the people who deal with them have to face part of the hazard. In a general way they've something to fall back on if they're men ofposition: the money they've settled on their wives, a name that wouldget them credit on the market, or friends who'd give them a lift ifthey came down with a bang. Now, that young man has nothing. If hefails, he won't have a dollar to get out of this city with, for themine won't count. He can't even hold it unless he puts in hisassessment work on it, and he couldn't do that without something tolive on in the meanwhile. He hasn't a friend in Canada from whom hecould borrow a dollar. "

Ida said nothing, and Stirling added, as if in explanation:

"I might be willing to give him a lift if it were absolutelynecessary, but it seems that he's quite determined not to take a favorfrom me. He didn't offer me any reason for adopting that attitude. "

He looked at the girl rather curiously, and she noticed thesignificance of his last sentence. Stirling had not said that he wasunacquainted with Weston's reason, but he seemed to be waiting for herto make a suggestion, and she found the situation embarrassing. 

"Well, " she said, "he probably has one that seems sufficient to him. "

Stirling said nothing further on the subject, and presently went outand left her; but her expression changed when he had done so, and shesat very still, with one hand tightly closed, for she now realizedwhat the cost of her lover's defeat might be. In his case it would notmean a grapple with temporary difficulties, or a curtailing ofunnecessary luxuries, but disaster complete and irretrievable, perhapsfor years. If he failed, he would vanish out of her life; and it wasbecoming rapidly clear that, however hard pressed he might be, therewas, after all, no way in which she could help him. The unyieldingpride or stubbornness which animated him at length appeared an almosthateful thing. 

Ida did not sleep particularly well that night, and when she went downto breakfast rather late the next morning there was a letter besideher plate. She looked up at her father when she had opened it. 

"Susan Frisingham is coming here from Toronto for a day or two beforeshe goes back to New York, " she said. "She suggests taking me backwith her. "

"Ah!" said Stirling, with a barely perceptible trace of dryness. "Youdon't want to go just now?"

Ida flashed another glance at him, and noticed the faint twinkle inhis eyes. She felt almost disconcerted, for it suggestedcomprehension, and she certainly did not want to go. She could, itseemed, do nothing to help the man she loved, and, for that matter, she could scarcely encourage or sympathize with him openly, but shewould not seek pleasure elsewhere while he fought out the unequalstruggle alone. 

"No, " she said, "I should much rather stay here. "

"As you like, " said Stirling, who shortly afterward departed for thecity. 

Mrs. Frisingham was a rich widow and a distant connection ofStirling's. She arrived that day, and on the following day contrivedto spend a few minutes alone with Stirling when he came home frombusiness. 

"I wanted to take Ida back with me, and I'm a little astonished thatshe won't hear of it, " she said. 

"In that case, I'm afraid the notion can't be carried out, " saidStirling. 

"Isn't it rather a pity?" suggested the lady. 

Stirling seemed to consider this. The two were old friends, in spiteof the fact that Mrs. Frisingham, who now and then spent a few weeksin Montreal, had made several determined attempts to regulate thecontractor's domestic affairs. She described him to her friends aspig-headed, and added that if it had not been for his daughter shewould have given up all idea of making him listen to reason. Stirling, on his part, said that she no doubt had excellent intentions, but sohad a good many people who contrived to make a considerable amount ofunnecessary trouble. 

"I wonder why you want her at New York?" he asked. 

He had, as his companion was aware, a somewhat Unpleasant habit ofgoing straight to the point, but on this occasion she was disposed tomeet him. 

"Do you mind telling me what you mean to do with the girl?"

"No, " said Stirling. "I want to keep her with me just as long as she'swilling to stay; but I suppose I can stand it if she marries somebodyby and by. "

"That, " said the lady, "is just the point. You would naturally preferhim to be an eligible person. Now, if you let me have her for a whileI could promise that she would meet nobody who didn't answer thatdescription. "

Stirling laughed. He had suspected her intention all along, andsurmised that her offer was prompted partly by good-nature and partlyby a recognition of the fact that the presence of a young woman ofconsiderable wealth, who was beautiful as well as otherwise gifted, would increase the popularity of the receptions over which she wasfond of presiding. 

"I'm not quite sure her views and yours would coincide, " he said. "Anyway, she has been in New York before--and in England, for thatmatter. "

Mrs. Frisingham adroitly shifted her point of attack, and it almostappeared, though Stirling could not tell how, that she had heard ofthe camp-packer. 

"Don't you think there's a certain danger of her going through thewood and choosing the crooked stick after all?" she asked. 

Stirling smiled. "I don't know that you could call New York or Londona wood. A hothouse would be nearer it, " he said with an air ofreflection. "Still, to fall in with the simile, there are no doubtplenty of sticks in both places, just as there are right here in thiscity. In fact, " and his eyes twinkled suspiciously, "I'm not quitesure that isn't an excellent name for them. Quite a few are nicelyvarnished, and in a general way they've hall-marked gold or silvertops. The hallmark, however, guarantees only the trimmings, and fromone or two specimens that I've come across I've a suspicion that insome cases the timber's rotten. When you choose a stick you want asound one--one that you can lean on when you face a hill, and I guessthat's a thing my girl will have to do now and then. "

His tone had grown a trifle graver as he went on, but his companionwaited, feeling that he had a little more to say, and that he mightoffer her a hint of some kind, as, in fact, he presently did. 

"The sound sticks don't grow in stove-warmed houses, but out in thewind and sun, " he said. 

That was sufficient for Mrs. Frisingham, who had rather more than asuspicion that Stirling already had in his mind somebody who had notbeen bred in the city. An unknown man who built new railroad bridgesin the wilderness, or a bush rancher, it seemed most probable. 

"Well, " she said, "I might perhaps warn you that the right choice is arather serious matter, and that, after all, it's wiser to consider theopinions--call them prejudices if you like--of your own order. "

"When my daughter chooses, " said the contractor, smiling, "she'llchoose wisely, and I'm going to be satisfied. I've had the pleasure ofreassuring another lady on that point already. As to the other matter, the opinions of people of the station to which I now belong don'tcount for much with me. For quite a long while they were dead againstmy getting here at all; but I did work that this country wanted done, and I'm where I am. You don't expect me to alter my views out ofdeference to them?"

He broke off for a moment, and nodded to her pleasantly as he went onagain. 

"We're old friends, Susan, and I guess you mean to be kind; but I'vebeen warned before, and it didn't affect me much, " he said. "If Idawants to go back with you she may, but we'll leave it at that. "

He turned away, and, strolling into his own room, he took out the cardmodel of the excavator bucket which Weston had altered, and examinedit critically. 

"Yes, " he said, "it will do its work. I guess that's characteristic ofthe man. "

CHAPTER XXVI

THE JUMPERS

Saunders, the storekeeper, lay outside the little tent, with thepungent pine-wood smoke drifting past him and his feet toward thefire, while dusk crept up the range and a wonderful stillness settleddown upon the lonely valley. His hands were badly blistered, and hewas aching in every limb, while some of his knuckles had the fleshtorn off them, for Devine had brought a heavy hammer down on themseveral times that day instead of on the drill. For all that, he laybeside the fire in the drowsy state of physical content which is notinfrequently experienced by those who have just enjoyed an ample mealafter a long day of strenuous labor in the open air. However, asSaunders had reasons for believing that the result of the latter wouldin due time prove to be eminently satisfactory, the sensation was inhis case perhaps a little more pronounced than usual. 

He was not more than healthfully weary, and there was an exhilaratingquality in the sweet, cool air, which was heavy with the smell of thefirs, while the wonderful green transparency generally to be seenafter sunset among the mountains of that land still glimmered behindthe peaks on one side of the valley. The rest of the hollow waswrapped in creeping shadow against which the nearest pines stood outin dusky ranks. Saunders raised himself on one elbow and gazed at themreflectively before he turned to Devine, who was sitting near him. They had been hard at work on the mineral claims of the GrenfellConsolidated for the last few days. 

"This camping in the woods would be quite nice if one could prowlround with the rifle instead of pounding the drill, " he said, and thenpaused to glance ruefully at one of his battered hands. "Anyway, Idon't know that I shouldn't just as soon do that as to hold it. "

"Sorry, " said Devine. "Still, you've done some shooting. We brought upa box of cartridges and now we haven't one. What you want is asingle-shot rifle, or a deer that will stand still. "

Saunders turned and pointed to the dismembered carcass that hung froma fir branch close at hand. 

"I got that one on the run, and there was a time when I'd have had onefor every ca'tridge, instead of plugging Marlin bullets into trees. Itwas a sport I was meant for. " He paused and sighed. "I've had to be asawmill hand and a storekeeper. "

Devine grinned at this. 

"Well, " he said, "you've raked more money out of pork and sugar than Ihave out of surveying. For that matter, you've got most of mine; andyou're better off than I am, because the store's still running. "

"Oh, yes, " said his companion, with a sardonic smile, "it's being runby Jim from Okanagan, and he'll have the boys round in the back storeevenings sampling cheese and eating crackers while they help him. They're kind of curious insects, and it's a blame pity I neverremembered to put those Vancouver invoices where they wouldn't layhands on them, for there'll sure be trouble when I get back again. Youhave got to strike people for full prices when they don't always meettheir bills. Anyway, the man who spreads himself out on jobs thatdon't strictly belong to him is bound to find it cost him something. "

It was significant that he spoke of going back; but both he and Devineadmitted that possibility. The mine was theirs, and they certainlymeant to keep it if they could, though they recognized that this mightbe difficult. As a matter of fact, a reef or lode mine is of almost asmuch immediate use to a poor man as a sewing-machine would be to anaked savage. He cannot get out the ore without sinking a shaft ordriving an adit, which, in the general way, means the hiring of laborand the purchase of costly machines. Then, when that is done, he mustput up a stamp-mill and reducing plant, or arrange for transport bypack-horse to somebody who has one, which is a very expensive matterin a mountainous land where roads have still to be cut. As the resultof this, he must in the first place go round and beg the assistance ofmen with money to spare; and the latter, as a rule, insist on hishanding over the mine before parting with any of their money. Thereare also means of putting pressure on the reluctant seller, and theusual code of morals does not seem to be considered as strictlyapplicable to a mining deal. 

"Well, " said Devine, at length, "we have still a good deal of drillingto do, and unless you're smarter with the hammer than I am we'll wantnew hands before we're through. "

"We hold three claims, and that means quite a lot of assessment workfor you and me to put in, " Saunders said. "Besides, you'll have to godown and straighten up things with the Gold Commissioner. "

Devine made a sign of concurrence. When he had staked off the claimswith Weston he had been more concerned about tracing the lode thananything else, and it had not occurred to him that they might becontested, as it certainly should have done. As the result of this, hehad neglected one or two usual precautions, and when he filed hisrecord he had not been as exact as was advisable in supplying bearingsthat would fix the precise limits of the holdings. 

"Yes, " he said, "now that I've made a second survey, I'll take theback trail in a day or two. The stakes are planted just where theyshould be, but the description I gave the Commissioner wasn't quite asprecise as I should have made it; and, as the thing stands, I'm notsure we'd have much to go upon if anybody pulled up our stakes andswung our claim a little off the lode. Anyway, I don't quite see whythe Commissioner shouldn't pass my survey to count for assessmentwork. "

The firelight fell on Saunders' face, and he looked thoughtful. Thoughthe thing is by no means common, claims have been jumped in thatcountry--that is, occupied by men who surreptitiously or forcibly oustthe rightful owner on the ground that he has not done the workrequired by law, or has been inaccurate in his record. 

"I guess you'd better go down to-morrow when the boys come up, " hesaid. "It's a fact that Van Staten went over to Cedar to see the GoldCommissioner, and from what one of the boys told me he had quite along talk with him. Van Staten's straight, but it would be part of hisduty to examine our record and mention it to the people who sent himup to investigate. " He paused and spread out his hands. "I wouldn'tstake my last dollar on the honesty of any of them. "

"The boys would start when they got the news you sent them, " saidDevine. 

Saunders smiled ruefully. He felt reasonably certain that every man inthe settlement would abandon his occupation when he heard the messagethey had sent by an Indian they met on the trail soon after theystarted. Saunders, it must be admitted, had not sent it until Devineinsisted on his doing so, for, as he shrewdly said, there was not agreat deal of the lode that could be economically worked available, and he wanted to make quite sure that the Grenfell properties were onthe richest of it, while the boys would be better employed working ontheir ranches and buying things from him than worrying over profitlessclaims. He added that if the latter broke them he would in allprobability never recover what they owed him. 

"They'll be here, sure, bringing as much of my pork and flour as theycan pack along, " he said. "It's quite likely Jim won't have raisedthirty dollars among the crowd of them. "

"Well, " said Devine, "if I'm to take the trail tomorrow I'm goingright under my blanket now. "

He rolled it round him and lay down on a pile of spruce twigs outsidethe tent. The dew was rather heavy, but he was young and strong, andit is a luxury to sleep in the open in that elixir-like mountain air. He went to sleep at once, and it was evidently early morning whenSaunders awakened him, for the moon, which had not cleared the easternpeaks when he lay down, was now high in the heavens. He sprang to hisfeet, and stood a moment or two shivering a little as he looked abouthim. It was very cold, and the little open space where the tent stoodwas flooded with silvery light, though here and there the shadows ofthe firs fell athwart it black as ink and sharp as a fretwork cut inebony. Then he saw Saunders close beside him, fumbling with themagazine of his repeating-rifle. 

"Not a blame ca'tridge left! You'd better take the ax along, " he said. 

"The ax?" queried Devine, who was a little startled as well aspuzzled. 

Saunders pointed to the shadowy bush. 

"Sure, " he said. "It's jumpers!"

That was enough for Devine. He flashed a glance at his companion. Saunders possessed the huckster's heart, and took pleasure in sellingindifferent pork and third-grade flour at the highest prices he couldpossibly extort. The clink of the dollar was music to him; but it wasperfectly clear that he could hold his own, on occasion, with a verytenacious hand. The man was resolutely quiet and evidently quite readyto meet the jumpers with an empty rifle. 

