Part 13 (1/2)

Macdonald's lieutenant got busy at once with plans to abduct Holt. That it was very much against the law did not disturb him much so long as his chief stood back of him. The unsupported word of the old man would not stand in court, and if he became obstreperous they could always have him locked up as a lunatic. The very pose of the old miner--the make-believe pretension that he was half a fool--would lend itself to such a charge.

”We'll send the old man off on a prospecting trip with some of the boys,” explained Selfridge to Rowland. ”That way we'll kill two birds.

He's back on his a.s.sessment work. The time limit will be up before he returns and we'll start a contest for the claim.”

Howland made no comment. He was an engineer and not a politician. In his position it was impossible for him not to know that a good deal about the legal status of the Macdonald claims was irregular. But he was a firm believer in a wide-open Alaska, in the use of the Territory by those who had settled it. The men back of the big Scotchman were going to spend millions in development work, in building railroads. It would help labor and business. The whole North would feel a healthful reaction from the Kamatlah activities. So, on the theory that the end sometimes justifies doubtful means, he shut his eyes to many acts that in his own private affairs he would not have countenanced.

”Better arrange it with Big Bill, then, but don't tell me anything about it. I don't want to know the details,” he told Selfridge.

Big Bill Macy accepted the job with a grin. There was double pay in it both for him and the men he chose as his a.s.sistants. He had never liked old Holt anyhow. Besides, they were not going to do him any harm.

Holt was baking a batch of sour-dough bread that evening when there came a knock at the cabin door. At sight of Big Bill and his two companions the prospector closed the oven and straightened with alert suspicion.

He was not on visiting terms with any of these men. Why had they come to see him? He asked point-blank the question in his mind.

”We're going prospecting up Wild-Goose Creek, and we want you to go along, Gid,” explained Macy. ”You're an old sour-dough miner, and we-all agree we'd like to have you throw-in with us. What say?”

The old miner's answer was direct but not flattering. ”What do I want to go on a wild-goose mush with a bunch of b.u.ms for?” he shrilled.

Bill Macy scratched his hook nose and looked reproachfully at his host.

At least Holt thought he was looking at him. One could not be sure, for Bill's eyes did not exactly track.

”That ain't no kind o' way to talk to a fellow when he comes at you with a fair proposition, Gid.”

”You tell Selfridge I ain't going to leave Kamatlah--not right now. I'm going to stay here on the job till that Land Office inspector comes--and then I'm going to have a nice, long, confidential chat with him. See?”

”What's the use of snapping at me like a turtle? Durden says Wild-Goose looks fine. There's gold up there--heaps of it.”

”Let it stay there, then. I ain't going. That's flat.” Holt turned to adjust the damper of his stove.

”Oh, I don't know. I wouldn't say that,” drawled Bill insolently.

The man at the stove caught the change in tone and turned quickly. He was too late. Macy had thrown himself forward and the weight of his body flung Holt against the wall. Before the miner could recover, the other two men were upon him. They bore him to the floor and in spite of his struggles tied him hand and foot.

Big Bill rose and looked down derisively at his prisoner. ”Better change your mind and go with us, Holt. We'll spend a quiet month up at the headquarters of Wild-Goose. Say you'll come along.”

”You'll go to prison for this, Bill Macy.”

”Guess again, Gid, and mebbe you'll get it right this time.” Macy turned to his companions. ”George, you bring up the horses. Dud, see if that bread is cooked. Might as well take it along with us--save us from baking to-morrow.”

”What are you going to do with me?” demanded Holt.

”I reckon you need a church to fall on you before you can take a hint.

Didn't I mention Wild-Goose Creek three or four times?” jeered his captor.

”Every step you take will be one toward the penitentiary. Get that into your cocoanut,” the old miner retorted sharply.

”Nothing to that idee, Gid.”

”I'll scream when you take me out.”