Part 15 (1/2)
”They were taking up a big load and couldn't march fast,” he said.
”I understand you don't know Stormont?”
”I know his character--and unless he's badly slandered that's enough! I haven't met him, but I'm nearly sure it was a city man I saw in Driscoll's camp.”
”Stormont's indicated,” Scott replied. ”I reckon Driscoll went to him because he needed capital; but he wouldn't put another fellow on the track. If we take it for granted that he did go, the mystery about Strange's letters is cleared up. It's characteristic that Stormont tried to steal them before he made Miss Strange his offer.”
”In a way, it's curious that he did make an offer!”
Scott smiled. ”He didn't run much risk. It would be hard to frame an agreement out of which Stormont couldn't wriggle; I've met the fellow, and Brinsmead has grounds for knowing his methods. Anyhow, it's plain that he thinks it worth while to spend some money in trying to find the lode, and on such matters his judgment is said to be pretty good. Then I imagine Black Steve knows more about Strange's prospecting trips than you suspect.”
”My notion is, that n.o.body knows much about the lode.”
”Well,” said Scott, ”it looks like that. Strange is dead, and I don't imagine he took Black Steve very far into his confidence; though he may have given him a hint when he was drunk. But there's another man, whom n.o.body seems to have thought of yet.”
”Who's that?”
”The Hudson's Bay agent at the factory where Strange was employed.
Strange was young then, and was probably frank and enthusiastic about his find. I daresay he gave the agent all the particulars he could recollect when he saw the fellow doubted his tale. His memory was, no doubt, pretty good, since he'd seen the lode a week or two before.”
”They have pulled down the factory and I expect the agent's dead,”
Thirlwell replied. ”If not, he must be an old man and I don't know where he is. I'm not persuaded yet that Strange did find the ore; but if it hadn't snowed, I'd have followed Stormont's trail. It would be interesting to know where he means to look.”
He frowned as he lighted his pipe, because it was too late to satisfy his curiosity. The prospectors had vanished into the trackless desolation, and now deep snow had fallen the wilds would hide them well.
Scott pondered for a few minutes and then resumed: ”You mean to help Miss Strange put this matter over, although you don't believe in the lode?”
”Yes,” said Thirlwell, ”I've promised her.”
”Then you're up against two hard men who have got a start, and one of them is dangerous.”
”Black Steve? Well, I believe he meant to leave Father Lucien to starve, but I don't see why.”
”You need help yourself,” Scott rejoined dryly. ”When Driscoll was ill and delirious he talked in a curious way, and when he got better may have had some recollection of being badly scared. If so, I expect he imagined he said more than he did and had, so to speak, given himself away. As a matter of fact, he said enough to be suspicious. Since he was delirious, he probably didn't know you were there, and it might be prudent not to let him know. It's possible he thought Father Lucien knew too much, and saw his opportunity of getting rid of him.”
Thirlwell started. ”It is possible! I'm glad I told you about my watch at the shack. I didn't at first; the things I suspected looked ridiculous.”
”In future you had better tell me all you can. My opinion is, that you have undertaken a very tough job. For all that, I'm getting curious about the lode, and would rather like to have a stake in the venture, if Miss Strange agrees when she comes up.”
”She won't agree unless she finds the ore. Then, of course, she'd need help and money.”
”Very well,” said Scott, and they talked about something else.
For some weeks they said nothing more about the silver vein. Part of the roof of the main heading in the mine came down, and they had afterwards to contend with a dangerous flow of water. Extra timbering was needed and the men risked their lives as they wedged the props under the cracking beams, while now and then they worked for a s.h.i.+ft with buckets to help the clanging pump. Their clothes were always wet, and they were generally smeared with mud when they came up to eat and sleep. The miners grumbled, and Scott and Thirlwell felt the mental and physical strain. They were highly strung and often irritable, while when they sat by the stove when work was over they only talked about the difficulties they had struggled with all day and others that must be met in the morning.
In the meantime, the thaw began. The snow softened and got honeycombed by the drops from the trees. One sank to the knees in trampled slush among the sawn-off stumps about the shaft-head. The ice rotted, and in places where the current ran fast large floes broke off, and drove down stream until they were stopped by the thick ice in the slacks. Above the Shadow Rapids, however, there was, for a time, no break in the frozen surface, and one evening Scott and Thirlwell sat listening to the growl of the rising flood in the open channel it had made near the mine. The sound swelled and sank, and at intervals they heard rain patter on the roof.
”In a week or two the canoes will be out,” Scott remarked. ”There's a big head of water coming down and I guess the jamb that's backing up the stream won't stand till morning.”
”Some of it's going now; that's an extra large floe,” said Thirlwell as a detonating crash rang across the woods. Then there was a roar that was pierced by a high, strident note, and he knew the floe was tearing open upon a rock.