For the next few moments Devine stood listening with strainedattention. At first he could hear nothing except a little breeze thatsighed among the tops of the firs, but by and by he became sensible ofa stealthy rustling somewhere in the shadows. Then a branch snappedwith a sharp distinctness that set his heart beating a good dealfaster than was comfortable. Making a sign to Saunders, he strode backto the tent and picked up the ax. 

After that they set out together down the little trail that led pastthe willows to the lode, slipping as silently as possible through theshadows, though now and then a stone clinked beneath their feet, or astick or twig snapped as they passed, with a sound that seemedstartlingly loud. Nobody, however, seemed to hear them, and at lastthey sank down amidst a brake of tall fern near a little, neatly-squared stake which had been driven into the soil. The brakewas in black shadow, but a broad patch of moonlight fell on the greencarpet of wineberries a yard or two away. The rustling had ceased, andthey could hear nothing for several anxious minutes; then it commencedagain. A man floundering through that kind of bush makes considerablenoise, even when it is daylight and he can see where he is going. Thenone of the jumpers, who apparently had fallen into a clump of thorns, broke out into half-smothered expletives, and there was a soft laugh, evidently from a comrade. 

"Looking for the stake, " said Saunders with a rather grim chuckle. "They mean to put the work through before they come round to call onus. As far as I can figure, there can't be more than four of them. "

That appeared to Devine quite enough, but he recognized the necessityfor a determined opposition. He knew that he had framed his recordbefore the Gold Commissioner, and that it would not be difficult forthe men who pulled up that stake to swing his claim a little off therichest of the lead. This would give them an opportunity for stakingoff a good deal of the strip he meant to hold, and once they tookpossession it would be a case of proving them wrong; and when it cameto testimony, they were two to one. He felt sincerely sorry thatSaunders had not sent the boys word of his discovery a little earlier. 

In the meanwhile the rustling had ceased once more, and Devine feltthe silence react upon his nerves. What the strangers were doing hecould not tell, but he fancied that they must be consulting togethersomewhere among the trees. He felt that it would be a vast relief ifhe could only see them; and he glanced around at Saunders. The lattercrouched among the dewy fern, impassively still, a blurred, shadowyobject, with the rifle across his knees. 

Then the crackling of undergrowth commenced again, and Devine fanciedthat he could distinguish the movements of four men. He heard the fernrustle close behind him, and saw that his companion had raised himselfa trifle. The latter appeared to be gazing into the bush, and lookingaround sharply the surveyor started as a figure materialized out ofthe gloom where the moonlight streamed down between the trees not faraway. The man stood amidst the silvery radiance, and Devine wasrelieved to notice that he had nothing in his hand. Then he turnedpartly around, and his voice reached the pair who watched him. 

"Have you struck it yet?" he asked. 

An invisible man replied that he had not yet found whatever he wassearching for; and in another moment a sharp snapping suggested that athird stranger was floundering through the bush. He came into sightclose by the first and stopped. 

"I can't strike that post, " he said. "The bush down that way is blackas pitch. Guess I'll have to look for a pine-knot and get a light. "

"They'd hear you chopping, " said the man who had appeared first. "Thetent's just back there among the firs. We have got to have that postshifted before they know we are about. "

There was no doubt as to who it was that he referred to, and Devinesaw Saunders hitch himself forward a little. 

"If I'd only three or four ca'tridges!" he said half aloud. 

Devine sympathized with him. His comrade was a very indifferent shot, but it would have been a relief to feel that they had somethingbesides the ax to fall back on as a last resort. Firearms, as he wasaware, are seldom made use of in a dispute in British Columbia, but, for all that, men have now and then been rather badly injured duringan altercation over a mineral claim. At close quarters a shovel or abig hammer is apt to prove an effective weapon. 

Then, and neither was afterward quite sure how it happened, Saunderslost his balance and fell forward amidst the fern. He did not do itnoiselessly, and one of the two jumpers sprang backward a pace. 

"Somebody in that clump of fern, " he said, and then apparentlyrecovered a little from his alarm. "It's that blame fool Charley. "

There was no longer any possibility of concealment, and Saunderssuddenly stood up in the moonlight which had crept close up to thebrake, a tall, gaunt figure with the rifle glinting at his hip. 

"It's not, " he said laconically. "It's going to be a funeral unlessyou light out of this. "

The men did not stop to consider, but vanished on the instant, andDevine, breaking into a little laugh from sheer relief, fancied thatthey had jumped behind adjacent trees. Saunders, who stood gazing intothe shadows, waved his hand. 

"You'll stop right where you are, boys, if you're wise, " he said. "There'll sure be trouble if you come out again. "

The men did not come out, but there was a smashing of undergrowth astwo more came running up. They were visible for a moment as theysprang out into the open space between the willows and the first ofthe firs, and then apparently they saw Saunders, for they plunged backamong the trees. The storekeeper sank down behind the fern. 

"It's quite a good light, and one of them might have a pistol, " heexplained half aloud. 

Devine considered this very probable; and when there was no sign oftheir opponents during the next few minutes he once more becameconscious that his heart was beating unpleasantly fast. The jumpersapparently had vanished altogether, but he fancied that they wereconsidering some plan of attack. By and by, a voice came out of theshadows. 

"There's the post close up against the fern, " it said. 

"That, " remarked Saunders, dryly, "is going to put a hustle on to someof them. "

He was right, for a moment later a man stepped out into the moonlight. 

"Put down your gun. We want to talk, " he said. 

"Then, " replied Saunders, who did not stand up, "go ahead; but you'llstop in the light; and if you feel like sending any of your partnersto work a traverse round this bunch of fern, you can remember thatI've got the forehead plumb on--you. "

The man's gesture indicated that he understood the situation, and, though he had jumped for cover a little earlier, as most men in hisplace would have done, it was evident that he was a courageous rogue. 

"I want to tell you that there are four of us, and we've come up quitea way to shift that post for you, " he said. "There's no use makingtrouble, for it has to be done. "

Saunders touched his companion's shoulder. 

"Chip in, " he said softly. "Talk like a land agent trying to sell aranch. We've got to keep this crowd quiet. The boys can't be far off. "

Devine agreed with his last statement. The moonlight was bright enoughfor one to travel by, at least in the brûlée, and he was sufficientlyacquainted with western human nature to feel certain that every man inthe settlement would have started when he heard of their discovery, and, what was more to the purpose, would not waste a moment on thejourney. Men going up to a new gold strike do not, as a rule, troublethemselves about want of sleep or weariness. On the other hand, he didnot think they could possibly arrive before morning, which meant thathe must keep the jumpers talking for several hours. It appeared verydoubtful whether their patience or his conversational powers wouldhold out, but he meant to do what he could. 

"I'm not quite as sure that you're going to move that post as you seemto be; and, anyway, I don't quite see why you want to do it, " he said. "You can't take possession of a duly recorded claim. "

The jumper laughed. 

"Your record won't hold. You should have made it clearer; giventwo-point bearings, or blazed your line on trees. "

"Why?" asked Devine. "This post fixes the key boundary. "

"Trouble is that we're going to move that post, " said the other man. 

He did not appear impatient, and Devine deduced two things from thefact that he was willing to discuss the matter. One was that thejumper, who evidently had not met the Indian, was unaware that the menfrom the settlement were then in all probability pushing on as fast aspossible through the brûlée, and the other that the man had no desireto proceed to extremities. This was reassuring as far as it went, butit must be admitted that the surveyor was afterward a littleastonished at his collectedness and perspicacity. 

"Why don't you want to move all the posts?" he asked. 

"We couldn't square that with your record, " was the candid answer. "Moving one will swing you across instead of along the lead, and willlet in our new location. I'm telling you this, because you'll probablybe reasonable now that you understand the thing. Light out and don'tmake trouble, and you'll still hold quite a strip on the lead. "

"Give us a minute or two to think it over, " said Devine. 

"In the meanwhile you'll stop just where you are, " Saunders broke in. 

The man waved his hand as though he conceded that point, and Devineturned to his companion. 

"I've only one excuse to make. When I staked off the claims, I was ina feverish hurry to prove the lead and get down and record, " he said. "Now, that's not an educated man, but he's got the hang of this thingas clearly as a surveyor could have done. It's evident that the manwho hired him has drilled it into him, and, what is more, has warnedhim that he's to make no unnecessary trouble. We're to be bounced outof rather more than half our claim, but it's to be done as quietly aspossible. He explained the matter in the expectation that we'd pullout and leave the field to them. "

"You've hit it, " said Saunders. "Don't answer. Let him speak again. We've got to gain time. "

They waited several minutes in tense anxiety, for, after all, it wasconceivable that, diplomacy failing, the jumper would adopt moreforcible means. Then the man waved his hand. 

"You've got to decide what you're going to do, " he said. 

Devine proceeded to urge every reason he could think of, and held himin play a little longer, until finally the jumper lost his patience. 

"Oh, " he said, "you make me tired! Light out and be done with it!We're going to pull up that post. "

Saunders thrust forward the rifle barrel so that the moonlightsparkled on it. 

"Then, " he said grimly, "come right along and shift it. "

Instead of doing so, the man jumped back into the shadow, which wasperhaps a very natural proceeding. Then there was oppressive silencefor a few minutes. Devine, who could not hear anything, felt horriblyanxious as to what their opponents might be doing. Suddenly there wasa fresh rustling among the undergrowth, and Saunders thrust the rifleinto his companion's hands. 

"Crawling in at the back of us! Let them see you on the oppositeside!" he said. 

Devine wriggled through the fern, and, though he knew that this wasrash, stood up where the moonlight fell upon him, with the long barrelglinting in front of him. He fancied, though he could not be certain, that he saw a shadowy figure flit back among the trees, and in anycase the rustling died away again. After that he crawled back toSaunders, for, as he admitted afterward, he did not like standing onthe other side of that thicket alone. 

He subsequently repeated the maneuver several times, and Saunders onceor twice answered the jumpers' warnings with a sardonic invitation toremove the post. Neither of them afterward was sure how long thehorrible tension lasted, though they agreed that a very little more ofit would probably have broken down their nerve; but at length a faintsound came out of the shadows down the valley. It rapidly grew louder, and when it resolved itself into such a smashing of undergrowth asmight have been made by a body of men, Saunders sprang up and wavedhis rifle toward where he supposed the jumpers to be. 

"You'd better git, " he said. "The boys from the settlement will headyou off inside five minutes. "

There was no answer, and it appeared that the jumpers had alreadydeparted as silently as possible. A little later the men from thesettlement came limping in, and the foremost of them clustered roundDevine, who sat just outside the fern, while Saunders, whose faceshowed a trifle drawn in the moonlight, stood still clutching therifle. 

"What's the matter? You're not looking pert, the pair of you, " saidone of them. 

"Give me a cigar, if you've got one, " said Devine. "Saunders will tellyou about the thing. I've done quite enough talking for one night. "

Saunders told the story tersely, and afterward snapped the magazine ofhis rifle up and down with a dramatic gesture. 

"Held them off with that, and not a blame ca'tridge in the thing, " hesaid. 

CHAPTER XXVII

SAUNDERS TAKES PRECAUTIONS

The men from the settlement had been three weeks in camp. Saunders satwith his back to a big fir and a little hammer in his hand. There wasa pile of shattered quartz at one side of him and another smaller heapof fragments of the same material lying on an empty flour-bag at hisfeet. Devine, who had just announced that dinner was almost ready, leaned against a neighboring fir, looking on with a suggestive grin;and a big, gaunt, old-time prospector, with a grim, bronzed face, wascarefully poising one of the quartz lumps in a horny hand. Saunders, who had been at work since daylight that morning, had paid the lattersix dollars for his services, and admitted that he was highlysatisfied with the result. He was then engaged in manufacturingspecimens. 

There was already a change in the forest surrounding the lonely camp. The willows had been hewn down, great firs lay in swaths, with some oftheir mighty branches burnt, and a track of ruin stretched back fromSaunders' tent to the side of the range. The Grenfell ConsolidatedMine, three separate claims, occupied what was supposed to be therichest of the land. It was certainly the most accessible portion, forpayable milling ore was already being extracted from an open cut. Itwas not the fault of Saunders that the Consolidated did not occupy thewhole of it, but the law allows each free miner only so many feet offrontage, and the Gold Commissioner had shown himself proof againstthe surveyor's reasoning that, as Grenfell had found the mine, afourth location should be recorded in the name of his executors. Adead man, as the Commissioner pointed out, could not record a mineralclaim. 

The men from the settlement had, however, promptly staked off everyremaining rod of ground along the lead, and, though the spot wasremote from anywhere, another band was busily engaged in an attempt totrace it back across the dried-up lake. How they had heard of it atall was not very evident, but as the eagles gather round the carcassand the flies about the fallen deer, so men with shovels and axesappear as by enchantment when gold is struck. Distance counts asnothing, and neither thundering rivers nor waterless deserts can deterthem. 

Saunders listened with great contentment to the ringing of the axesand the sharp clink of the drills. Men who labor strenuously from dawnto dark in the invigorating mountain air consume provisions freely, and, as the storekeeper was quite aware, those engaged on that lodewould be compelled to purchase their pork and tea and flour from him. 

"It was quite a smart idea to give Jim a commission on the sales, though I was kind of wondering if he'd have the sense to stay where heis and run the store, " he said. "If he hasn't been fool enough tooutfit the boys on credit he must have been raking in money. "

Then he took up the lump of stone the prospector handed him andknocked most of it to pieces with the hammer; after which he handedone or two of the fragments to Devine, who grinned more broadly. 

"Since Weston wants more specimens I guess he's got to have them, " heexplained. "I don't know any reason why we shouldn't send him the bestwe can. This lot should assay out, anyway, several ounces to the ton. "

The prospector made a little grave sign of agreement, for this was agame to which he was more or less accustomed. Lode ore now and then isof somewhat uniform quality, but at times it varies in richness in arather striking manner; and the storekeeper had spent six or sevenhours picking out the most promising specimens. From these he hadtrimmed off every fragment in which, as far as he could discern, theprecious metal was not present, with the result that any mineralogistto whom they might be handed could certify to the richness of theGrenfell Consolidated. Saunders was a business man, and quite awarethat the vendor of any kind of goods, when asked for samples, doesnot, as a rule, submit indifferent ones. 

