Chapter VII: Bonanza (7)

“How old is mademoiselle?” asked the handsome soldier, turning to the girl with a smile, which, from some cause known only to herself, did not appear to fascinate her.

I happened to know, and replied for her that she would be eighteen at the beginning of winter.

“Ah, that’s a pity!” said Hanafin sincerely. “Eighteen is the age-limit. Had you been a few months older I could have given you a certificate also.”

“I do not want the yellow dirt,” said Akshelah, quite angrily.

The inspector laughed, and muttering “Happy girl!” walked back to what he called his office.

“Tell me what is written there,” said Akshelah, eyeing the sheet suspiciously.

I was not sure whether I could read it, but I tried, and made a wonderful success. Slowly, and with not a little blundering over the harder words, I made out the following:--

“No. 2. Department of the Interior.

“Agency, Hanafin City, North-west Athabasca (?), July, 1895.

“In consideration of the payment of the prescribed fee by Rupert
Petrie, of Yellow Sands, the Minister of the Interior hereby grants
to the said Rupert Petrie, for the term of one year from the date
hereof, the exclusive right of entry upon the claim registered
as Number Two, MacCaskill Gulch, Akshelah River district, in the
country called Bonanza, for the miner-like working thereof, and the
construction of a residence thereon; and the exclusive right to all
the proceeds realised therefrom, upon which, however, the royalty
prescribed by the regulations (to be approved of by Order in Council)
shall be paid.

“The said Rupert Petrie shall be entitled to the use of so much
of the water naturally flowing through or past his claim, and not
already lawfully appropriated, as shall be necessary for the due
working thereof, and to drain his claim free of charge.

“This grant does not convey to the said Rupert Petrie any right of
ownership in the soil covered by the said claim; and the said grant
shall lapse and be forfeited unless the claim is continuously, and in
good faith, worked by the said Rupert Petrie or his associates.

“HENRY P. HANAFIN,
“(Acting) Mining Recorder.”

Akshelah sighed.

“And you are going to look for the yellow dirt, too?” she said lingeringly.

“That’s what I came away for,” I answered her lightly.

“He made you come.” She meant MacCaskill. “You did not want to come away. You were happy beside the bright waters, and I was very happy. We caught the fish, and we hunted.” Her eyes were full of tears. “You have forgotten all that, and you never laugh with me now.”

She was partly right. I was growing worldly-wise, but I did not forget. I could not forget the walks with Akshelah over the rolling grass-hills, among the tall sulphur-lilies, and those idle paddles on my own little laughing water. I did not forget the hunting expeditions, and those songs and stories we had sung and told to each other, and those foolish kisses under the sunshine, and sometimes under the moon. How could I forget those happiest days? All had been so peaceful in that life which seemed so far away, until Redpath, the destroyer of trust, had come to link my quiet world with his, and all since then had been fighting and deceit. Had not this place and its gold ruined my father?

The voice of Akshelah was in my ears.

“We shall stay here, and Pepooa will creep up around us, and Mispoor will fall and hold us. The long night will come, and the ghost-lights will whisper always in the sky.” She shuddered. “And there will be beast-men! I see them coming, the men who will drink hot waters, and fight one another through the long night, and they will take me away from you, and I shall die--far from my own people and my own land. And you will learn the ways of that world; you--you will drink hot waters, and fight too.”

Had my poor maid gone on in that strain, I think she would have prevailed upon me to have taken her home; but the figure of Hanafin stood out, and I heard his voice shouting to me.

“Be brave, little squirrel,” I said, taking her two small hands. Then I hurriedly kissed her wet eyes, and obeyed the inspector’s call.

Olaffson was inside the office, sitting upon a log, his white face malevolent and hungry-looking.

Hanafin turned to me, and spoke at once.

“You told me, Petrie, that the late Leblanc upon a certain occasion accused this man of being the murderer of old Fagge. I want this matter cleared up finally, both for your sake and for the sake of the old man’s connections south. I understand you have accused the late Mr. Petrie of being the murderer,” he went on, addressing the Icelander, who broke in at once:

“That was Redpath. He thought Petrie done it, I guess. I know now Petrie didn’t, but I never thought ’twas Leblanc till t’other night. He ’cused me, ’cause he hated me bad. I took a knife to him one time, but he druve me to it.” He paused, and wiped his mouth. “Now, Jim Morrison mighter told ye quite a bit. They was pards, an’ Gedeon was man to ole Fagge for quite a while. The ole chap was moony.” The Icelander’s voice grew louder with confidence. “Ole man struck a wonderful rich find right here. Right here! A reg’lar hole of dirt, coarse dirt, an’ nothing but dirt.”

Perspiration started out upon his slimy forehead, and he paused for breath, blinking at us.

“Get along,” said Hanafin quietly.

“Leblanc knew of it, an’ no one ’cept him an’ ole man did know of it. So Leblanc got to work, an’ fixed ole man late one night when he was asleep, an’ when Petrie was asleep. Ye see, he reckoned to come back one time, an’ open up that hole. P’r’aps he never split to Jim. P’r’aps he was hidin’ it from Jim.”

“Stay a bit,” said Hanafin. “How did you find out this?”

The Icelander grinned.

“The night he an’ Jim got here, I come around to try an’ level up things wi’ Leblanc. Jim had lef’ him, an’ gone to Mister Petrie’s camp. Gedeon was a-sittin’ by a rock, sorter stupid wi’ hunger, an’ a-talkin’ to hisself, so pleased to have got here. I set beside that rock, an’ listened to his talk. That’s how I found out. I might a-been his priest, an’ him a-confessin’.”

