Part 15

“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.