"I guess, " he added, probably referring to prospective investors, "this lot ought to fetch them. You asked the boys to come along, Devine?"

Devine said he had done so, and in a few more minutes several littlegroups of men, in dilapidated long boots and somewhat ragged duck, whohad ceased work for their mid-day meal, gathered round the fir. Theywaited mildly curious when Saunders rose and made a sign that herequired their attention, which they were perhaps the more willing togive because they were all his customers, and bills are apt to run upin a bush ranching community. 

"Boys, " said Saunders, "I want to point out that instead of owninggold-mines most of you would now be shoveling on the railroads orhumping fir trees at the sawmills, if it hadn't been for me. "

Some of them laughed, and some of them admitted that there was acertain truth in this, for the bush rancher who buys uncleared landusually spends several years in very strenuous labor before itproduces enough for him to live on, and in the meanwhile he musteither go away and endeavor to earn a few dollars every now and thenor else fall into the hands of the nearest storekeeper. 

"Our friend is a philanthropist, " said one of them, who spoke clean, colloquial English. "We all admit his favors, but he doesn't mentionthat he puts them in the bill. "

"And he doesn't charge anything extra for insects in his flour, " saidanother man. 

There was a little laughter, but Saunders gazed at them reproachfully. 

"If you think it's easy making money out of the kind of crowd you are, all you have to do is to start a store and see. But that wasn't quitewhat I meant to say, " he explained. "Anyway, I put the whole of youright on to this lead. "

"You were quite a long while doing it, " interjected one of theaudience. 

Saunders waved his hand. 

"Am I a blame fool?" he asked. "I've no use for an inquisitive, grasping crowd worrying round my gold-mine until I've got thingssecurely fixed. Still, you drove off those jumpers, for which you havemy thanks; and I want in due time to get back the money most of youowe me. "

"You can count on that, boys, " said another of them. "It's a dead surething. "

The storekeeper disregarded this. 

"Well, " he continued, "we'll get to the point of it. It's kind of easyfinding a gold-mine when you've a friend of my kind to put you on toit, but it's quite often a blame hard thing to keep it. Now, you'llhave men from the cities wanting to buy you up, offering you a fewhundred dollars for the claims you've struck, and if you're foolsyou'll take it. If not, you'll hold off until the Grenfell Consols goup on the market and then give us first call on buying the lot. If wecan't take the deal you'll get six or eight times as much in Vancouveras you would if you let go now. "

One of the men who had spoken broke in again. 

"Boys, " he said, "when Saunders makes a proposition of that kind it'sbecause he sees how he's going to get something out of it. But for allthat, I guess it's sound advice he's giving you. "

There was a little consultation among the men, and then one of themasked a question that evidently met with the favor of his companions. 

"How are we going to live in the meanwhile?"

"That's quite easy, " said the storekeeper, with a smile. "I'll supplyyou with pork and flour, drills and giant-powder, at bed-rock figure, while you get in your assessment work, and while you live on yourranches afterward until you make a deal. All I ask is that you won'tsell until the Grenfell's floated, and that you'll give us first callthen. It's a cold fact that if I had the money I'd buy you all upnow. "

There was truth in his last assurance, which was at the same time ahighly diplomatic one, for it occurred to most of the audience that ifthere was anything to be made by waiting they might as well have it asanybody else; and after a further consultation they gave him theirpromise. Then they trooped away to prepare their dinner, and Saundersturned to Devine with a contented smile. 

"I guess, " he said, "we've headed those company men right off thislode, and, what's most as much to the purpose, the boys will have totrade with me if anybody comes up and starts another store. Just nowI'd feel quite happy if I knew how Jim was running things. "

He was soon to learn, for he had scarcely risen from a meal of saltpork, somewhat blackened in the frying-pan, and grindstone breadindifferently baked by Devine, when Jim and several strangers ploddedinto camp. He was very ragged, and apparently very weary, but hedisplayed no diffidence in accounting for his presence. 

"It was kind of lonesome down there, and I figured I'd come along, " hesaid. 

Saunders gazed at him for a moment in mute indignation before hisfeelings found relief in words. 

"And you raking in money by the shovelful!" he gasped. 

"No, " said Jim, decisively, "I wasn't quite doing that. Anyway, it wasyour money. I got only a share of it; and you didn't figure I'd stayback there weighing out flour and sugar when there was a gold strikeon?"

Saunders contrived to master his anger, and merely made a littlegesture of resignation. He was acquainted with the restlessness whichusually impels the average westerner to throw up ranch or business andstrike into the bush when word of a new mineral find comes down, though much is demanded of those who take the gold trail, and, as arule, their gains are remarkably small. 

"Whom did you leave to run the store?" asked Saunders. 

"Nobody, " said Jim. "Except two Siwash, there was nobody in thesettlement; and, anyway, the store was most empty when the boys camealong. " He indicated the strangers with a wave of his hand. "As theyhadn't a dollar between them I told them I'd give them credit, andthey could pack up with them anything they could find in the place. "

Saunders appeared to find some difficulty in preserving a befittingself-restraint, but he accomplished it. 

"What did you do with the money you'd taken already?" was his nextquestion. 

"Wrapped it up in a flour-bag, " said the man from Okanagan, cheerfully. "Then I pitched the thing into an empty sugar-keg. Wroteup what the boys owed you, and put the book into the keg too. Anyway, I wrote up as much as I could remember. "

Saunders looked at Devine, who stood by, and there was contempt beyondexpression in his eyes. 

"That, " he said, "is just the kind of blamed fool he is. "

Then he turned to Jim. 

"If I were to talk until to-morrow I couldn't quite tell you what Ithink of you. "

Jim only grinned, and, sitting down by the fire, set about preparing ameal, while Saunders, who appeared lost in reflection, presentlyturned again to Devine. 

"I guess I'll go down this afternoon, " he said. "We'll have a freshcrowd pouring in, and they'll want provisions. Anyway, I've headed offthose company men, and if it's necessary I can go through to therailroad and get hold of Weston by the wires. "

Devine admitted that this might be advisable, and Saunders, who was aman of action, took the back trail in the next half-hour. He had heldhis own in one phase of the conflict which it was evident must befought before the Grenfell Consolidated could be floated, and it wasnecessary that somebody should go down to despatch the specimens toWeston. 

They were duly delivered to the latter; and the day after he got themit happened that he sat with Ida on a balcony outside a room on thelower floor, at the rear of Stirling's house. It was about fouro'clock in the afternoon and very hot, but a striped awning wasstretched above their heads, and a broad-leafed maple growing closebelow flung its cool shadow across them. Looking out beneath the roofof greenery they could see the wooded slope of the mountain cuttingagainst a sky of cloudless blue, while the stir of the city came up tothem faintly. Weston had already, at one time or another, spentseveral pleasant hours on that balcony. They had been speaking ofnothing in particular, when at length Ida turned to him. 

"Have you ever heard anything further from Scarthwaite?" she asked. 

Weston fumbled in his pocket. 

"I had a letter only a few days ago. "

He took it out and handed it to her, with a little smile which hecould not help, though he rather blamed himself for indulging in it. 

"As you know the place and met my sister, you may enjoy reading it. Julia's unusually communicative. It almost seems as if I were a personof some consequence to them now. "

Ida took the letter, and her face hardened as she read. Then shelooked at him with a suggestive straightening of her brows. 

"Isn't that only natural? You have found a mine, " she said. 

"The same idea occurred to me, " laughed Weston; "but, after all, perhaps I shouldn't have shown you the letter. It wasn't quite thething. "

"Still, you felt just a little hurt, and that I could respect aconfidence?"

Ida looked at him as if she expected an answer, and it occurred toWeston that she was very alluring in her long white dress, though thesame thought had been uppermost in his mind for the last half-hour. 

"Yes, " he admitted, "I suppose that was it. "

He could have answered more explicitly, but he felt that it would notbe safe, for it seemed very probable that if he once gave his feelingsrein they would run away with him; and this attitude, as the girlnaturally had noticed on other occasions, tended to make theirconversation somewhat difficult. 

"What are you going to do about one very tactfully-worded suggestion?"she asked. 

"You mean the hint that I should make a few shares in the GrenfellConsolidated over to my English relatives? After all, consideringeverything, it's not an unnatural request. I shall endeavor to fall inwith it. "

Ida's face did not soften. The man was her lover, for, though he hadnot declared himself, she was quite aware of that, and she was hispartisan and very jealous of his credit. It was difficult to forgivethose who had injured him, and these people in England had shown himscant consideration, and had spoken of him slightingly to her, astranger. He noticed her expression and changed the subject. 

"I have fancied now and then that you must have said somethingremarkably in my favor that day at Scarthwaite, " he said. "I neverquite understood what brought up the subject, but Julia once referredto a picture. "

Ida laughed softly. 

"I'm afraid I wasn't very tactful, and I shouldn't be astonished ifyour people still regard me as a partly-civilized Colonial. Anyway, there was a picture--a rather striking one. Do you rememberArabella's' making a sketch of you with the ax?"

"I certainly do. She wasn't complimentary in some of her remarks. Shecalled me wooden. But the picture?"

"Would you like to see it before you go?"

Weston glanced at her sharply, and she nodded, while a faint trace ofcolor crept into her face. 

"Yes, " she said. "I have it here. I made Arabella give it to me. "

She saw the man set his lips, for it seemed scarcely probable to himthat a young woman who begged for the picture of a man would do somerely because she desired to possess it as a work of art. Besides, hefelt, and in this he was to some extent correct, that she had intendedthe admission to be provocative. He was, however, a man with a simplecode which forbade his making any attempt to claim this woman's lovewhile it was possible that in a few months he might once more become awandering outcast. He sat still for a moment or two, and it seemed toIda, who watched him quietly, that he had worn much the same look whenhe stood beside the helpless Grenfell, gripping the big ax. This wasreally the fact, though he now entered upon a sterner struggle than hehad been ready to engage in then. Once more he was endeavoring to dowhat it seemed to him right. 

"Miss Kinnaird would have been better employed if she had painted thebig snow peak with the lake at its feet, " he said at length. 

Ida abandoned the attempt to move him. She had yielded to a momentaryimpulse, but she was too proud to persist. 

"Well, " she said, "that peak certainly was rather wonderful. Youremember it?"

"Yes, " said Weston with injudicious emphasis; "I remember everythingabout that camp. I can see the big black firs towering above the stillwater--and you were sitting where the light came slanting in betweenthem. You wore that gray fishing suit with the belt round it, and youhad your hat off. The light made little gold gleams in your hair thatmatched the warm red glow on the redwood behind you--and you had burstthe strap of one little shoe. "

"Haven't you overlooked Arabella?" suggested Ida, who realized thathis memory was significantly clear. 

"Miss Kinnaird?" said Weston. "Of course, she was with you--but it'srather curious that she's quite shadowy. I don't quite seem to fixher, though I have a notion that she didn't fit in. She was out ofkey. "

"That, " laughed Ida, "was probably the result of wearing a smartEnglish skirt. Do you remember the day you fell down and broke herparasol, and what you said immediately afterward about women'sfripperies?"

"I didn't know that I had an audience, " explained Weston, with hiseyes twinkling. "I certainly remember that when you fancied that I hadhurt myself you would have carried half the things over the portage ifI had let you. We went fishing that evening. There was one big troutthat broke you in the pool beneath the rapid. The scent of the firswas wonderful. "

She led him on with a few judicious questions and suggestions, and forhalf an hour they talked of thundering rivers, still lakes and shadowybush. He remembered everything, and, without intending to do so, hemade it clear that in every vivid memory she was the prominent figure. It was here she had hooked a big trout, and there she had, under hisdirections, run a canoe down an easy rapid. She had enjoyed all thatthe great cities had to offer, but as she listened to him she sighedfor the silence of the pine-scented bush. 

At last he rose with a deprecatory smile. 

"I'm afraid I've rather abused your patience, " he said; "and I have tocall on Wannop about the mine. "

"You have told me nothing about it, " said Ida. "How is it getting on?"

A shadow crept into Weston's face. 

"There isn't very much to tell, and it was a relief to get it out ofmy mind for an hour or so. As a matter of fact, it's by no meansgetting on as we should like it. "

Then, after another word or two, he took up his hat and left her. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

WESTON STANDS FAST

Business called Weston to Winnipeg a few days after his interview withIda, and, as it happened, he met Stirling at the head of thecompanionway when the big lake steamer steamed out into Georgian Bay. Neither of them had any other acquaintance on board, and they sattogether in the shade of a deckhouse as the steamer ploughed her waysmoothly across Lake Huron a few hours later. Weston had arranged tomeet a Chicago stock-jobber who had displayed some interest in themine, and he had chosen to travel up the lakes because it was morecomfortable than in the cars in the hot weather, besides beingsomewhat cheaper, which was a consideration with him. Stirling, itseemed, was going to inspect the route for a railroad which aniron-mining company contemplated building. He lay in a deck-chair, with a cigar in his hand, apparently looking out at the shining waterwhich stretched away before them, a vast sheet of turquoise, to thefar horizon. 

"Well, " he asked at length, "how's the Grenfell Consolidatedprogressing?"

"It seems to be making most progress backward, " said Weston. "Still, Isuppose the fact that somebody evidently considered it worth while tosend up men to jump our claim might be considered encouraging. "

He briefly related what had taken place at the mine, as far asSaunders' letter had acquainted him with the facts, and Stirlinglistened thoughtfully. 

"It's a crude maneuver, so crude that, as you've nothing butsuspicions to go upon, it would be wiser not to mention them toanybody else, " he said. "After all, the jumpers may have been actingon their own account. "

"You believe they were?"

Stirling smiled. "I naturally don't know enough about the matter todecide; but, in a general way, when I come across anything that seemsto the discredit of any gentleman of importance, or big combine withwhich I may happen to be at variance, I keep it judiciously quietuntil I have the proofs in hand. I find it an excellent rule. " Then headded in a suggestive manner: "You probably have had another rathermore favorable offer since those jumpers failed?"