“You tried to kill him,” I interjected.

“He shifted hisself by accident, an’ I scarce touched him. He was a dirty murderer, anyhow,” said the little wretch, unabashed.

“You told this to Redpath?” questioned Hanafin.

“Had to,” admitted Olaffson, though he had only yesterday sworn that Redpath was not in the district. “Ye see, Gedeon never let out jest where the place was, an’ I don’t know the first thing ’bout prospectin’. It was somewhere near where them two creeks jined, an’ I told Redpath, an’ he staked out that claim at the forks.” He spat a chew upon the ground, and got up, smacking his two stunted hands together. “An’ now I’ve beat him. Gol’ darn it, but I’ve beat him every way!”

“Now we understand why Redpath stops here,” said Hanafin to me. “Now we understand the reason for that haste of his.” He added still more slowly: “Now you understand how I have checkmated Redpath.”

“How?” I exclaimed.

“Listen,” said Hanafin.

The Icelander was raving in his triumph.

“What’s his price, inspector? What’s the Government figure for Redpath? I’ve got him for sale. Ye shall have him. I’ve got no more use for him. I’ll sell him, body an’ blood an’ bones.”

The little miscreant shivered with his excitement.

“How about the claim?” suggested Hanafin.

“It’s mine,” slobbered the Icelander. “Redpath paid the ten dollars for the certificate an’ the fifteen for the grant. Redpath found the claim, an’ measured it, an’ staked it out, an’ showed me what to do. But I’m certified owner, an’ he ain’t allowed on that claim. The claim is registered to me; Redpath can’t come upon it. He don’t dare look upon it. He don’t dare come outer his dug-out, ’cause he’ll be shot on sight, ’cause he’s wanted for murder. You’re right, mister; you’re right all the way. You’ve beat him; an’ the claim’s mine, an’ all the gold in it’s mine, an’ I’m a-goin’ to dig for it right now. Jest gimme me claim, mister; jest gimme the grant what you promised me. Number One MacCaskill. That’s the hole. Here’s the fifteen dollars--Redpath’s fifteen--mister inspector. You’ve beat Redpath, an’ I’ll give him away to ye, ’cause he’s no more bit of use. I’ll sell him to ye cheap, body an’ clothes an’ big talk.”

Breathless and panting, he pushed the money out towards the inspector, but Hanafin did not take it.

Hanafin had beaten Redpath. That was true; but was it true that Olaffson had beaten the inspector? Was the Icelander even then playing his part, and speaking the words taught him by Redpath? My eyes were upon Hanafin, and it appeared to me that a sense of failure was set upon his face. Presently he stirred.

“Carey!” he called.

After a pause of intense silence, broken by Olaffson’s excited breathing, he called again:

“Carey!”

“Here, sir!”

The soldier-policeman appeared at the door, struggling into his tight jacket.

“This man, Carey, this Icelander--his name is Olaffson--has, I find, an exceedingly bad record, and I have just discovered that he is guilty, upon his own confession, of attempting murder within the city limits. Take him a mile along the defile, set him south, and instruct him to continue in that direction. If you find him about the city or Bonanza after to-day, arrest him at once, and bring him before me. If he should, on any such occasion, attempt to escape, you may shoot.”

“Yes, sir.”

The next minute Hanafin was speaking to me in his usual pleasant manner.

“You must abandon your present claim, Petrie, and take Number One MacCaskill, which is at present vacant. I will alter the description in your grant, if you will give it me. No! It is not allowed to argue with a superior officer. There’s a miner’s motto, which you will do well to remember, and it is this, ‘Never be satisfied with a grub stake.’”

THAT PRIEST AGAIN!

On a certain evening, about eleven o’clock, when the sun was setting reluctantly over the western end of the defile, a lone stranger came into the line of vision of MacCaskill and myself, an elderly man, thin and grizzled, sweating under the weight of a heavy pack. Once he stopped to shade his eyes and peer about, then, having probably caught sight of the log buildings, he tramped on and approached us as we sat outside our shanty. MacCaskill had been grumbling, because he had not yet grown accustomed to ten-cent pans.

“I want to pick it up in lumps,” he growled, pinching his little buckskin bag, which was rapidly becoming fat. Then he, too, caught sight of the stranger, who came up to us, as though to greet old friends. “See there!” exclaimed the factor hoarsely, “here comes another! Another damned sooner!”

The elderly man let down his pack, and nodded very gravely.

“How are ye?” he said, in a high nasal voice, proceeding to mop his face with a dirty shirt-sleeve. “How do I come, eh? One of the first, I guess. No big crowd ben before me, eh?” he said, mouthing each word slowly. “What’s yer population, pard?”

MacCaskill enlightened him. The grizzled man appeared to be incapable of smiling, but he gave me the impression of being satisfied.

“Well,” he said, “I’m always right on time. That’s me, pards! If I don’t come in wi’ the first, I don’t come in at all. I’m Moccasin Bill, pards. That’s me. What are ye callin’ the place?”

“Hanafin City,” I replied, as MacCaskill was relighting his stone pipe.

“Well, an’ a vurry nice city,” said Moccasin Bill, allowing his eye to roam along the defile, where the shadows were beginning to gather. “Pards, I’ll jest set right down, an’ get some supper acrost me. Ain’t got a saloon here yet?”

“We’re only startin’,” admitted MacCaskill.

