Part 16 (1/2)

”Consider!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”I know. The first thing is to eat breakfast. 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 they found the cache. This they managed to do two days later. Somewhat to Weston's astonishment they found, also, the horse still feeding on the strip of natural prairie; and, as the beast and the buried camp gear it could now carry back represented their whole worldly wealth, this was a source of gratification to both of them. The man without an occupation or a dollar in his pocket does not, as a rule, find life very 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 some time before he learned that no more hands were wanted, it was evening before he reached the little wooden hotel where he had left his comrade. It had a veranda in front of it, and he stopped when he reached the steps, for it was evident from the hoa.r.s.e clamor and bursts of laughter which came out of the open windows that something quite 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 out to-night to the copper vein the Dryhurst people are opening up,” said the stranger. ”Your partner has been setting up the drinks for them.”

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

”Are they taking on men?” he asked.

”Anybody who can shovel. Sent down to Vancouver for men a day or two ago.”

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

His informant laughed.

”Jake,” he said, ”is most too mean to live. He strikes you a dollar for your breakfast and another for supper, though anybody else would give you a square meal for a quarter. Guess that may have something to do with it.”

Weston nodded.

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

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

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

”The money!” it said. ”The money or the horse! You hear me! Hand out the blame money!”

Weston pushed open the door and stopped just inside it. The room was big, 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, and a man in a white s.h.i.+rt was just then engaged in hastily removing the bottles from it. Another man, in blue s.h.i.+rt and duck trousers, stood beside the stove, and he held a big ax which he swung suggestively. It was evident that several of the others were runaway sailormen, who have, since the days of Caribou, usually been found in the forefront when there were perilous wagon bridges or dizzy railroad trestles to be built in the Mountain Province. There was, however, nothing English in their appearance.

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

There was a howl of approval from the cl.u.s.ter of men who sat on a rough fir table; but the man behind the bar raised an expostulating hand.

”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 to do is to produce the money.”

Then Grenfell, who leaned on the table, drew himself up, and made a gesture 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 a.s.sayer. Tell you how the deep leads run; a.n.a.lyze you anything. For example, we'll proceed to put this hotel-keeper in the crucible, and see what we get. It's thirty parts hoggish self-sufficiency, and ten parts ignorance. Forty more rank dishonesty, and ten of insatiable avarice. Ten more of go-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 the hotel-keeper's att.i.tude was comprehensible in view of the fact that the drunken man had a big ax in his hand. Crossing the room, he seized Grenfell's shoulder.

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