Weston admitted that this was the case and said that he had ignoredthe offer. He further stated that, as he had found the mine, he meantto keep it until he could dispose of it on satisfactory terms. 

"That, " said Stirling, dryly, "is a very natural wish, but one now andthen has some trouble in carrying out views of that kind. I've seenyour prospectus. Any applications for your shares?"

"They're by no means numerous. " And a flush of anger crept intoWeston's face. "If that were the result of a depressed market or ofinvestors' indifference I shouldn't mind so much, but we are evidentlybeing subjected to almost every kind of unwarranted attack. "

"Any mode of attack's legitimate in this kind of deal, and there's arather effective one your friends don't seem to have tried yet. Quitesure it wouldn't be wiser to make what terms you can and let them havethe mine?"

"I'm afraid I haven't considered the wisdom of the course I mean toadopt. Anyway, it's a simple one. If those people want that mine theymust break us first. "

"Well, " Stirling said, "I guess if I were you I'd allot very few ofthose shares to what one might call general applicants. Locate themamong your friends and Wannop's clerks. "

"There are uncommonly few general applicants, and my friends are notthe kind of men who have money to invest. The same thing probablyapplies to Wannop's clerks. It's quite certain that nobody connectedwith the Grenfell Consolidated could make them a present of theshares. "

"Considering everything, that's unfortunate, for, as I once pointedout, the next move will probably be to sell your stock down. It's agame that contains a certain hazard in the case of a small concern, because the stock is generally in few hands; but I've no doubt yourfriends will try it. "

"Then we're helpless, " said Weston. "We must raise sufficient moneyamong the general investors, or give up the mine. "

"The situation, " said Stirling, dryly, "seems unpleasant, but it's thekind of one in which a little man who will neither make terms with abig concern nor let his friends help him might expect to findhimself. "

Weston sat silent awhile, gazing at the steamer's smoke trail whichstretched far back, a dingy smear on the blueness, across the shininglake; and the contractor watched him with a certain sympathy which, however, he carefully refrained from expressing. There had been a timein his career when it had seemed that every man of influence in hisprofession and all the powers of capital had been arrayed against him. He had been tricked into taking contracts the bigger men would nottouch; his accounts had been held over until long after theconvenanted settling day, and he had been compelled to submit to everydeduction that perverted ingenuity could suggest. He had, however, hardened his heart, and toiled the more assiduously, planning half thenight and driving machine or plying shovel himself by day, whenever afew dollars could be saved by doing so. He had lived on the plainestfare, but he had, without borrowing or soliciting favors from any man, borne the shrewd blows dealt him and struggled on inch by inch uphillin spite of them. Now it seemed to him that this young Englishman wasbent on doing much the same. At length Weston turned to him with a wrysmile. 

"It's quite possible that you're right, and the thing is too big forme, but I have got to see it out, " he said. 

Stirling made a little sign of comprehension. His companion'squietness pleased him, and he felt that, though the man must fightwith indifferent weapons and with formidable powers against him, hewould not easily be beaten. What was more to the purpose, thecontractor did not mean him to be beaten at all, if he could preventit, though this was a point that he did not consider it advisable tomention. 

"Well, " he said reassuringly, "no one can tell exactly how a game ofthis kind will go. All you can do is to hold tight and keep your eyesopen. "

They changed the subject, and nothing more was said about the mineduring the rest of the journey. 

In due time Stirling went ashore at a way port, and Weston met the manfrom Chicago in Winnipeg a day or two later. The latter asked a goodmany questions about the mine, but he contented himself with statingthat the matter would require investigation, and Weston, who gave hima small bag of specimens, spent another day in Winnipeg in a verydejected mood. He felt the hideous cruelty of the system which, withincertain rather ample limits, made it a legitimate thing to crush thelittle man and rob him of his few possessions by any means available. There was, it seemed, no mercy shown to weaklings in the arena he hadrashly entered with none of the weapons that the command of moneysupplied to those pitted against him; but in place of shrinking fromthe conflict a slow, smoldering rage crept into his heart. 

He remembered the weary marches made in scorching heat and stingingfrost, how his shoulders had been rubbed raw by the pack-straps, andhow his burst boots had galled his bleeding feet. There had been longnights of misery when he had lain, half-fed and too cold to sleep, wrapped in dripping blankets beside a feeble, sputtering fire, whilethe deluge thrashed the roaring pines. The bustle of the city jarredon him that afternoon, and he wandered out of it, but the march, parched with thirst, through the feathery ashes of the brûlée, rose upin his memory as he walked aimlessly toward the prairie, and herecalled Grenfell lying beside the lode he had died to find. It becamea grim duty to hold his own, and once more he determined that hisenemies should crush him before they laid their grasping hands on themine. He shrank, however, from going back to Montreal and waitingthere in suspense, and by the time he retraced his steps to his hotelhe had decided that this was out of the question. He wrote a few linesto Wannop and started for the bush with the next day's train. 

It was dark when he reached the camp, after an arduous journey, andfound Devine and Saunders sitting beside the fire. The latter, ittranspired, had engaged a clerk in Vancouver to take charge of hisstore, and he smiled when Weston inquired whether he expected the manto remain at the settlement any longer than his predecessor had donewhen he heard that there was a new gold find in reach of him. 

"I guess I've fixed that, " he said. "I took some trouble to get onewho was very lame. "

Neither of the pair, however, appeared cheerful, and Weston's facegrew hard when he heard what they had to say about the mine. 

"As you'd see by the specimens, we were turning out high-grade millingore a little while ago, " Devine observed. 

"Well?"

The surveyor's gesture was expressive. "We're not in it now. Ore'sturned spotty, and it's running deeper. I think I remember yourtelling me that Grenfell figured that the lode takes an inclination?"

"He certainly did. "

"It's another proof that you could count on what he said. There's nodoubt about that inclination. We can't get out ore that will pay forcrushing with an open cut much longer. "

"Then, " said Weston, "we can follow it with an adit. "

He looked at Saunders, who smiled in a rather grim fashion. 

"Adits cost money to drive, " observed the latter. "You have broughtsome along?"

Weston said that this was not the case, and Saunders spread out hishands. 

"Well, " he said, "I'm broke. Half the men on this location are owingme quite a pile, and it's clear that I'll never get a dollar out ofthem unless they strike it rich, or the Grenfell Consols go up with abang. That's how Jim from Okanagan fixed the thing. Now I've gotcredit from a Vancouver wholesaler who takes a share in the store, andthat will keep us in pork and flour, but the giant-powder anddetonators in the shack yonder represent this syndicate's availablecapital. I bought a big supply when I was in Vancouver, but there'llbe no more to be had when they run out. "

"We'll go on until they do, " said Weston, doggedly. 

The next morning he laid his city clothes carefully aside, andborrowed from his comrades garments more adapted to the bush. Theycertainly did not fit him, but that was a matter of no account, andwhen he had put them on he commenced work in very grim earnest. He washard pressed--up against it, as they say in that country--and everycrashing blow he struck upon the drill was a relief to him. Indeed, heworked with curious cold-blooded fury that wore out his comrades longbefore night came. Saunders had invested the proceeds of several yearsof Spartan self-denial in the precarious venture, but that was asnothing compared with Weston's stake. He must succeed or relinquishall idea of winning the woman, who, he ventured to think, might listento him when he had accomplished his task; and when he desisted atsunset his hands were bleeding and he had partly lamed Devine by anincautious stroke of the pick. That, however, was a matter about whichthe surveyor protested less than the hazards his comrade quietly took. He rammed the giant-powder into the holes with reckless haste, and, though the cheapest fuses are seldom to be relied on, he allowed hiscompanions scanty time to get out of the mine when he lighted them. 

It was the same the next day, and for most of the next three weeks. Indeed, Saunders and Devine were never sure how they contrived to keeppace with him; but they did it for the credit of their manhood, whichwould not allow them to be beaten by a Britisher. At nights theirhands and backs were distressfully sore, but the adit they drove crepton steadily along the dip of the lode. Though they had workedreasonably hard already, their faces grew gaunter and harder under thestrain, and as yet they had come upon little sign of any richer ore. In the meanwhile it was very hot, and all day the withering sprays ofthe fallen firs emitted heavy, honey-like odors under the scorchingsun. 

Then it occurred to some of the others that, as there had been severalweeks of fierce dry weather, it would be a favorable opportunity toburn off the slashing, or clear away the branches of the felled trees, which is usually done before the great logs, which do not readilyburn, are attacked with the saw; and one day, when the wind promisedto drive the conflagration away from the camp, fires were kindled hereand there among the tindery undergrowth. The attempt provedsuccessful, and in a few hours the fire had spread into thesurrounding forest. It crept on through the latter steadily, springingup the towering trunks from spray to spray, until the dark firs weregarlanded with climbing flame. Beneath them the brushwood crackledfuriously, and every now and then a mighty limb fell amidst a showerof sparks, while half-charred logs and rows of blackened stumps markedout the lode. The smoke obscured the sun until the workings werewrapped in a haze, and it crept into the adit where Weston and hiscomrades toiled; but they held on with their fish-oil lamps burninguntil the light outside grew dim, and then, crawling back, sore allover, to the wooden shack which had now replaced the tent, they laydown outside it when supper was over. 

It was an impressive spectacle that they gazed upon. The conflagrationwas still not far from them, for, as a rule, a forest fire does notmove very rapidly. Across the valley hung a dusky pall of smoke, andbeneath it all trunks stripped to bare spires stood out black againsta sea of flame. The latter, however, was of no very great extent fromwing to wing, and, now that the wind had almost dropped, it made verylittle progress, though it crept on down the valley in a confinedbelt, rising and falling in pulsations with the sharp crackle oflicked-up undergrowth breaking through the deep-toned roar. Saunders, lying propped up on one elbow, watched it meditatively. 

"It's a high-class burn, " he said. "Going to save somebody quite a lotof chopping. But if that breeze whipped round there'd sure betrouble. "

As the men at work on the lode lived either in tents or rude sheltersof bark and logs, this seemed very probable; but Weston was not in themood to concern himself about the matter then. 

"How much giant-powder have we got in hand?" he asked. 

"Almost enough to last another three weeks with fuse and detonators tomatch. You'll have to find the next lot when that runs out. "

Weston laughed. 

"I've just sufficient money to take me back to Montreal, travelingColonist, and I must go back to see how Wannop's getting on beforevery long. What are you going to do then?"

Devine looked at Saunders, who smiled at him. 

"Push the adit right on, if we have to cut every foot of it with thedrill, " he said. "Before we let up, we'll rip the rock out with ournaked hands. "

It was a characteristic answer, but Weston was satisfied with it. Hehad discovered that if the men of the Pacific Slope were occasionallya trifle assertive and what he called flamboyant in theirconversation, they nevertheless, as a rule, meant just what they said. It is, of course, not unusual for an imaginative person to describewhat he intends to do in dramatic periods, but while some people arewisely content with that, the western bushman generally can bedepended on to carry out the purpose. 

They said nothing further, and presently went to sleep, with thecrackle of the undergrowth through which the fire crawled ringing intheir ears. 

CHAPTER XXIX

THE FIRE

The shack was full of smoke when Weston awakened, coughing, anddrowsily looked about him. Somebody else was spluttering close by, andin a moment or two he heard Devine relieve himself with a fewexpletives. Then Weston got up from his lair of spruce twigs fullydressed, for the night was chilly and the shack had only three sidesto it, while the men who live in such places not infrequently take offtheir clothes to work and put them on when they go to bed. 

"The wind has evidently dropped, and the smoke's drifting back. Ican't stand much more of this, " said Weston. 

Devine, it seemed, had lost his temper. 

"Then why don't you get out, instead of worrying people?" he asked. "Anyway, it's only one of the little luxuries that Saunders and I arequite accustomed to. I've been eaten by mosquitoes, sandflies, andother insects of various kinds. You've 'most smashed my ankle, besidessticking a grub-hoe into me, and Saunders must work out a big stonejust when I was under it. We've been living most of two months on hisrancid pork and grindstone bread, and now you make a circus about alittle smoke!"

He broke off in another fit of spluttering, and the storekeeper'svoice rose out of the vapor which seemed to be rapidly thickening. 

"The wind's not dropped. It's shifted, and the fire's working back, "he said. 

In another moment Weston stood gasping in the doorway. A little chillybreeze, such as often draws down from the ranges in early morning, methim in the face, and the air was thick with drifting smoke. Hoarseshouts rose out of it and a patter of running feet, and it becameevident that most of the men were departing hastily for the range orthe remoter forest. Weston, however, could not see them, and it was, indeed, a few seconds before he saw anything except a confusedglimmering behind a dusky pall of vapor. Then, as the smoke thinned, abewildering glare shot up, and ranks of trees were silhouetted againsta sea of fire that flung itself upon the rearmost of them and ranaloft from spray to spray, while the snapping of the smaller branchesresembled volleys of riflery. After that the smoke drove down againand blotted out everything. 

Weston, however, was not unduly alarmed. He concerned himself mostabout the possibility of their work being delayed during the next dayor two. As a rule, an active man has little difficulty in avoiding aforest fire, unless it is of unusual extent, or is driven by a strongwind, and there was a wide space already burned clear to which theycould remove their possessions. It appeared advisable to set about thelatter task at once, for the conflagration was by this timeuncomfortably close to them. 

"Hand me the big flour-bag, " he said. 

Saunders hoisted it on his shoulders, and he stumbled away with it, coughing in the smoke, until he could deposit it in the cleared trackwhere the fire had passed the previous afternoon. Then he went backfor another load, and had some difficulty in reaching the shack, forthe vapor filled his eyes and almost suffocated him. He fell down onceor twice among the half-burned branches as he retraced his steps withhis burden; but pork and flour and picks and drills were preciouscommodities in the bush, and he made a third journey, upsettingSaunders as he plunged into the shack. In the meanwhile, the otheralso had been busy, and at length they sat down gasping beside thepile of blankets, clothing, tools and provisions, with several othermen who had hastily removed their possessions from adjacent claims. 