The old man opened his pack, and produced some fat bacon and a fry-pan.

“Tell ye,” he said profoundly, “the hull world’ll be on a buzz be now, I guess. The Noo York papers, an’ the London papers, an’ the whole durned rest uv ’em will be jest runnin’ over ’bout this place.”

MacCaskill growled out his anger.

“How the Jerusalem have they come to know?”

Grizzled Bill’s bacon began to hiss in the pan. He turned his solemn face towards us.

“Ye ain’t reg’lars. No offence, pards. Can see ye ain’t. What’s the use o’ tryin’ to explain things what can’t be explained?”

“If it hadn’t been for me, this place wouldn’t ever a-been discovered,” boasted MacCaskill falsely.

The new-comer was as cool as ice.

“Listen-a-here.” He turned his bacon, and sniffed hungrily at the greasy steam. “I ben in South Africa a-minin’, an’ I ben in West Australy a-minin’, and I ben in Californy a-minin’.” He paused, then added: “Now I come here a-minin’. I’m a lone hand. I allus have been a lone hand.”

“Ain’t ye got any relations?” asked MacCaskill, when the miner stopped.

“The world’s a-crawlin’ wi’ ’em. I was a-goin’ to say this, pard, jest this: I’ve packed along one time wi’ me ole ox, or me ole hoss, an’ maybe I’d see a pesky vulture a-comin’ away off, just like a bug en the sky, an’ then another, an’ then another, an’ lots uv ’em, all like bits o’ bugs. They’d be coming my way, see, an’ I’d say to meself, ‘There’s a funeral.’ Me ole ox, or me ole hoss, would pack along right as right, good an’ strong; but the bugs would get bigger, an’ turn inter big bugs, and the big bugs would get bigger yet, and black, an’ they’d come around, a-flappin’, an’ a-callin’, an’ a-rubber-neckin’ wi’ their ugly bare necks. Then down would go me ole ox or me ole hoss, wi’ staggers, or fly, or pissen-grass, an’ then the vultures would sorter chuckle, jest like, ‘Told ye there was a blow-out a-comin’ to us.’ An’ down they’d come, an’ I’d know that the ole pack-ox or the ole pack-hoss would have to go. I can’t tell ye how them vultures knew, ’cause I wouldn’t know meself, that the ole beast was a-goin’ to break. But I says this to ye, that if a pesky bird can do that, a worldful o’ pesky men oughter be able to do as good.

“If a man gets to find gold, he ain’t a-goin’ to keep it to hisself. No, sir! ’Tain’t in nature. Other men are a-comin’ up to have their bite. They smells it en the air. They feels it en their innards. The wind whistles uv it, an’ off they start, a-sniffin’ to find the place, like half a million dogs. They’ll be comin’ in be scores every day. I passed quite a few on me way. They’re comin’ in be boat mostly, an’ I come in be land. Me ole pack-hoss played out yesterday, an’ I come on wi’ me own trotters. Moccasin Bill ain’t never a-goin’ to get left. Not him!”

The professional miner spoke deliberately, pausing often to find the word he wanted. When he had done this lengthy speech he started upon his supper. After the arrival of Moccasin Bill an endless stream of miners, and those who live upon them, came in; one week of such an inrush caused the very characteristics of the place to change. Log buildings sprang up with inconceivable rapidity along both sides of the defile, making Hanafin City a fact as well as a name. A large store became under course of erection, and across its unfinished front suspended a huge canvas, bearing the inscription, “The Bonanza Trading and Supply Association.” Bales and boxes of such supplies were packed by oxen over the Bad Lands from Lake Peace. The men of the Association drew the _Carillon_ off the mud-flats, patched her up, and steamed her away south, to report how they had discovered her, wrecked and deserted. Lennie and his men kept their own counsel. Two saloons were erected. One roulette table had already arrived, and was working day and night. A branch of one of the leading banks had been established. A detachment of police arrived, and a Government representative to assume the functions of Gold Commissioner.

The Government were hard at work defining that portion of the north-west territory which we had named Bonanza, and great power was given to Inspector Hanafin to adjust the mining law, and to administer the same. He was instructed to meet any difficulties that might occur by the exercise of his own judgment, without waiting for authority. He assumed the local rank of Commissioner, and later a post from Ottawa awarded this rank to him absolutely. A mail service into the interior was inaugurated, police stations were established, and patrols traversed the country. Quite at the end of August the flag of the Hudson Bay Company went up, and Fort Hanafin became marked upon the map. By that date a theatre had been built upon Front Street, and performances, known as variety shows, were given nightly. After supper the city was alive with lights and singing, with drunkenness and gambling, and there were women in the place.

Mosquito Pass had been blown up, and a great rent appeared in the cliffs where the miners passed to and from Bonanza. The spruce bluff had vanished, the trees having been cut down for use, and the graves of Joe Fagge and Leblanc, his murderer, had been trampled out. The opening of the cliffs made the canyon far less of a blow-pipe, and I missed the wild music, which only became sonorous in times of storm. Along both sides of the Akshelah numbers of tents showed, with heaps of dump, scores of rockers and sluice boxes, shining picks and spades, and clumsy barrows, and all around figures of men, running, stooping, shovelling, washing out, apparently never at rest. “MacCaskill” and “Petrie” creeks were staked out for miles back. River claims and hill claims were also staked out, every alternate ten claims being reserved for the Government. A royalty of ten per cent. was levied by the Gold Commissioner, and collected, in spite of loud grumblings from the miners, on the gross output of every claim.

