The Lure of the North. Harold Bindloss
I may come? It's a promise?"
"Yes," said Agatha quietly; "when I am ready I will let you know. Now, however, we must get back to the hotel."
Thirlwell dipped the paddle, the canoe lurched, and her bow rose at his next vigorous stroke. The ripples she threw off widened into a fan-shaped wake that trailed away and was lost in a glitter of moonlight. The black pines on the point rose higher, resinous smells came out of the dark, and presently a row of lights twinkled ahead. Thirlwell ran the canoe alongside the landing and when they reached the veranda Agatha gave him her hand.
"You start early, I think," she said. "I have much to thank you for and am glad we have met."
He let her go and afterwards leaned against the rails. She had made him a promise and when they next met it would be beside a river of the North. But this was twelve months ahead; he felt it was a long time to wait.
Chapter IV—Strange's Partner
The day's work was over and Thirlwell and his employer sat, smoking and talking, in their shack at the Clermont mine. Scott was young and had once been fastidious, but, like Thirlwell, he wore work-stained overalls. For a time when they first came up, both had clung to a few of the refinements of civilization, but their grasp on these had slackened, and now they frankly admitted that it was too much of an effort to change their clothes when they were tired.
The shack was built of pine logs, notched where they crossed at the corners, and the seams were caulked with clay and moss. A big stove, now empty, stood at one end, its pipe running obliquely across the room before it pierced the iron roof, so as to radiate as much heat as possible. Plans, drawing instruments, and some books on mining, occupied a shelf on the wall; guns, fishing rods, and surveying tools a corner, and a plain, uncovered table the middle of the room. Besides this, there were two or three cheap folding chairs.
The door and window were open, although the mosquitoes were numerous, and the roar of the Shadow River and a smell of wood smoke came in. When he looked out, Thirlwell could see the ragged tops of the stunted pines cut against a pale-green glow. By and by Scott knocked out his pipe and stretched his legs. There was another partner, but he only visited the mine at intervals and had left it while Thirlwell was away.
"Brinsmead has gone to Nevada and probably won't come back," Scott remarked. "He has a plausible manner, but seems to have done no better in New York than you did in Montreal; it looks as if machinery agents are very shy about giving credit to the owners of half-developed mines. Anyhow, when he heard of a field for his talents in a Western town he didn't hesitate. Now he tells me that he finds the prospect of earning some money instead of spending it a refreshing change."
"It's lucky he didn't take his capital out of the Clermont," Thirlwell replied.
Scott laughed. "He couldn't take it out. Nobody would buy his share, and my fortune's represented by a shaft in danger of flooding and some cheap and antiquated boring plant. In fact, if we don't strike pay-dirt soon, the Clermont will go broke, and I imagine that's why Brinsmead skipped. After floating one or two small mines successfully, he has some reputation to lose, while I'm, of course, not an engineer or a business man." He paused and looked hard at Thirlwell. "I'd like you to stay and see me through, but wouldn't blame you if you quit."
"My reputation is not worth much and can be risked. Besides, I imagine we'll get down to the deep vein before the funds run out."
"I hope so! You're not a quitter, and we'll hold on while we can, but I think we'll talk about something else. Well, I've examined the specimen of ore you brought back. It looks like high-grade stuff and certainly carries enough metal to pay for smelting."
"What do you think about Strange's tale?"
Scott knitted his brows. "I did think the man a drunken crank and the lode an illusion that had grown on him by degrees until he really believed in the ore. When you get the tanking habit such things happen. One specimen certainly doesn't prove very much; but since Strange gave it to his daughter a long time before we knew him, I'm willing to revise my judgment."
"Miss Strange is persuaded that he did find the lode. She tells me he led a very industrious and sober life at home."
"It's rather curious you met the girl," Scott observed.
"I don't think so. When we found her address among the truck Strange had left with the foreman, it was the proper thing for me to tell her he was drowned. This led to another letter or two, and when I said I was going to Montreal she asked me to meet her."
"Is she like Strange?"
"Not at all," Thirlwell declared. "In fact, although her letters ought to have prepared me, I got something of a surprise. She was not the kind of girl I had expected to meet. I understand she teaches at a Toronto school."
"She must have some talent to get a post there," Scott remarked when he had asked the name of the school. Then he paused and vaguely indicated the North. "Well, it's a romantic story! Nobody knows yet what there is in the rocks up yonder, but we have heard of other prospectors striking pay-dirt and making nothing of their discovery. Rumors about mysterious lodes are common in a mineral belt, and while they're often imaginative, my notion is that now and then there's some fact behind the fiction. Fur-traders in Alaska heard such tales long before the Klondyke strike."
He stopped, for there were steps outside, and Thirlwell, leaning forward, saw a man come up the trail. The fellow had a dark, sullen face and wore an old gray shirt and ragged overalls. He walked with a slight limp, in consequence of getting his foot frost-bitten on a winter journey, but he was an expert trapper and had penetrated far into the wilds. When skins were scarce he worked at the mine, but generally left his employment after a drunken bout.
"I wonder whether Driscoll believes in Strange's lode," Scott resumed as the man went by. "He knew him better than anybody else. They went North together once or twice, and had been away some time when Strange was drowned coming back."
"Strange wouldn't tell Black Steve where he thought the lode was," Thirlwell objected. "I understand they only kept together until they had portaged their outfit across the divide."
"Strange would leave a trail a trapper could follow. Then I don't see why Steve stops here instead of locating on better hunting ground. It looks as if he didn't want to leave the Shadow."
"I don't see how stopping here would help him to find the lode," said Thirlwell, who went to the door.
It was getting dark and except for the turmoil of the river the bush was very still. The green behind the pines had faded, and they rose against the sky indistinctly in smears of shadowy blue. They had neither height nor beauty, but straggled back, battered and stunted by the winds, among the rocks until they faded from sight. There was not much to attract a white man in the desolation of tangled bush, but as he glanced across it, looking to the North, a hint of mystery in its silence appealed to Thirlwell. He felt that the wilderness challenged him to find a clue to the treasure it hid. Then he reflected with a smile that it was taking much for granted to admit that there was treasure there, and he went back into the shack and lighted the lamp.
A week later, he went up the river bank, one evening, with a fishing rod, and stopped at dusk at the tail of the Grand Rapid. He had gone farther than he meant and was tired after scrambling across slippery rocks and among the driftwood that lay about the bank. There was, however, a shorter way back, and lighting his pipe he sat down upon the gravel and looked about.
The sun had set some time since, but the light would not quite die out until just before the dawn, and the pines across the river rose against the green sky in a dark, broken-topped wall. Near his feet the bleached skeletons of trees, ground by floods and ice, glimmered a livid white, and beyond them the rapid frothed and roared in angry turmoil. The river had shrunk now the melted snow had flowed away, and rocks one seldom saw lifted their black tops above the racing foam. Inshore of the main rush, smooth-worn ledges