"Where are the rest of the boys?" Saunders asked one of them. 

"Some of them are in the workings, some of them on the range, but Iguess it was for Vancouver the Fraser crowd started out. Seemed to methey meant to get there before they stopped. "

Just then a shower of sparks fell about them and charred a hole or twoin Devine's clothes, while they had a momentary vision of the front ofthe conflagration. It was not a reassuring spectacle, for the rollingsea of fire flung itself aloft in glittering spray to the tops of thehighest firs, and the valley rang with the roar it made. 

"Well, " said Saunders, reflectively, "I don't know that I blame theFraser crowd, and one of the boys was telling me not long ago that thesettlement he came from was burned out. A thing of that kind makes aman cautious. Anyway, it's quite hot enough here, and we'll hump thistruck along to the adit. "

The others agreed that it would be advisable, but most of the thingswere heavy, and it was some little time later when Weston lighted afish-oil lamp in the heading and held it up. The narrow tunnel seemedhalf-full of rolled-up blankets, flour-bags and slabs of pork, and agroup of men, some of whose faces were blackened, sat among them. 

"Our lot came in first. Have you got it all?" Weston asked. 

They found the flour and pork, the tea and Saunders' rifle, as well asa couple of hammers and several drills; but Weston did not seemsatisfied. 

"Where are my clothes?" he asked. 

None of them seemed to know, though it became evident that his citygarments were, at least, not in the adit. 

"Guess they'll be frizzled quite out of fashion if you left them inthe shack, " said one of the men. "A miner has no use for gettinghimself up like a bank clerk anyway. "

Weston held up the lamp so the rest could see him. His face was black, and the sleeve of his duck jacket had several big holes in it. Histrousers were rent in places, and one of his long boots was burst, while Devine's hat, which was too big for him, hung shapeless anddotted with charred holes on his head. 

"I'm going back to Montreal in a day or two. Can I call on bigstock-jobbers and company floaters like this?"

"Guess you can buy new ones in Montreal, " said the miner. 

"You can, " agreed Weston, "when you have the money. The trouble is, Ihaven't. Saunders, I'm going back for those clothes. "

They went with him to the mouth of the adit and saw the shack outlinedagainst a dazzling blaze. It did not seem to be burning yet, but noneof Weston's companions believed that it would be possible for him toreach it. The smoke had risen, and now rolled among the tops of thefirs, but, though they stood at some distance from the fire, the airscorched their faces. Weston's showed up in the lurid radiance wornand very grim, and it was evident to Devine that the curious moodinesswhich had troubled him since he came back from the city was at leastas strong as it had been. 

"You can't get them now, " he expostulated. 

"Give me your jacket, " said Weston, sharply. "It's thicker than thething I have on. "

The surveyor hesitated. He could see the sparks and blazing fragmentsstream past the shack, and he had no wish to encourage his comrade inthe rashness he contemplated. 

"Well, " said Weston, "I'll go as I am. "

Then Saunders remembered something, and seized him by the shoulder. 

"Hold on!" he cried. "Did either of you bring the giant-powder anddetonators along?"

Weston glanced at Devine, who shook his head. 

"I didn't, anyway, " he said. 

For a moment or two there was a silence that was expressive of dismay, as they realized that in the haste and confusion they had saved onlythe things that could be replaced. The result of this might provedisastrous, for giant-powder and detonators are comparatively dear inthat country, and in any case are not obtainable in the bush. To hirelabor was in the meanwhile out of the question, and the progress twomen could make cutting through hard rock with only the pick and drillwas, as they were quite aware, likely to be remarkably small. Saundersmade a little dejected gesture. 

"Then, " he said, "they're still in the lean-to behind the shack; andit would be kind of wiser to crawl back into the adit. The case ofdetonators was lying bang up against the giant-powder. "

This was a significant statement, for it must be explained thatalthough giant-powder, as dynamite is generally called in the west, asa rule merely burns more or less violently when ignited by a flame, itis still a somewhat unstable product, and now and then explodes withappalling results on apparently quite insufficient provocation. In useit is fired with a detonator, a big copper cap charged with afulminate of the highest power, and when lighted in this fashion theenergies unloosed by the explosion, though limited in their area, arestupendous. The detonator is almost as dangerous, for a few grains ofthe fulminate contained in it are sufficient to reduce a man to hiscomponent gases. At least, this was the case a few years ago. 

Several men besides its owners had sought shelter from the heat andsparks in the adit, and they evidently agreed with Saunders that itwas advisable to crawl back into shelter as soon as possible; butWeston stood still. He had for the past few weeks been lookingdisaster in the face, and this had produced in him a certain savagedesperation which is not altogether unusual in the case ofhard-pressed men who feel that they have everything against them. Inhis mood, which was not a pleasant one, each fresh blow stirred him toa grimmer effort, made with a curious quiet fury from which hiscomrades now and then almost shrank. Turning abruptly, he shookhimself free from Saunders' grip. 

"Well, " he said, "I'm going to bring out that powder. "

In a moment he had scrambled up the pile of shattered rock, and wasrunning across the open space like a deer. It was strewn withhalf-burned branches, and here and there with little piles of glowingfragments, but he went straight through them without a stumble; and itmust be admitted that his comrades stood still and watched him withconsternation before it dawned on them that it was scarcely fitting tolet him go alone. Then Saunders climbed up to the level groundsomewhat deliberately. 

"I guess, " he said, "we've got to go after the blame fool!"

They set out; but Saunders, who had been keeping store for some years, was not remarkably agile; and one could hardly blame Devine forproceeding with a certain caution. However, they reached the outsideof the shack soon after Weston had disappeared in it, and they stoppedgasping. The air which scorched their faces seemed to frizzle theirhair, and the smoke, which once more had descended, whirled aboutthem. They could hear nothing but the roar of the fire. 

Then a half-seen figure reeled out of the shack, and Devine, who wasnearest it, laughed discordantly when his comrade thrust upon him abundle of clothes. The thing seemed altogether incongruous, but heturned and set off toward the adit with his arms full of the garments, which got loose and flopped about him, until he flung them to anotherman who had ventured part of the distance. 

"General Jackson!" exclaimed the miner. "He went back for hisclothes!"

Devine did not stop to sympathize with his astonishment, but ran backto the shack, and Weston flung him a partly-filled flour-bag as heapproached it. It fell close beside a glowing fragment, and thesurveyor felt a little shiver run through him as he whipped it up, forhe had some knowledge of the vagaries of giant-powder. He flung thebag over his shoulder as gently as possible, and once more started forthe adit, though he proceeded with caution. He was desperately anxiousto get rid of his burden, but he had no desire to shake it up unduly. Giant-powder will now and then go off without any very apparent cause. 

In the meanwhile Saunders clutched at Weston as he turned back towardthe hut. One had to enter it before gaining admission to the smallershed in which they kept the giant-powder. 

"You're not going in again? We've got one bag, " he said. 

"The other one is still inside, " was the hoarse reply. 

Saunders did not waste his breath in expostulation, but grappled withhim, and he had rent part of Weston's jacket off his back in theeffort to detain him when Devine came running up. Then Weston, wriggling around, struck the storekeeper in the face, and plunged backinto the smoke as the latter dropped his hand. 

They lost sight of him for almost a minute, and then he reeled out ofthe shack as the smoke drove away. A stream of sparks whirled past it, and close above him the roof was blazing, but he held anotherflour-bag in his hands, and his comrades, who had reasonably steadynerves, were almost appalled when he poised himself to throw it. Therewas only a thin strip of cotton fabric between the flying sparks andthe plastic yellow rolls of powder. Still, the bag was thrown, andSaunders set off with it, while Weston stood gasping a moment andlooked at Devine. 

"There's the bag of detonators yet, " he said, and, swinging around, disappeared again. 

Devine remembered that there was no lid to the iron box in which theykept the detonators, and that they were intended to be ignited by thesparking of a fuse. He stood some little distance from the shack, andit did not occur to him that, as one person could carry the boxreadily, he was serving no purpose in waiting. Indeed, he was onlyconscious of a suspense that made it impossible for him to go away. Hedid not know how long he waited, but in the meanwhile the smokewhirled lower, and he could see nothing for a moment or two. Then itlifted, and the shack stood out in the midst of a lurid blaze. Therewas a horrible crackling, and Weston suddenly sprang into sight, blackagainst the brightness, with the iron box, which had deer-hide strapsattached to it, slung upon his back. The sparks rained about him, buthe plunged through the midst of them, while the box banged againsthim. Then Devine turned and ran. 

They reached the mouth of the adit safely, and when they crawled intoit, Weston sat down and gasped heavily for a while before he turned tothe others and pointed to the two bags of giant-powder lying on thefloor. His duck jacket was burned in patches, and there were severalred spots, apparently where sparks had fallen, on his blackened faceand hands. 

"Haven't you sense enough to take that open lamp farther away fromthose bags?" he asked. 

There was a roar of hoarse laughter as his companions recognized theincongruity of the question; and Weston blinked at them, as thoughpuzzled by it, until a light broke in on him. 

"Perhaps it wasn't quite in keeping with the other thing, boys, " headmitted. "Give me some tobacco, one of you. Mine seems to have gone, and I feel I'd like to sit quiet a minute or two. "

The hand he thrust into his pocket came out through the bottom of it, for the lower part of the jacket was torn and burned; but one of theothers produced a plug of tobacco, and when he had lighted his pipeWeston leaned back somewhat limply against the side of the adit. 

"Well, " he said, "I suppose it was rather a crazy trick, but if we'dbeen sensible we'd certainly have let the Grenfell Consolidated fallinto the hands of those city men. "

Then he turned to the storekeeper with a deprecatory gesture. 

"I'm sorry, Saunders, but you would try to hold me. You ought to haveknown that you can't reason with a man in the mood that I was inthen. "

Saunders grinned. "I wouldn't worry about the thing. If there isn't aclub handy the next time you feel like doing anything of that kind I'mgoing to leave you severely alone. "

Then, through the roar and crackle of the fire, they heard a heavycrash, and one of the men nearest the mouth of the adit glanced atWeston significantly. 

"It's kind of fortunate you got through when you did, " he said. "A bigbranch has fallen right across your shack and broken it up. "

CHAPTER XXX

DEFEAT

There had been trouble at the Board Meeting, and, now that it wasalmost over, the directors of the Grenfell Consolidated sat indejected silence, listening to the animadversions of one of theircomrades. They did not agree with everything he said, but it scarcelyseemed worth while to raise minor objections, for they were willing toadmit that the situation was desperate. 

"We should never have proceeded to allotment, " he said. "I warned youthat the applications for our stock were quite insufficient to warrantthe flotation of the concern at the time, but you apparently lost yourheads over those specimens, and you overruled me. Now it'sunpleasantly evident that we cannot expect to go on much longer, and Iventure to predict a voluntary liquidation during the next fewmonths. "

"It certainly looks like that, " said one of the others, gloomily. "Still, you might give us your reasons for counting on the thing, ifyou have any. "

The man laughed--a little harsh laugh that had in it a hint ofcontempt for the intelligence of his colleagues. 

"Will you let me have those estimates again, Mr. Weston?" he asked. 

Weston, who sat with a set face gazing at the papers in front of him, handed several of them across the table. It was now some time since hehad left the mine, and in the meanwhile trouble after trouble hadcrowded thick upon him. He realized also that he was rapidly losingthe confidence of his companions. They were not men of any greataccount in that city, and it was significant that the Board Meetingwas held in Wannop's little back office, where there was scarcely roomfor all of them. 

"You have discussed those estimates at length already, " he said. "Ishould, however, like to point out that I consider them absurdly high. In fact, I'd undertake to do the work at not more than two-thirds ofthe cost. "

"This company, " said the first speaker, severely, "has no intention oftaking up road-making and the building of flumes and dams. It has, asI think you will admit, gentlemen, quite enough already on its hands. "

There was some show of agreement from all but Wannop, and Weston sethis lips. There had been a time when they had listened to hissuggestions, but now it was becoming evident that they regarded himwith suspicion. 

"This, " said his colleague, "is a little list of our requirements andexpenditures before we can expect to get to work. Tools, drilling-machines and labor on the heading. " He read out the cost ofeach item. "Then we have to provide a stamp-mill, turbines, flumes anddam; and, though Mr. Weston suggests a wood-burning engine to supplythe crushing power, the saving effected would be no great matter. Thepoint is that we now discover that the cost of these things will inone way or another be nearly double what we stated in our prospectus. "

"That, " said Wannop, dryly, "isn't altogether unusual. "

"What is more to the purpose is that it will approximately absorb ourwhole available capital, " said the first speaker, who took up anotherpaper. "Then we have as an alternative scheme several leagues of roadand trail cutting, including wooden bridges and a strip that must bedug out of an impassable mountainside. You have to add to it the costand maintenance of pack-horses and the rates you'd have to pay theowners of the nearest crushing-plant to do your reducing. Gentlemen, Ican only move that these estimates stand over, and that in themeanwhile we merely proceed with the heading. "

They agreed to this. Then another of them spoke. 

"It seems to me that there's a way in which we could save something aswell as our credit, " he said. "I've had a hint that another bigconcern might be willing to take us over. "

They looked at one another in a manner which suggested that this wasnot altogether a new idea. Weston straightened himself suddenly. 

"It will never be done with my consent, " he said. 

"Then, " remarked the first speaker, "it is quite likely that you willfind yourself in a minority of one. "

"Mr. Weston can count on at least one supporter, " said Wannop, shortly. 

Then there was an awkward silence, until one of the others thrust backhis chair. 

"It's becoming quite clear that we can't go on, " he said. "Thisconcern was started wrong. We should have spent more money, takenfirst-class offices, and turned out floods of illustrated pamphlets. "

"I just want to ask how you're going to spend money that you haven'tgot?" said Wannop. "I was quite willing to take the money. Youwouldn't put it up. "

There was a little laughter, and the meeting broke up; but Westonstayed behind with Wannop when the others went down the stairway. Thebroker, who sat down again, made a little dejected gesture. 