Number One MacCaskill was my claim; Number Two was occupied by the “Athabasca Mining Syndicate, Limited”; Number Three was leased to MacCaskill; Numbers Four to Eight to Lennie and Company; Number Nine to Moccasin Bill; Number Ten to one Jake Peterssen; while Numbers Eleven to Twenty, both inclusive, belonged to the Dominion Government.

It will be remembered that Hanafin had staked out a claim under the style of Mr. John Smith, because, owing to something he called “red-tape,” his position debarred him from working as a miner, or holding a claim. When he had made me shift my stakes, after the ejection of Olaffson, he had himself come into Number Two, and had recorded this claim to the Athabasca Mining Syndicate, which was himself. He hired two Swedes, who had come in, like so many, without supplies, to work the claim for him as agent of the company, at a remuneration of five dollars and food per day. When these assistants had made sufficient money they started mining on their own account, and then Hanafin simply hired two more improvident hands, and thus the work of the Company proceeded.

Claim Number Ten was worked by my former opponent, Jake Peterssen. The tidings of Bonanza had quickly reached Gull in that inexplicable manner which Hanafin named “wireless telegraphy,” and many of the men threw up their work upon the lumber and “came in,” Peterssen among them. He told me that I had spoilt his right arm, and that he was no good for lumbering; but when he gripped my hand in greeting, I felt glad that I should never be called upon to stand up to him again.

By the end of August all these things had come to pass, and still people were flocking in every day, despite the fact that the night began to threaten, and that winter was near. To show how the camp was governed by Hanafin, I narrate the following incident:--

A gang of bullies arrived, with no intention of mining or doing honest trade, but simply bent upon ruling the place by fear, and living by means of terrorism. These foul-mouthed beast-men, as Akshelah rightly named them, spent most of the day in the principal saloon, drinking at the expense of others, and when satisfied for the time, came out upon Front Street, and, having captured a certain honest little character, Jimmy Carruthers by name, proceeded to haze him in front of the saloon. The little man, who had come into town to purchase supplies, took the treatment good-naturedly at first, but presently one of the bullies ordered him to dance for their edification. When he did not come up to expectation, the brute poked at his ribs with a pointed stake, thereby reaching the limits of Jim’s endurance. He refused to gratify his tormentors further, thereupon the chief bully pulled out a revolver, and shouted:

“Dance, ye little cuss, or I’ll make a hole through ye!”

Hanafin proceeded up the street with Norman at his side, but the disturbers of the city’s peace did not see them. I noticed that the Commissioner quickened his walk. Jimmy Carruthers was blenching from the revolver, because it was obvious that the half-drunken bully was no respecter of life, and was calling out for mercy, when Hanafin pushed him aside.

“Norman!” exclaimed the Commissioner, “arrest that man.”

The bully went dark with anger.

“Arrest me, ye skunk! Arrest me--”

There he stopped, threw up his arms, coughed once, choked, and fell forward. An angry little curl of smoke floated away down Front Street, to the accompaniment of a few sharp echoes among the cliffs. The bully had drawn upon Norman, and the Commissioner shot him dead at once.

Then he rounded upon the others, who snarled menacingly, and advanced in a half-circle, brave because of their numbers. The Commissioner whipped out his long sword, and the bullies stopped, more, I fancy, because of the cold light in Hanafin’s eyes than for fear of the cold steel.

“Put up your hands,” said the Commissioner quietly, “else I’ll have the crowd of you hanged before supper. This mining camp is in British territory, I’ll make you remember, and I am the representative of the Queen.”

He removed his little forage cap, and Norman followed the example of his chief. The bullies weakened, and obeyed with surly oaths. Norman was ordered to search each one, and the majority were found to be carrying secret weapons. These were marched off to the barracks, and sentenced to one month’s imprisonment. That same evening a proclamation was issued and posted about the city.

After the date of that proclamation, any man found carrying hidden weapons, either in the town or about Bonanza, would be fined one hundred and fifty dollars for a first offence. For a second, he would be deprived of all miner’s privileges, and be dismissed from the district. The miners read, and realised what sort of a representative they had over them.

Hanafin City became the capital of the most law-abiding mining country that the world has ever seen; so said the old miners. Yet when I went to visit the man who had done this, I found him soaking his hands in hot water, to prevent his fingers from losing their delicate shape and whiteness. I am never likely to know whether Hanafin, who was a combination of cleverness, coolness, courage, and conceit, was a typical Englishman, but I like to think he was. I would have done anything for that man.

“Commissioner,” I said, on the night following the affair with the bullies, but he interrupted me--“My name is Hanafin.” This was merely one out of many instances in which he tried to set me at my ease.

“You called yourself to-day the representative of the Queen,” I went on. “An old man, who found me when Redpath put me away to starve off the coast of Gull, sang ‘God save the Queen.’ Who is this Queen?”

I thought Hanafin was about to laugh, then he went grave.

“Is it possible?” I heard him murmur, before he said profoundly, “Boy! you have been buried!”

“I have lived at Yellow Sands since my babyhood,” I said.

“Of course,” said he, “you could not know. But you are an Englishman, and that makes your question sound more than ever strange to my English ears. Well, listen! I’ll tell you something about our Empress and her Empire.”

He proceeded to give me a startling description of the world, of its rulers, its politics, and its universal unrest--a description which caused my mind to expand, if not to respond, and my brain whirled when I walked home.

MacCaskill I mention to say that we were partners only in name--that is to say, we still lived together, Akshelah cooking for us and minding us; but that was all. We were separated in work and in recreation. It was my pleasure to watch the life and activity of the ever-growing population of the city, but always at a distance. MacCaskill loved life, too, but he liked to be a part of it, and it was the life of the saloon and the gambling-den that he loved. The factor ran against congenial spirits, who had knocked about the world; they suited him better than the ignorant youth who, though born inside the world, had been bred and brought up upon the outside.

We came to the beginning of September, when the population of Hanafin City, the wind-crossed defile of the former month, was over five thousand souls. One night I was teaching Akshelah to read, and proud indeed to find myself in the position of schoolmaster, when a message summoned me to the chief.

Hanafin was pushing himself to and fro in a rocking-chair beside his table--luxuries which had just reached the city--and Carey stood beside him. I imagined that something must have gone wrong, for the Commissioner’s face was angry.

“Petrie,” he said at once, “have you heard anything of Redpath?”

When I had replied in the negative Hanafin mused for a few moments, watching me, then said:

“Father Lacombe has arrived in the city.”

I gave a great start, and Hanafin went on:

“Father Lacombe is a noted missionary. He could hardly find the leisure to come here, and if he had been thinking of doing so I should have heard. It certainly is possible for him to have come from Three Points by river and portage, then by lake, and so over the flats; but in that case the patrol would have seen him and reported. Repeat your statement, Carey.”

“It is said that the priest was paddled along the shore by Indians, who also packed his things on from the beach. No one saw him on the route. He arrived yesterday, and has a tent in West Hanafin; but he has not been seen to-day. I am told he is unwell after his journey. The Indians declare he is Father Lacombe, of Three Points--”

“Their word goes for nothing. Because I have not succeeded in finding Redpath’s hiding-place, he has come out into the open again, and defies me. I’ll teach him his last lesson to-night.”

Hanafin pulled his fur-lined cloak about him with angry movements, and we three left headquarters, and made towards the western annex.

“Redpath would never have taken that name,” I began, when Hanafin, who was decidedly out of temper, took me up sharply.

“If it had been Father Jones, or Father Anybody, I might have suspected nothing. The blind is obvious. Redpath knows he has me to deal with. He thinks he will be safe under the name which I must regard as the most unlikely for him to select.”

We came up and saw the solitary tent, glowing with a light inside. Outside an Indian was chopping wood. We were quite away from the noise and rush of Front Street. A big shadow was moving inside the tent. It stopped, and suddenly settled down to half its former height. The Commissioner went to the Indian, and summarily dismissed him on some mission. Then he and I approached the tent-flap, and Carey followed. I whispered:

“Shall we cut the ropes?”

“I mark my game before I shoot,” said Hanafin, and he put out his hand to the tent-flap.

Then I noticed that this was one of the tents made with a window--that is, a detachable piece of canvas about five feet above ground, which could be lowered to enable the occupant to see out; the hole was covered with a piece of fine gauze to keep out the mosquitos. I drew my companion’s attention to this, and we went up silently, and together looked into the tent.

The priest was upon his knees, his face buried in his hands.

Hanafin’s face seemed to tighten, and his lips twitched.

A lamp hung from the tent-pole. The priest knelt before a box, upon which were arranged a few books, and in the centre a curious device of wood and ivory.

“What is that?” I whispered.

“They call it a crucifix,” came the answer, which told me nothing.

We expected to see the face of a villain, the loose face and flabby skin, the cold eyes and the smooth smile of Redpath. It was a firm face that we saw when the head came up and the hands lowered and clasped each other, a kind, even a noble face; and the eyes, when they opened, were deep and grey. It was a face that I could have gazed at for a long time, because I had seen nothing like it before, but Hanafin was pulling my arm.

“Come away,” he whispered hoarsely.

I watched lingeringly, and the priest, raising his right hand, touched his wide forehead, and then traced his long fingers down and across his chest. My untaught mind awoke and responded to the act, and began to seek in its ignorance for more knowledge.

The strong-minded Commissioner was positively trembling.

“Heaven be thanked that I did not cut those ropes! My reputation would have gone for ever.”

“Who is he?” I said, the glamour of the scene impressed upon my struggling mind.

“He is the Reverend Gabriel Lacombe, who, I believe, could be a cardinal if he chose, but who prefers to serve in the solitude reclaiming Indians. The great Lacombe, who has refused an archbishopric! And I was going to jump upon him for a murderer! Carey, not a word, if you desire mentioning!”

VI

THE NIGHT

CAN A LEOPARD CHANGE HIS SPOTS?

Upon the 19th of September, Akshelah came in from her own little hut behind my shanty. Her cheeks were a wonderful ripe colour. She looked at me with large, sad eyes, and softly announced:

“She has come!”

I had already felt the exhilaration of the atmosphere, and I had been conscious of the raw, strong light, though I could not see outside, so I knew that the change had come. I did not put any question to Akshelah, but I must have looked it with my eyes.

She replied simply, “Mispoor,” and I went out.

Mispoor, the lovely cold goddess, had indeed come to us in the night, and all the country glared and shivered. The mountain ranges looked to have moved and come closer. Hanafin City was shrouded, and all things had increased in size. The water along the defile was the colour of indigo. The smoke hung in the stagnant air like thick lumps of wool. Here was Pepooa, and the night was upon us.

“We cannot go away now,” said a plaintive voice behind.