"I guess the game is up. They're going back on us, " he said. "In away, I don't blame them. The Hogarth people have scared them off. They're not big enough. "

"Have you any idea as to what they'll do?" Weston asked. 

Wannop nodded. "Oh, yes, " he said. "They'll hold out a month or two, and piffle away at the adit to save appearances. Then they'll call thestockholders together, and suggest turning the mine over to theHogarth people on such terms as they can get. There are just twothings that could save us--a strike of extra high-grade ore, or asudden whim of investors to purchase western mining stock. " He smiledin a wry fashion. "I don't expect either of them. "

Weston sat still a moment, and then rose with an air of weariness. 

"Well, " he said, "I'm going back to the mine tomorrow. We'll hold onas long as possible. "

He left; and a few minutes later Stirling came in. He sat down andhanded Wannop a cigar. 

"Now, " he said, "we have got to talk. "

"If you'd come a little earlier you'd have met Weston. "

"Yes, " said Stirling, "that's just why I didn't. Now, where's thetrouble?"

"I'll tell you--though to some extent it's a breach of confidence. It's the shortage of money, and the fact that our stock is tumblingdown. "

"Tumbling down?"

Wannop smiled. "I might have said being clubbed down. "

"I want to get the thing quite straight, " said Stirling. "What madeyou take up this mine?"

"Mr. Weston's representations. I think I attached as much weight tothem as I did to the specimens. I felt that was a man that I could putmy money on. "

"You feel that now?"

"I do, " Wannop admitted. "In fact, it's hard to believe he will bebeaten, though the rest of us are going back on him. "

Stirling nodded in a manner which might have meant anything. 

"So your stock is being sold down?" he said. "As I pointed out to Mr. Weston, considering that you haven't a great deal of it, that's rathera dangerous game. Are any actual holders parting?"

They had spoken without reticence, in terse, sharp sentences, as menwho recognized the advisability of coming straight to the point, whichis, after all, a custom that usually saves trouble for everybodyconcerned. The men who shrink from candor, lest they should givethemselves away, not infrequently waste a good deal of time wonderingwhat the other person means, and then decide incorrectly. 

"They are, " said Wannop. "Besides several small lots, one parcel ofsix hundred shares held in England changed hands, though that was whenwe stood near par and the stock was only beginning to break away. Whatwe want is such a strike of ore as will startle mining investors. "

"Anything else?" Stirling asked suggestively. 

"Well, " said Wannop, "we're not likely to get it. If a good strongbuyer, who could wait, were to take hold, it would help us as much asanything. "

"Quite sure?" asked Stirling very dryly. 

"Isn't it evident? It would stiffen prices and scare off the Hogarthbrokers. What's more, it would steady my colleagues' nerves. "

"Yes, " admitted Stirling, "it would do all that. However, I want tosuggest that that isn't quite enough. Anyway, that's my view of it. "

They looked at each other steadily for a moment or two, and thenStirling made a little forceful gesture. 

"Now, " he said, "I'm going to take hold of this thing; and in thefirst place I'll give you an order on my bank for all the money thatseems necessary. You will take up some of that stock for me; and, asthe Hogarth men will offer more freely as soon as they strike anactual buyer, in case prices stiffen you'll follow their lead andpitch the stock you bought on to the market. "

"Some men would consider that was playing the other people's game, "commented Wannop, with a chuckle. 

"It would be, in the meanwhile, " said Stirling. "Well, you won't letyour sales--if you make any--get out of hand. You'll have to put onone or two smart men, and cover or sell at a lower price throughdifferent ones when it appears advisable. I shall naturally lose alittle on every deal of that kind, but the only real trouble will bewhen you quietly gather in as much as possible of the stock the otherpeople are offering. It will have to be done without raisingsuspicions, and before their broker can report and ask forinstructions. "

Wannop struck the table. "There's some hazard in it--but it's a greatidea, " he said. "They'll club the Grenfell Consols down quite flat. "

"Until settling day. Then, when the other people have to deliver, theycan't get the stock. We'll shove the prices up on them to anything welike. "

Wannop gazed at him in exultation, but presently he asked adisconnected question. 

"Why are you doing all this?"

"For money, for one thing, " said Stirling, with a little flush in hisface. "For another, because I've been sweated and bluffed and bulliedby people of the kind you're up against, and now I feel it's 'most aduty to strike back. " He clenched a big, hard hand. "I've watched mywife scrubbing and baking and patching my clothes in the old blackdays when I lived in a three-roomed shack because I was bluffed out ofhalf my earnings by people who sent their daughters to Europe everyyear. I've nothing to say against legitimate dealing, but it's anotherthing when these soft-handed, over-fed-men suck the blood out of everyminor industry and make their pile by the grinding down of a host ofstruggling toilers. By next settling day one or two of them are goingto feel my hand. "

He reached out for his hat, rather red in face. 

"If I've any other reasons, they don't concern you, " he added in adifferent tone. "All I expect from you is to do your part judiciously, and, as a matter of fact, it will have to be done that way. "

He went out, and left Wannop sitting with the light of a somewhat grimsatisfaction in his eyes. 

In the meanwhile, Weston went moodily back to his hotel, and spent anunpleasant hour or two before he proceeded irresolutely towardStirling's house. He realized that this was in some respects mostunwise of him, but he was going away on the morrow and he felt that hecould not go without a word with Ida. 

She was sitting near the fire, which burned upon the open hearth, whenhe was shown into a daintily-furnished room. After a swift glance athim she rose and followed the maid to the door. 

"I cannot receive anybody else just now, " she said. 

Then she came back and sat down not far from him, feeling that therewas a crisis on hand, for, though the man's manner was quiet, therewas trouble in his face. 

"You have something to tell me. About your meeting, perhaps?"

"Yes, " said Weston. "I don't, however, wish to trouble you much aboutthe meeting. I merely want to thank you for your sympathy before I goaway. You see, I'm going west to-morrow. "

"Will you be long away?"

"Yes, " said Weston, with a strained quietness that jarred on her. "Infact, it's scarcely probable that I shall come back here at all. Thegame's up. My directors have lost their nerve. The GrenfellConsolidated must go down in the next few months. "

It was evident to Ida that whatever could be done must be done by her, or the man would go away again without a word, and this time he would, as he had said, not come back at all. For a moment or two she sat verystill. 

"Ah, " she murmured, "I needn't tell you that I'm sorry. "

"No, " said Weston, simply. "I know you are. "

Then there was, for a minute or two, a silence that both found almostintolerable and that seemed emphasized by the snapping of the fire. There was before the girl a task from which she shrank, but it wasclear to her that, since she could not let him go, one of them mustspeak. 

"What are you going to do in the west?" she asked. 

"Push on the heading until we have to let the mine go. "

"And then?"

Weston spread out his hands. 

"I don't know. Act as somebody's camp-packer. Shovel on the railroads. Work on the ranches. "

It was very evident to Ida that his quietness was the result of astrenuous effort. The barrier of reticence between them was very frailjust then, and she meant to break it down. She leaned forward in herchair with her eyes fixed on him, and now the signs of tension in hisface grew plainer. 

"You speak as if that would be easy for you, " she said. 

Weston shut his eyes to one aspect of the question. He had not thecourage to face it, and he confined himself to the more prosaic one. 

"As a matter of fact, I'm afraid it won't be, " he admitted. "The lifeI've led here, and the few weeks I spent at Kinnaird's camp, haverather spoiled me for the bush. Some of the customs prevalent in thetrail-choppers' shanties and the logging-camps are a little primitive, and one can't quite overcome a certain distaste for them. "

"That was not quite what I meant, " said Ida. 

Weston was startled, but she saw that he would not allow himself towonder what she really did mean. 

"Anyway, " he answered doggedly, "I suppose I can bear anyunpleasantness of that kind, which is fortunate, because there'sapparently no way out of it. After all, it's one consolation to feelthat I'm only going back to what I was accustomed to before I foundthe mine. "

"Ah, " said Ida, "you are very wrong in one respect. You speak as ifyou could bear the trouble alone. Don't you think it would hurtanybody else as much to let you go?" Then, while the blood crept intoher face, she fixed her eyes on him. "Yes, " she added simply, "I meanmyself. "

Weston rose, and stood leaning on the back of his chair, with one handtightly closed. He had struggled stubbornly, but it was evident thathis strength had suddenly deserted him and that he was beaten now. 

"It would hurt you as much?" he said, with a curious harshness. "That's quite impossible. The hardest, bitterest thing I could everhave to face would be to go away from you. "

He flung out the closed hand. 

"Now, " he said, "you know. I've thrown away common sense and prudence, all sense of what is fitting and all that is due to you. None of thosethings seem to count just now. "

He drew a little nearer. 

"I fell in love with you at Kinnaird's camp, and tried hard to crushthat folly. Then I found the mine, and for a few mad weeks I almostventured to believe that I might win you. After that, the fight todrive your memory out of my heart had to be made again. "

"It was hard?" asked Ida very softly. 

"It was relentlessly cruel. " Weston's voice grew sharper. "Still, Itried to make it. I gave way in only one point--I came to see you nowand then. Now it's so hard that I'm beaten. I've failed in this thingas I've failed in the other. "

He straightened himself suddenly, with a little forceful gesture. 

"I'm beaten all round, beaten to my knees; but I don't seem ashamed. Even if you can't forgive me, I'm glad I've told you. "

"I think, " said Ida, "I could forgive you for one offense--the one youseem to think most important--rather easily. It would have been everso much harder to do that had you gone away without telling me. "

"You mean that?" cried Weston, and, stooping over her, he caught onehand and gripped it almost cruelly. 

"Can't you take anything for granted?" Ida asked demurely. "Must onealways explain in full to you?"

She felt the man's arms close about her, and his lips hot on hercheek; but in another moment he drew away from her. 

"But this is madness, " he said. "I have nothing. In a few more weeks Ishall be an outcast. "

"Ah, " said Ida, "you have given me all that counts for anything, and"--she looked up at him with shining eyes and burning cheeks--"youbelong to me. "

He stood silent for several moments, with trouble in his face, apparently struggling with himself. 

"What are you thinking of?" she asked, Weston raised his head. 

"I dare not think, " he said. "I've won you by unfair means--and yet, knowing that, I'm only filled with the exultation of it. Still, thisthing has to be faced and decided now. You know I love you--but is itright that you should be bound to a man who may never be able to marryyou?"

"Is that any great obstacle, " asked Ida, "if I don't object?"

"It is, " said Weston, hoarsely. "I want you now. "

The girl was almost startled by the change in him. His restraint hadbroken down once for all, at last, and she saw by the tension in hisface and the glow in his eyes that his nature was stirred to itsdepths. In a moment or two, however, he seemed to succeed in imposinga partial control upon himself. 

"I had meant to come to you only when we had made the mine a success, "he said. 

"To save your pride!--you could think of that?"

Weston laughed harshly. 

"My pride--there isn't a shred of it left. But now, at least, thesituation has to be faced. "

"Is it so very dreadful?" asked Ida, with a smile. "You have told methat you love me. Is that a thing to be ashamed of? Must I tell youthat I am glad you came to me when you were beaten, and not when youhad won? Is there anything that I should trouble myself about?"

"Your friends' opinion, your father's opposition----"

He broke off, and Ida, who turned in her chair, looked around suddenlywith her cheeks flushed. 

"My father, " she said, "is able to speak for himself. "

Weston started, for he saw Stirling standing just inside the doorwaylooking at them gravely. Their attitude and the girl's expressionwould, he realized, be significant to a man of the contractor'sintelligence. Then Ida rose and faced the elder man. 

"I think I would better tell you that I have promised to marry Mr. Weston when things are propitious, " she said. She looked around atWeston with a smile. "At least, I suppose I have. "

"Ah!" said Stirling, dryly, "the situation rather suggested it. Mr. Weston has, no doubt, something to say to me. "

Ida glanced at Weston and slipped out of the room. 

CHAPTER XXXI

HIGH-GRADE ORE

Stirling waited until the door closed before he turned to Weston. 

"Sit down. We've got to have a straight talk, " he said. 

Weston complied, feeling that he had to face the most unpleasant fewminutes he had ever spent in his life. He had given way to his passionin a moment of desperation, and he fancied that he could make nodefense which would appear reasonable to such a man as his companion. In spite of this, he was filled with a certain reckless exultation. Ida Stirling loved him. 

"What Miss Stirling told you was correct, " he said. "At least, Iintend to marry her if ever--things are propitious; but, as far as Ican remember, she did not bind herself. "

"There are occasions when one's memory gets a little confused, " saidStirling, dryly. "You have made the situation quite clear; but thereare one or two points to consider, and, so far, you haven't troubledto ascertain my views on the matter. "

"That remark, " said Weston, "is quite warranted. I have only this tosay. When I entered your house half an hour ago I hadn't the faintestnotion that I should permit my feelings to run away with me. "

"Then this thing has been going on for quite a time?"

Stirling's tone was coldly even, but Weston did not like the question. The form of it rather jarred on him. He realized, however, that he wason his defense, and would probably have to put up with a good dealmore than that. 

"I have had a strong regard for Miss Stirling since I first met her inBritish Columbia, " he said. "That, however, is all I can admit. I donot know how she thought of me, and I have, at least, never knowingly, until this evening, spoken a word which could show her what myfeelings were. "

"Oh, " said Stirling, "you've lived in the woods. If you hadn't, you'dhave found out by now that young women possess a certain faculty ofputting things together. Anyway, " he added enigmatically, "I don'tknow that the bush isn't as good a place to raise a man in as thehothouse Susan Frisingham talked about. "

Weston gazed at him in some astonishment, but the contractor made alittle gesture with his hand. 

"Well, " he said, "you meant to keep the thing to yourself?"

"Until I had made the Grenfell Consolidated a success, when I shouldhave come to you. "

"Quite the proper course, " commented Stirling. "It's kind of a pityyou didn't stick to it. When you had arrived at that wise decision, why did you come here to talk to my daughter?"

It was a shrewd question, and perfectly warranted, but Weston answeredit candidly. 

"I think I came because I could not stay away, " he said. 

"Then it never occurred to you that my daughter might fall in lovewith you?"

A flush crept into Weston's face. 