Akshelah was right. We could not go away while the night lasted. The prison bars were closing round us; the light went out fast; we were two occupants of the gilded prison called Bonanza, and we could not escape until the time of May, when the Spirit of the Green Mantles should tear open the waterways, and melt apart the bars of ice.

I went inside my shanty, and desolation and loneliness fell and settled over me. In all that busy cosmopolitan mining town I was alone. I was friendless and forsaken.

MacCaskill had left me. We had drifted apart gradually, because I would not join him in the saloon or at the faro table; he had bought a tent, and pitched it in Bonanza upon his claim, and there made merry with his new friends. Wealth had poured in upon him like the riches of an old tale. His claim had turned out to be the Eldorado hole of old Fagge. Hanafin and Redpath had each made the pardonable mistake of thinking that the treasure would be found immediately below the forks. Probably Leblanc had known that it was five hundred feet lower down, but Justice had overtaken him before he could make use of his ill-bought knowledge. MacCaskill was the lucky man, the drawer of the highest prize in this gigantic lottery. He had achieved the height of his ambition; he had found the gold which should satisfy all the cravings of avarice. Apart from his finds of the stone, he would frequently wash out over one hundred and fifty dollars in dirt alone per day.

At one time I thought that he must be gathering in his fortune fast--that fortune with which he hoped to retire to luxury in New York City, but I found myself in error. How did he spend his wealth? The city prices were not exorbitant. Flour cost nine dollars, fat bacon twenty-five, sugar seventeen for fifty pounds, beans ten dollars per bushel, and a pound of tea could be bought for two dollars.

But on a certain night MacCaskill made me enter the largest of the saloons upon Front Street. One half of the place was devoted to drinking, the other half to gambling.

My companion soon left me to join a gang, and I grew tired of waiting for him and came away.

Later I met Lennie, who was slipping downwards fast.

“Say!” he exclaimed, with unwonted eagerness but customary insobriety, “your ole pard Mac’s ben havin’ quite a bad streak. Heard of it?”

When I had replied, Lennie proceeded:

“He started out to run the faro bank dry, did Mac, an’ he’s ben cleared out of fourteen thousand dollars. Come and liquor.”

I refused, and walked away, Lennie jeering after me taunts of pride, because it was a bad breach of etiquette to refuse to drink. I was making myself unpopular that way, but I simply could not swallow the smoky, scorching spirit. Only a few minutes later I met MacCaskill, surrounded by a gang of half-drunken miners; he was himself half drunk, more with the madness of gambling than with liquor, and was swearing furiously that he had not finished with that faro bank.

“Wait till I lift a few more thousands outer my hole. I’ll bust it!” he shouted.

The gang passed on, MacCaskill not more than a yard from me; but already a great gulf spread between us. He had been changed by coming into Bonanza; I had remained the same.

Father Lacombe had gone. He had only spent a fortnight in Hanafin City. I was presented to him, and proclaimed my utter ignorance at once, because, not knowing how to address him, I asked the natural question whether he had come to mine.

“Yes,” he replied, his grey eyes lighting. “It is my idea to stake out and record the entire district.”

He asked me into his tent, and both then and on several subsequent occasions, because he was a man who never seemed to want sleep, unfolded to me another world, even more mysterious than the inside and outside worlds I already had knowledge of. When he had gone, another blank was made; but he sent a priest to form a mission, and this Father Casey came for me, and continued my education where his superior had left off. He was planning to erect a church in Hanafin City, and I had promised him five thousand dollars from my own rich finds.

Hanafin had gone. That was the saddest loss of all. He had been recalled by Government to make his report upon the new district, and on the 10th of September I had wrung his hand and said good-bye, and then turned away from the handsome aristocratic Englishman, who had deigned to be my friend, weary at heart, because I knew that I should never see him again. He would go home and marry his beautiful English sweetheart, and find the place that had been appointed for him. The Athabasca Mining Syndicate, Limited, paid good dividends, he had assured me, and later on I heard that he had made an assignment of the claim for a high figure. He had done very well, and I feel sure he deserved all his success. So on that morning when the snow came, which would not begin to melt until the following late April, I broke down under the realisation of my loneliness. Two men had declared themselves my partner--one an unprincipled rascal, who had always held a complete influence over me; the other as true as steel, and as weak as sand; both had deceived and forsaken me. I was alone, and yet--

An arm went round my neck, and a flushed face looked down on mine.

“You have lost your friends,” said a sad little voice. “But all the time I have had only you.”

And had it not been for her, should I have ever seen Bonanza?

I took Akshelah’s hand, and she sat beside me, and there we remained in silence, with the snow around us, and the ice coming up.

“I should not have come away, but he persuaded me. My father advised me to stay--with you. But I wanted to see what life was.”

“Ah, and you have seen it,” said Akshelah. Then, after a pause: “Do you like it?”

“I hate it.”

“And the women of the world--do you like them?”

I have referred to the women who had entered Hanafin City. Their numbers had grown of late; women wonderfully dressed in bright colours, with faces of careless strength and boldness, with cold eyes and mechanically laughing mouths. “Fine women,” MacCaskill had dubbed them. I thought of them when Akshelah spoke, and I looked at her large bright eyes, her delicate colouring, her soft fawn skin, her wealth of rich black hair. I mentally compared this maid of the outside with the women of the inside. So, I thought, would the great City of London, my birthplace inside the world, compare with my little home outside.

“Do you like the women?” Akshelah was asking again, and I answered her truly, and she was satisfied.