"At least, " he said, "I never came here with the intention ofprofiting by that possibility. "

Stirling laughed in a rather dry fashion. 

"Then she was to do it all at once, when you intimated that she hadpermission to?"

"It almost looks like that, " Weston admitted, with an embarrassmentthat surpassed anything he had expected. "I'm afraid, " and he made adeprecatory gesture, "that I've made a deplorable mess of the wholeaffair. "

"You have, " said Stirling. "As it happens, however, that's in yourfavor. If you'd shown yourself a cleverer man in this matter, it mighthave occurred to me that it was Miss Stirling's money that you hadyour eyes on. "

Weston turned and gazed at him with the blood in his forehead. 

"I wish with all my heart that Miss Stirling's money were at thebottom of the sea!" he said passionately. "There's just another thingI have to say. I came to your house in a fit of desperation a littlewhile ago, so shaken by what I had just had to face that I was off myguard. When I told Miss Stirling what I felt for her it was afolly--but I did it--and I have no excuse to make. "

Then, to Weston's astonishment, the contractor's manner changedsuddenly, and he leaned forward with a smile. 

"Well, " he said, "it's possible that she could find one or two foryou. But we have to face the situation. It seems that you love mydaughter, and there is reason for believing that she is fond of you. Now, Ida has been accustomed to every luxury, and the only thing youcount on is a share in the Grenfell mine, which I guess you will admitmay go under at any time. What do you propose to do?"

"I don't know, " replied Weston, simply. "It's a question that has beendriving me to desperation lately. "

"Well, " said Stirling, "I could find a way out of the difficulty. Areyou open to place yourself in my hands, do what I tell you, and takewhat I may think fit to offer you?"

"No, " answered Weston. "I'm sorry--but I can't do that. "

"Then, if the Grenfell goes under, you'd rather go back to the bushand chop trees for the ranchers or shovel on the railroads?"

Weston sat very still a moment, with his face awry. Then he looked upresolutely. 

"Yes, " he said. "I think that, by and by, Miss Stirling would be gladI did it. She would not have her husband her father's pensioner. Afterall, " he added, "one meets with sudden changes of fortune in thewest. "

Then Stirling suddenly stretched out his hand and laid it on hiscompanion's shoulder. 

"I've been twice warned by short-sighted women that my daughter mightmake an injudicious marriage, and on each occasion I pointed out thatwhen she chose her husband she would choose just right, " he said. "Nowit seems that she has done it, and I'm satisfied. "

He let his hand fall, and, while Weston gazed at him in bewilderment, smiled reassuringly. 

"Go back to the mine when you like, " he added. "You admitted that youwould take advice from me, and all I suggest now is that you hold fastto every share you hold, and make no arrangements of any kind untilafter next settling day. In the meanwhile, if you'll go along to thefirst room in the corridor it's quite likely that you'll find Idathere. I've no doubt that she'll be anxious to hear what I've said toyou. "

Weston could never remember what answer he made, but he went out withhis heart beating furiously and a light in his eyes; and when heentered the other room Ida stretched out her hands to him when she sawhis face. 

"Then it isn't disaster?" she said. "You will stay with me?"

Weston drew her toward him. 

"Dear, I must still go away to-morrow, but we have, at least, thisevening. "

It was all too short for them, but Weston left in a state ofexultation, with fresh courage in his heart, and it was in anoptimistic frame of mind that he started west the next day. Forseveral weeks he toiled strenuously under the blinking fish-oil lampsin the shadowy adit, but there was now, as his companions noticed, achange in his mood. The grimness which had characterized him hadvanished. In place of toiling in savage silence he laughed cheerfullywhen there was any cause for it, and showed some consideration for hispersonal safety. He handled the sticks of giant-powder with duecircumspection, and no longer exposed himself to any unnecessaryhazard from falling stones. The man was softer, more human, and onoccasion whimsical. 

For all that, the work was pushed on as determinedly as before, andboth Saunders and Devine experienced the same difficulty in keepingpace with their comrade's efforts, though they had grown hard and leanand their hands were deeply scarred. Yard by yard the adit crept onalong the dipping lode, and one evening they stood watching Weston, who was carefully tamping a stick of giant-powder in a hole drilled inthe stone. The ore had shown signs of getting richer the last fewdays, but their powder was rapidly running out, and they had notdecided yet where they were to obtain a fresh supply. His directorshad sent him neither the promised machines nor the money with which tohire labor, and he chafed at the fact that, as it was a long andarduous journey to the nearest station where he could reach the wires, he could not ascertain the cause of the delay. 

The storekeeper nodded when at length Weston carefully clamped down abig copper cap on a length of snaky fuse and inserted it in anotherhole. 

"Well, " he said, "I guess this shot will settle whether there'shigh-grade ore in front of us. "

He struck a sputtering sulphur match and touched the fuses. 

"Now, " he said, "we'll get out just as quickly as possible. "

They ran down the adit, with Devine in front swinging a blinking lamp, and crawled out, gasping, into the cold evening air as dusk wasclosing down. Then they sat around and waited until there was a crashand a muffled rumbling. Weston stood up, but Saunders made a sign ofexpostulation. 

"You just sit down again and take a smoke, " he said. "We've got togive her quite a while yet. "

There was a reason for this. The fumes of giant-powder are apt toprove overpowering in a confined space, and in case of some men thedistressful effects they produce last for several hours; but whenWeston filled his pipe he scattered a good deal of the tobacco he hadshredded upon the ground. A strike of really rich ore would, he knew, send the Grenfell Consolidated up, and he had worked since morning ina state of tense anticipation, for the signs had been propitious. Hecontrived to sit still for some minutes, and then stood up resolutely. 

"You may wait as long as you like, " he said. "I'm going back to theadit now. "

They went with him, Saunders expostulating and Devine carrying thelamp. Thin vapor that turned them dizzy met them as they flounderedinto the dark tunnel. The lamp burned uncertainly, but they crept onby the feeble ray of light over masses of fallen rock, until theyreached a spot where the adit was blocked with the debris. Weston, dropping on hands and knees, tore out several smaller fragments, andheld up one of them; but as he did it there was a faint, hoarse cry, and sudden darkness, as Devine fell forward upon the lamp. 

"Get me out! Quick!" he gasped. 

Weston felt for the lamp, and contrived to light it, though he wastedseveral matches in the attempt; but he felt greatly tempted todisregard the dictates of humanity when he hooked it in his hat. 

"Well, " he said reluctantly, "I suppose we'll have to take him out. "

They did it with some difficulty, and left him unceremoniously whenthey had deposited him, limp and almost helpless, in the open air; forminers who meet with unpleasantness of that kind recover, and one doesnot make a discovery that promises to put thousands of dollars intoone's pockets very frequently. They went back, and, though Weston feltfaint and dizzy, he flung himself down among the smaller stones, andthrust one or two of them into Saunders' hands. 

"Feel them--and look at the break!" he exclaimed. 

Saunders poised one of the stones carefully, and then glanced at therent where it had been torn from the rock. 

"Yes, " he said, "we've struck it this time, sure. Guess we'll get outof this and make supper. "

"Make supper!" Weston gazed at him incredulously. "I don't stir out ofhere until sun-up!"

Then he tore off his tattered shirt and stood up, stripped to thewaist. 

"Get hold of the drill, " he said, hoarsely. "You've got to workto-night. "

Saunders remembered that night long afterward. For the first half-hourhe was troubled by a distressful faintness; and when that passed off, as the air grew clearer, his back and arms commenced to acheunpleasantly. He already had toiled since soon after sunrise; butWeston, too, had done so, and he, at least, seemed impervious tofatigue. So intent was he that every now and then he swung the heavyhammer long after his turn had run out, without asking for relief; andSaunders judiciously permitted him to undertake the more arduous task. By and by, however, Devine crept back to join them, and, when atlength morning broke and the mouth of the adit glimmered faintly, Weston glanced at his bleeding hands as he flung down the hammer. 

"I suppose we'll have to let up for an hour or two, " he saidreluctantly. 

Saunders staggered when they reached the open air, and Weston seemedto have some difficulty in straightening himself, but they gotbreakfast, and afterward lay smoking beside the fire, almost too stiffto move. It was getting cold among the ranges now, and they were gladof the warmth from the blaze. 

"We'll go on for two or three days, " said Weston. "Then we'll packevery load of ore out to the New Passage smelter and get them toreduce it. Devine and I will take it down to the railroad over theDead Pine trail. The freighter from the settlement should be in withhis pack-train by the time we're ready. "

"Nobody ever brought a pack-beast in or out by Dead Pine, and there'llbe deep snow in the pass, " Saunders expostulated. 

"Then, " said Weston, curtly, "I'm going to do it now. If we can'traise a stamp and reducing plant, we have got to prove that we canmake a trail to the railroad by which we can get our ore out withoutspending a small fortune on packing. If we can get over Dead Pinedivide it should shorten the present trail by half; and I'm under theimpression that if we spend a few thousand dollars on making a road upthe big gully it could be done. "

Saunders looked at Devine, who made a little sign. 

"Oh, " he said, "he means to try it. I guess we've got to let him. "

They went back to work by and by; and a few days later Weston andDevine and a grizzled freighter breakfasted in haste beside asputtering fire. A row of loaded pack-horses stood close by in therain, and a cluster of dripping men gathered round when at lengthWeston rose to his feet. The freighter waved his hand to them with alittle, dry smile. 

"We're going to blaze you out a new road, boys, and it will save mesome in horses if it can be done, " He said. "Guess you'll be sorrywhen you see what the next man strikes you for, if we don't come backagain. "

There was some laughter; and rude good wishes followed the three wetmen as they plodded away beside the loaded beasts into the rain. 

CHAPTER XXXII

GRENFELL'S GIFT

It was snowing hard, and, though it was still two hours before sunset, the light was growing dim when Weston pulled the foremost pack-horseup on the edge of the gully. He and Devine had each a beast in hischarge, and the freighter had started with two, but one of these hadbeen left behind with a broken leg and a merciful bullet in its brain. That country is a difficult one, even to the Cayuse horses, which areused to its forest-choked valleys and perilous defiles. 

In front of them a rugged peak rose above the high white ridge of DeadPine. They could see the latter cutting against a lowering sky sometwelve hundred feet above, though the peak showed only a ghostly shapethrough its wrappings of drifting mist. In altitude alone the ridgewas difficult to reach, but, while that would not have troubled any ofthe men greatly, the ascent was made more arduous by the fact that theunmarked trail followed the slope of an awful gully. The latter fellalmost sheer from close beside their feet, running down into thecreeping obscurity out of which the hoarse thunder of a torrent rose. Here and there they could catch a glimpse of a ragged pine clingingfar down among the stones, and that seemed only to emphasize the depthof the gloomy pit. On the other hand, the hillside rose like aslightly slanted wall, and the sharp stones of the talus lay thinlycovered with snow between it and the gully. 

The freighter glanced dubiously up the hollow. 

"I've struck places that looked nicer; but we can't stop here andfreeze, " he said. "We'll either have to take the back trail and campamong that last clump of pines or get on a hustle and get up. "

"I'm certainly not going back, " said Weston. "We have come out to seein just what time we can make the journey to the railroad over the newtrail. When we have done it, we'll try to spread the information toeverybody likely to find it interesting. "

"You're not going to worry about how many horses you leave behind, Isuppose?"

"That, " said Devine, with a little laugh, "is one of the facts theynever do mention in a report of the kind. We've lost only one so far, and two bags of rather high-grade ore. "

"If you've one altogether when you fetch the head of this gully you'llbe blame lucky, " said the freighter. "Give that beast a whack to starthim. Get up there!"

They went on, with the snow in their faces, and the stones they couldnot see slipping beneath their feet; and the light grew dimmer as theyproceeded. A bitter wind swept down the gully and drove their wetclothing against their chilled bodies, while the hillside, growingsteeper, pushed them nearer the brink of the awful hollow. The slopeof the latter, as far down as they could see, was apparently too steepto afford a foothold, and every now and then there was a roar and arattle as the stones they dislodged plunged into the depths of it. Weston, plodding along behind the freighter, however, kept his eyesfixed for the most part on the face of the hill, for it seemed to himthat the cost of changing that perilous passage into a reasonably safetrail would not be excessive. 

When they had climbed for an hour, the snow grew thicker, and itbecame evident that the light was dying out rapidly. The freighterannounced that he could scarcely see a dozen yards ahead, and Westoncould discern no more than the blurred shape of the horse thatfloundered over the slippery stones a few paces in front of him. Hecould, however, hear Devine encouraging the one he led, andoccasionally breaking out into hoarse expletives. 

"It's gluey feet they want, " said the latter, when they stopped for aminute or two. "You can't expect horses to crawl up a wall. "

"They've managed about half of it, " Weston declared. "We could makethis quite an easy trail with a little grading. It's the only reallydifficult spot. "

"Well, " said Devine, dryly, "I guess you could. In this country theycall any trail easy that you can crawl up on your hands and knees. Still, that little grading's going to cost you about two thousanddollars a mile. "

They could scarcely see one another when they went on again, and thesound of their footsteps was muffled by the sliding snow. Weston coulddimly make out something that moved on in front of him, but it had nocertain shape, and he stumbled heavily every now and then as thestones rolled round beneath him. He gripped the pack-horse's bridle ina half-numbed hand, but, as he admitted afterward, he made no attemptto lead the beast. He said he rather clung to it for company, for theothers vanished now and then for minutes amidst the whirling snow. 

Suddenly there was a crash and a cry behind him. For a moment he stoodhalf-dazed, with his hand on the bridle, while the jaded horseplunged. Then he let it go as the freighter appeared, and togetherthey stumbled back to where Devine was clinging to the bridle ofanother horse which lay close at his feet amidst a wreath of snow. Hestaggered back just as they reached him; there was a franticscrambling in the snow, and then the half-seen horse rolled over andslid away down the white slope of the gully. 

They watched it, horrified, for a moment or two; and said nothing fora brief space when it vanished altogether into the obscurity. Thesight was more unpleasant because they knew that they had seen onlythe commencement of that awful journey. Then Devine, who was white andgasping, made a deprecatory gesture. 

"I don't know whether it was my fault, " he said. "The beast stumbledand almost jerked me over. Then I guess the bridle either broke orpulled out. "

"Two horses and four bags of ore, and we're not through yet, "commented the freighter. "Guess it's going to cost you something ifyou pack much pay-dirt out over Dead Pine trail. Anyway, you'll haveto get that grading done before I come back here again. "

"Get on, " said Weston, quietly. 

They struggled on; and in another half-hour the gully died out andlost itself in the hillside, after which they made a rather fasterpace over the thinning talus. Still, it was snowing hard, and none ofthem was capable of much further exertion when, soaked through andwhite all over, they limped into the lee of a ridge of rock on thecrest of the divide. A bitter wind wailed above them, but there was alittle shelter beneath the wall of ragged stone, and, picketing thejaded horses, they lay down in their wet blankets, packed closetogether in a hollow, when their frugal meal was over. There wasnothing they might make a fire with on that empty wind-swept plateau. 

Any one unused to the gold trail would have lain awake shivering thatnight, and in all probability would have found it very difficult toset out again the next morning, for a horrible ache in the hip is, asa rule, not the least unpleasant result of such experiences; but thesemen slept, and took up the trail almost fresh with the first of thedaylight. It was by no means the first time they had slept out in theopen in the frost or rain, and fed on wet, unwarmed food. 

In due time they reached the settlement on the railroad; and, afterdelivering the remaining bags of ore to the station-agent and leavingthe freighter with his horses, Weston went back along the trail withDevine. Descending the gully in clear daylight, they reached theGrenfell camp without misadventure. 

It was some time later when the freighter, coming up by the otherroute, with provisions, brought them a letter. It was from the managerof the reducing plant, who stated that the yield of the ore sent himfor treatment was eminently satisfactory, and he enclosed acertificate with particulars, as they had requested. Probably with aview to further business he also offered to purchase any of theGrenfell shares they might have to dispose of. 

Saunders' eyes gleamed as he handed the certificate around. 

"I guess that's going to send our stock up with a bang, " he said. "We'll put it right into Wannop's hands, so he can get a notice of thenew mineral field into the papers. The smelter man doesn't seem toknow that the last news we had was that the Grenfell stock wastumbling down, but when he's open to buy it's a sure thing that hefigures it will soon stand at a big premium. "

Then he waved his hand impressively. 

"After what Weston has told us, boys, you want to get hold of thesignificance of that. People have been selling our stock way down, onthe notion that before they had to deliver they could cover at a stilllower figure. Now, they can't buy it. We're going to smash them flat. "

They celebrated the occasion that night with the most elaborate mealDevine could prepare, and invited as many as possible of theirneighbors, who also had struck what promised to be payable millingore. As it happened, their satisfaction was fully warranted, for a fewdays after Weston's letter arrived in Montreal two gentlemen connectedwith western mines called on Wannop. Stirling was sitting in thelatter's office at the time, and he made no sign of retiring when theyentered. 

"We should like a few minutes' conversation with you about theGrenfell stock, " said one of the strangers. "Naturally, we'd prefer tohave it alone. "

Wannop looked at Stirling, who smiled and answered the man. 

"I'm afraid you'll have to put up with my presence, " he said. "Infact, this is a pleasure that I've been expecting for the last fewdays. "

"What standing has Mr. Stirling in this matter?" the stranger asked. 

"I hold most of the Grenfell stock that's likely to be salable, " saidStirling, dryly. "You can't pick up much on the market, which ispresumably why you have come to Wannop. Seems to me you have beenselling rather heavily. "

"If we'd known you were in it, we might have let the thing alone, " oneof the men admitted. 

"You're going to realize that it's quite a pity you didn't. "

The men looked at each other, and one of them turned to Stirling. 

"I'll get to the point, " he said. "We have certainly been selling, andnow that settling day is almost on us we find that we can't buy in. Now, of course, if you hold most of the available stock you have thewhip hand of us. We'll admit that right away, and we're quite preparedto face any reasonable tax you and Wannop may think fit to exact. Still, it might be wiser to be reasonable. "

"How much do you want?" Stirling asked. 

They told him how many shares, and Stirling appeared to consider. 

"Well, " he said, "what are you going to offer?"

One wrote something on a strip of paper and handed it to the other, who nodded, and made an offer. 

"That's our idea, " he said. "I don't mind admitting that it will costus twenty cents on the dollar. "

"No, " said Stirling, "it's going to cost you just whatever I like tocall it. I can swing every dollar that stock stands for up to two orthree. Will you do me the favor to glance at that certificate?"

Wannop handed it to the nearest man, and the latter's face fell. 

"Now, " said Stirling, "at the moment, you're the only people anxiousto buy; but I've only to send that certificate and a nicely worked-upaccount of the rich new find around to the press, and everybody with adollar to spare will be wanting Grenfell stock. Still, there'll be noshares available--I've made sure of that. I'll ask you, as men withsome knowledge of these matters, where's the price going to?"

One of the men sat down limply. 

"What'll you take to hold the thing over until after settling day?" heasked. 

"In money?" inquired Stirling, whose face grew hard. "If you put itthat way, we'll call it half your personal estate. "

The second man, who saw that his companion had been injudicious, hastily broke in. 

"No, " he said; "in the shape of mutual accommodation. Perhaps there'ssome little arrangement you might like us to make. "

Stirling laughed, "Anyway, why should you want to make an offer ofthat kind? Suppose I held the certificate over, it wouldn't straightenthings out for you. You have to deliver to the people who acted on mybehalf so much Grenfell stock, and you can't get it--now. "

"That's true, " was the dejected answer. "What are you going to do?"

"That, " said Stirling, grimly, "is a matter that must stand over untilI can send for the man who found the Grenfell mine. I can't tell youwhat course he's likely to adopt, but in the meantime I'd like topoint out just how you stand. You set in motion the laws of supply anddemand to break a struggling man. They're the only ones you recognize;but, as it happens, they're immutable laws that work both ways, andyou're hard up against them now. It's not a pleasant situation, but Ican't say how far we may be disposed to let you off it until I've hada talk with Mr. Weston. After that, I'll send for you. "

There was nothing more to be said; and when the two men went out, Stirling turned to Wannop. 

"If you can get a wire through to Mr. Weston, tell him to come back atonce. "

"I'll have it done, " said Wannop. "He said he had sent an Indian towait for letters or messages at the nearest railroad settlement. Youhave those men in your clutches. You could break them if you wantedto. "

"Well, " laughed Stirling, "on the whole I'm more disposed to make themhand over a moderate sum, and to let them off after that, on conditionthat in the future they keep their hands off the GrenfellConsolidated. "

"You'd take their word?" Wannop asked. 

"Yes, " said Stirling, with an air of whimsical reflection; "in thiscase, anyway, I 'most think I could. They've had about enough of theGrenfell Consols. I guess they found them prickly. "

Then he went out, and Wannop despatched a telegram to Weston, who leftthe mine immediately after it reached him. Somewhat to hisastonishment, he, found Stirling awaiting him when he sprang down fromthe car platform in the station at Montreal, and the latter smiledbenevolently as he grasped his hand. 

"Ida would have come along if I'd let her, " he explained. "I felt, however, I'd better make things clear to you before you saw her. We'llgo straight to Wannop's office and have a little talk. "

It did not take Wannop long to explain the situation; and when hejudiciously left Weston and Stirling alone together, the latter smiledat his companion. 

"Well, " he said, "as the specimens we have just been handling seemquite as rich as the last lot, it's evident that your share in theGrenfell will keep you comfortable, and, as far as I'm concerned, there's no reason why you and Ida should not set up housekeeping assoon as you like. Now, it's my intention to hand her a block of theGrenfell stock as part of her wedding present, on condition that shetakes your advice as to what she does with it. I'd just like tosuggest that you make the people who want that stock subscribe quitesmartly, and then let them off. It's not wise to push a beaten enemytoo far. "

Weston, who agreed with this, expressed his thanks and then asked aquestion. 

"Wannop mentioned one lot of six hundred shares. Where did you getthose?"

"They were thrown on the market by an English holder. I believe yougave some stock to friends over there?"

"I did. On condition that they didn't sell without consulting me. "

"Then it seems that somebody must have gone back on you. "

Weston's face grew a trifle flushed. 

"I think, " he said, "we'll let that subject drop altogether. It's arather painful one. "

Stirling made a sign of comprehension. 

"Well, " he said, "I've other business on hand, and I guess Ida isexpecting you. "

Weston took the hint; and not long afterward Ida was smiling up at himwith shining eyes. They had a good deal to tell each other, and sometime had passed when Ida said:

"We'll go back to the bush again as soon as the snow melts, if onlyfor a week or two. " Then she flashed a quick glance at him. "That is, unless you are longing for a trip to England. "

A shadow crept into Weston's face as he remembered the six hundredshares, but he smiled a moment later. 

"No, " he said. "We'll go over there together by and by--but not justnow. We'll camp beside the lake where I met you first, instead. "

After a while Ida lifted his right hand gently, and glanced down atthe battered knuckles and broken nails. 

"I'm glad it's hard and strong--strong enough to keep me safe. Andthose scars will wear off, dear, " she said. "There are scars ofanother kind that don't--but with those you and I have nothing to do. "

Then she looked up at him. 

"Do you know what first made me think of you?"

"I don't, " replied Weston, smiling. "In fact, I have often wondered. "

"Then, " said Ida, "I'll show you. I mentioned the picture once before, but you didn't think it worth while to look at it. That was left tome. I looked at it very often while you were away. "

She led him across the room, and Weston started and flushed when shetook out the picture Arabella Kinnaird had made. 

"No, " said Ida, "I really don't think you have any reason to regretyour conduct that eventful evening. "

"I never fancied that you or Miss Kinnaird saw me, " laughed Weston. "I'm afraid it was a remarkably foolish action. "

"It was one of the little actions that have big results, " said Ida. And in this she was correct, for one must reap as one has sown. Thenshe looked up at him. 

"If you hadn't taken Grenfell's part that night you would not havefound the mine. "

Weston smiled, and gripped the hand he held in a tightening clasp. 

"The mine!" he said. "Grenfell gave me you!"

THE END

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THE MASTER OF APPLEBY. By Francis Lynde. Illustrated by T. DeThulstrup. 

A novel tale concerning itself in part with the great struggle inthe two Carolinas, but chiefly with the adventures therein of twogentlemen who loved one and the same lady. 

A strong, masculine and persuasive story. 

A MODERN MADONNA. By Caroline Abbot Stanley. 

A story of American life, founded on facts as they existed someyears ago in the District of Columbia. The theme is the materiallove and splendid courage of a woman. 

GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST. , NEW YORK

TITLES SELECTED FROMGROSSET & DUNLAP'S LISTREALISTIC, ENGAGING PICTURES OF LIFE

THE GARDEN OF FATE. By Roy Norton. Illustrated by Joseph ClementColl. 

The colorful romance of an American girl in Morocco, and of abeautiful garden, whose beauty and traditions of strange subtlehappenings were closed to the world by a Sultan's seal. 

THE MAN HIGHER UP. By Henry Russell Miller. Full page vignetteillustrations by M. Leone Bracker. 

The story of a tenement waif who rose by his own ingenuity to theoffice of mayor of his native city. His experiences while"climbing, " make a most interesting example of the possibilities ofhuman nature to rise above circumstances. 

THE KEY TO YESTERDAY. By Charles Neville Buck. Illustrated by R. Schabelitz. 

Robert Saxon, a prominent artist, has an accident, while in Paris, which obliterates his memory, and the only clue he has to his formerlife is a rusty key. What door in Paris will it unlock? He must knowthat before he woos the girl he loves. 

THE DANGER TRAIL. By James Oliver Curwood. Illustrated by CharlesLivingston Bull. 

The danger trail is over the snow-smothered North. A young Chicagoengineer, who is building a road through the Hudson Bay region, isinvolved in mystery, and is led into ambush by a young woman. 

THE GAY LORD WARING. By Houghton Townley. Illustrated by Will Grefe. 

A story of the smart hunting set in England. A gay young lord winsin love against his selfish and cowardly brother and apparentlyagainst fate itself. 

BY INHERITANCE. By Octave Thanet. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty. Elaborate wrapper in colors. 

A wealthy New England spinster with the most elaborate plans for theeducation of the negro goes to visit her nephew in Arkansas, whereshe learns the needs of the colored race first hand and begins tolose her theories. 

GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST. , NEW YORK

THE NOVELS OFGEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON

GRAUSTARK. 

A story of love behind a throne, telling how a young American met alovely girl and followed her to a new and strange country. Athrilling, dashing narrative. 

BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK. 

Beverly is a bewitching American girl who has gone to that stirringlittle principality--Graustark--to visit her friend the princess, and there has a romantic affair of her own. 

BREWSTER'S MILLIONS. 

A young man is required to spend _one_ million dollars in one yearin order to inherit _seven_. How he does it forms the basis of alively story. 

CASTLE CRANEYCROW. 

The story revolves round the abduction of a young American woman, her imprisonment in an old castle and the adventures created throughher rescue. 

COWARDICE COURT. 

An amusing social feud in the Adirondacks in which an English girlis tempted into being a traitor by a romantic young American, formsthe plot. 

THE DAUGHTER OF ANDERSON CROW. 

The story centers about the adopted daughter of the town marshal ina western village. Her parentage is shrouded in mystery, and thestory concerns the secret that deviously works to the surface. 

THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S. 

The hero meets a princess in a far-away island among fanaticallyhostile Musselmen. Romantic love making amid amusing situations andexciting adventures. 

NEDRA. 

A young couple elope from Chicago to go to London traveling asbrother and sister. They are shipwrecked and a strange mix-up occurson account of it. 

THE SHERRODS. 

The scene is the Middle West and centers around a man who leads adouble life. A most enthralling novel. 

TRUXTON KING. 

A handsome good natured young fellow ranges on the earth looking forromantic adventures and is finally enmeshed in most complicatedintrigues in Graustark. 

GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST. , NEW YORK