The day soon darkened, and the pale snow became ghastly when the arch of the aurora lit, and the livid spears lengthened and shortened across a clear black sky. The atmosphere lowered and tightened its hold upon us, as the grim frost began to assert its long rule, and the thermometer went down, far below zero, and still down. The close season had come.

I had five thousand dollars for Father Casey in the currency of the country, having made the exchange at the bank that morning. The money was fastened up into a little bundle, which I had left lying ready to hand, because there was little fear of anything being stolen in this mining town. Akshelah had gone out, and I was sitting alone in the lantern light, beside my cook-stove, when the fall of footsteps crunched the snow; a hand felt across the piece of canvas which did duty for a door; there was the sound of quick breathing; the flap gave way, and a well-known voice spoke familiarly:

“Good evening, Petrie!”

A terrible apparition introduced itself into my shanty. A tall figure, abnormally thin, with unspeakable rags clinging about it; an emaciated face, where two great cheek-bones protruded as though they must burst the skin; two pouches of bloodless flesh represented cheeks; two cold, deeply-sunken eyes; two large loose ears; a little grey hair, and a neck that had dwindled down to the dimensions of a stove-pipe. This was the Redpath who advanced to bend greedily over my glowing stove.

“An inclement night, my dear fellow. Really miserably cold and cheerless. Well, and how are you? Of course, I ought to have visited you long ago; but you know, perhaps, how peculiarly I have been situated. An incident of a painful nature has compelled me to retire into temporary seclusion. Even now I have to exercise supreme caution. Ah, excuse my clothes, Petrie. Anything goes in a mining camp, you know.”

The same as yesterday!

The living skeleton reached out a hand which made me shiver, and closed it upon my pipe. He looked round.

“I don’t see your tobacco. Ah, thanks.” He began to fill my pipe, but I noticed that it was only with the utmost difficulty he could maintain an upright position. “Well, and how are things? Going smoothly, eh? Confounded nuisance my being knocked out of it for the time. Excuse plain speaking, Petrie, but I really think you might have done a little more for me. I know it’s _sauve qui peut_ in gold-mining, as in most other things, and shove the hindmost to the devil. You needn’t remind me. Ah, well, bygones must be bygones. I thought I’d just trot round, look you up, and have a bit of supper with you, old man, to show there’s no ill-feeling on my part; but I daresay, with my usual inaccuracy, I’ve dropped in at the wrong time, and you’ve done your bite.”

He could talk in that strain though he was fainting, and absolutely starved. He began to sway to and fro, and sometimes groped blindly. I could not bear to look at him.

“I never expected to see you again,” I said.

“You thought Hanafin had driven me away?” Redpath spoke with the greatest difficulty, and the bony hand that clutched my still unlighted pipe shook in a horrid fashion. “I have been in hiding a few miles from Bonanza, awaiting my opportunity. It has been decidedly lonesome and, of course, annoying, because I have been compelled to furnish myself with supplies. I think you said that you have had your supper? Hanafin has gone, I hear. He could not find me, after all. He was wasted here ... admirable tactician ... clever in finesse ... sees the board with his mind ... always sure of his next move, anticipates yours.... You move one way--check ... you move another way--check ... then checkmate; down comes your number, and the lights go out Ah, God! What an earthquake!”

The unhappy wretch reeled about in an agony, stumbled against the stove, and cried like an animal when he felt his leg scorched. It was horrible to watch him being tortured, but with all his pride striving to conceal it.

I pushed him down upon a log of wood, and as quickly as I could put some food before his half-blind eyes, and gave him some hot whisky in a tin mug. It was marvellous how rapidly the food and drink acted. In a very short time Redpath was his cynical self again, and I noticed that he had the sense and the self-restraint to eat sparingly.

“I most sincerely beg your pardon,” he said with dignity. “It is altogether inexcusable to enter a man’s house and straightway make a scene before him. It is most unpardonable and ridiculous. The fact is, I breakfasted very early, found myself too busy to take luncheon, and this keen winter’s air acts suddenly upon an empty stomach and such a weak constitution as mine. You see, Petrie, we sometimes over-estimate our strength. We forget we are getting on in years.”

Then he again took up my pipe, lighted it, and smoked heartily. What was I to do with this man, who appeared to think that I had wronged him?

“It is not safe for you to be here,” I said. “Why don’t you go away?”

“That is impossible now that the winter has come,” said Redpath, as though pitying my ignorance. “Besides, this place has attractions for me. It has been the object of my life to attain. I have played my hand very badly, and must now suffer the consequences. I shall not go. Indeed, my finances happen to be too shaky to permit me to travel. There is plenty to be picked up about here.”

“Honestly?” I inquired.

His eyebrows went up.

“Spare me bathos,” he said entreatingly.

“Where is Olaffson?”

The expression on the human skeleton’s face altered.

“Ah, you may congratulate me there! He has gone, and, I trust, for ever. I can feel myself a free man now. Olaffson has really gone, and my malediction goes with him and after him.”

“Hadn’t you better go?” I suggested, following the train of thought. “If you are found in my shanty--”

“Ah, yes, I understand! Your skill in touching upon these delicate matters is very remarkable, Petrie. Why mince the matter? Let us say boldly that the law, as administered here so admirably, would exact a penalty from you were I to be discovered under your hospitable roof.” He poured himself out some more whisky. “Here is your very excellent health. All that you can possibly wish me do I wish you.”

He drank slowly, his eyes half shut.

“Good-night!” I said coldly.

“You good fellow!” said Redpath warmly, clasping my hand in his cold, bony grip. With his spare hand, I noticed, he was gathering up the scraps of food he had left, and stuffing the same somewhere among his rags. “With your never-failing good heart, you speed your parting guest Good-night, dear old boy! I’m coming round again very shortly, as I have a suggestion to lay before you. Make both our fortunes in a very little time. Good-night. Don’t come with me. I must slip along the back of the street, and ’ware soldiers.”

He went, my pipe in his mouth, and my plug of tobacco in his hand. Devoutly I hoped that I had seen the last of him.

I had promised to visit Father Casey that same night, to leave with him my little donation. I put on my hat, coat, and overshoes, and looked for my tiny bundle of money--that five thousand dollars.

Will it be believed that I looked in vain?

THE HUNTERS AND THE HUNTED

There were no October leaves to fall upon Hanafin City; the ragged spruce held its dark greenery, which looked black under the snow and glaze of ice, but all else was dead; not a bird flew, not an insect trumpeted, nothing marked the carpet of the covered cliffs. Where had the countless millions of mosquitos gone? Where the sable ravens, and the loons and divers? Nothing would be alive again until April. It was the time of the great silence.

Beginning at an hour before noon, and continuing until three, a glimmering of raw light visited us, a pale unhealthy ghost-light, without sun, and all the rest was night. Not darkness, because the aurora rose and set, and sometimes the uneven arch was white and brilliant; but generally it was smoky, and sometimes pale-blue and livid, and sometimes it was red and terrible. There it hung, swaying over us mysteriously, loaded with electricity, shivering, darting, whispering, and influencing our lives and movements by its moods. Everything was frozen. The temperature of eighty or ninety degrees of cold kept us working for warmth, and to rid ourselves of the superfluous electricity which that magnetic land poured into our bodies.

It was the close season for placer-mining, and there was only one thing we could do, namely, to drift out our pay streaks by burning. All the miners of Bonanza were thawing the frozen ground with fire, and they told me that this method of winter-mining had never been attempted before. First we cut away the moss and surface accumulations until solid ground was reached. In the hole thus made we would build a fire, and when this had died down we would throw out the ashes, and as much of the ground as had been thawed out, make another fire, and repeat the process, until we had burnt our way down to bed-rock. We would then build our fires against the bank of the hole, and drift sideways, moving perhaps one foot of pay-dirt each day. The dirt thus brought out we would dump in piles, to be left until spring, when water could be obtained to wash out the pay. I mention this to show how we passed the winter in Bonanza. Everywhere these fires were burning, and all day the smoke hung or drifted very slowly, in thick sheets like vast overhanging masses of wool.

My claim had not proved so rich as the one I had vacated, and yet it was impressed upon me that I had done very well. I had taken out altogether some eight thousand dollars, the bulk of which had been stolen by Redpath, and the greater part of what remained would be swallowed up in buying supplies during the winter. None of the men from the _Carillon_ had done any good, and Jim Morrison was a loafer about the city. Jake Peterssen, with many another, made a very substantial grub stake. MacCaskill was the one lucky man, who had struck a “world-beater,” but his wealth benefited only the saloon proprietors upon Front Street.

It was a day in November, when, after buying some tea and sugar at the store of the Bonanza Trading and Supply Association, during the short period of the glimmer, I became attracted by a notice suspended over the big stove. A knot of men were discussing the same loudly and angrily. I could read anything by that time, so I went up; and this is what I read:--

“The Citizens of Hanafin City are warned that there is a bad gang of
sneak-thieves around the place. Quite a few things, such as grub and
tools, have been missed around Bonanza. Old Man Septimus M‘Quatrain
had a fur cap and coat lifted out of his tent right on his claim,
Number Twenty-three Petrie Gulch. Bill Petro had a bag of dirt and
twenty pounds of bacon cycloned away from his dug-out. These are
just examples of what has been going on. The Citizens are requested
to keep their eyes skinned; and if any of them think they are upon a
good track, they will be doing the right thing to themselves and this
City if they communicate right off with the undersigned, or any of
the City councillors.

“ALEC. MACINNES,
“Mayor of Hanafin City.

“P.S.--Mind that bundle of money lifted off Rupe Petrie.”

The days crept on to the end of the month, and the thefts went on, too, while the public anger became hotter, and excitement fired the entire city. There are crimes worse than murder in the eyes of miners: such crimes as tampering with another man’s claim in the close season, taking a neighbour’s lawful water; but above all, opening and rifling an associate’s cache, the special act of guilt for which pardon can never be given. When any man is sentenced of robbing a cache, let that man be condemned!

One miner assured me that in the course of a long life spent about the gold-mines of the world, only two cases of this extreme guilt had ever come within his knowledge. The miner trusts his associates implicitly. Before going away, he will store his supplies, his tools, and his tent inside a cave, or in some hole, set his name upon the outside and his mind at rest, because he knows that no miner will touch his cache or its contents, however hard put to it he may be for supplies. The rascal who would rob a church will not touch a cache.

There were three quaint old men of Hanafin City, all as like each other as it was possible for men to be, named respectively Rod, Abe, and Pal, close friends, but not related. These men had come in during the beginning of August with a quantity of supplies, and had gone out about the middle of September, before the coming of the ice, after they had stored their possessions in a cache upon the partnership claim, which was 1,000 feet in length, and rectangular in form, going up the hill from the Akshelah. They were fine old gentlemen, very popular, true miners, who understood the science of their profession thoroughly. They went out to escape the night, with the idea of returning to work their claim in the spring.