Part 2

Then he began to tell me something of the world--not the little outside world I had always lived in, but the great inside world which knew nothing of Yellow Sands, my home. He defined for me the two terms, poverty and wealth, and he told me incredible stories of lifelong struggle for that gold, which I had despised as gaudy trinkets for an Indian maid. He went on to describe to me the meaning of many things this gold will procure.

The abstract of this new learning showed me that I was a savage, a heathen, a man of no account, because I was outside. Much that MacCaskill told me remained then beyond my mental grasp, but I was naturally shrewd, and certain stupendous facts became uncovered, and stared at me nakedly. The dose of understanding was so powerful that my head ached with it, and my throat went dry.

The factor stopped and wiped his mouth. I found the voice to mutter:

“What can I do?”

The big man looked me up and down.

“Follow Redpath,” he said strongly.

The mere suggestion made me cold. My eyes rested upon the trees, the river and rocks, the Indian tepees, barely visible--all the surroundings that I had loved, and which had given me content, because I had thought the world had nothing better to offer.

“Leave Yellow Sands!” I exclaimed.

“Follow fortune,” muttered the factor. “Look at Redpath,” he went on warmly. “Fifty years old, I reckon, and maybe a villain in the first class. He’s after fortune yet. You’re twenty-one, though I allow you look five years older. You’ve got your chance. I know what you don’t, that you’re a grand specimen of a man. You can thank ole Petrie for that. Ye must stay by Redpath, and keep a strong arm over him, ’cause he’ll get ahead of you if he can; and if the gold pans out, and there’s a claim to spare, maybe you’ll mind ole Mac, who’s put you up to a thing or two to-day. Then you can go to London, where you were born, finish your education, and, if you’ve got the stuff, do any durned thing you want.”

“How did the man come?” I asked absently.

“Hudson Bay boat makin’ to Pine Island, I guess. They dropped him at the mouth of our river, and he worked up. He can’t get away till that boat comes back, which won’t be for three weeks. Where is he, anyhow?”

I did not know myself. Redpath had disappeared as he came.

“He’s got a camp in the bush. Look-a-here, Rupe. He don’t want to see ye again. He’s got what he came for--”

“He promised to be my partner,” I interrupted.

MacCaskill frowned.

“I guess I’ll be telling you now what sort of an insect a humbug is.”

I listened, as the sun rose up in the sky, until there came to me a desire for liberty, and a longing to see those things of which the factor spoke. If I were a strong man, if I were qualified to take a place among others, why, surely I was wasted in Yellow Sands, and lost in the bush, among the animals and the Indians. It would be better to go, even though the parting might make me unhappy for a time. MacCaskill went on:

“Antoine will go on livin’ on the homestead. I’ll be over once in a while, and if you do want to come back and waste like old man, why, you can. But you won’t.”

Then I went away to hunt for Redpath. I was as skilled in tracking as any Indian, so I quickly picked up the tracks at the entrance to the bush, and had commenced to follow them, when Akshelah walked sadly from among the trees. She had been tracking me.

“You are going away,” she said at once, and there was no trace of a smile upon her face.

“Who told you?” I answered, feeling uncomfortable about her sorrow.

“When a white man goes away, he does not come back. Never! never! He goes to his own people, and they hold him, and he does not want to come back.”

“Akshelah,” I said, “my father is dead, and I must avenge him.”

At once the girl’s face changed, even as water will change when the sun falls across it. Vengeance was a religious duty in her creed, and she would regard the man who should allow a dead father to sleep unavenged as something lower than a coward. She smiled again, though the smile was still sad.

“When you have done your duty, you will come back?” she said very softly, and I gave her the promise which her heart desired. “Those are bad men who came to you in the night,” said she. “He who is tall, with the great face, is a man of lies. The little man, who has a white face like the belly of a fish, will be moved like sand when it is dry.”

I looked from her expressive face down upon the well-beaten bush path. Now that she had spoken, I discovered the tracks of two men, and I also learnt that friends, as well as foes, had watched for me during the night.

“Listen,” said the girl. “One of the young men saw your enemies coming over the sand where the river touches the great water, and he came to tell me. So I told the young man to follow, and he saw the tall man come to your tepee, but the little man watched where the bush begins. The tall man came back, and the two went away together.”

I had moved on while Akshelah was speaking, but the girl’s eyes were keener than mine that day. She picked up a half-burnt match, and called, “This way the men went.” I joined her, and we passed on through the bush, seldom stopping, for Akshelah was never in doubt, and scarce an hour had gone before she whispered to me, “Smoke.” Presently I, too, caught the acrid odour above the sweetness of the pines. We went on cautiously, until we heard the cracking of sticks in the fire, and soon we were beside the camp, and saw a tent set among the pines, and a small man crouching beside the fire. We walked out, and I called:

“Where is Redpath?”

The little man started round, and his uneasy eyes passed from me to the girl, and then on blankly to the bush.

“I am Rupe Petrie, his partner,” I went on. “Has he gone to the Fort?”

“Gone shootin’,” said the little man shortly. “Might a-gone to the Fort. Ain’t my racket.”

“Why are you camping in the bush?” I said. “You can come to my shanty.”

“You may be eaten by flies here,” added Akshelah, somewhat as though she hoped the thing might come to pass.

The little man made a shuffling reply, and Akshelah availed herself of his discomfort.

“You are his servant,” she said, with much scorn. “I would not be that man’s servant if I were a man.”

The listener flushed faintly, and poked at his fire, but he would not give any answer, so I made to go.

“I have lots of food at the homestead,” I said. “If Redpath wants any he can come for it. I will share with him as I said I would.” And with these words we came away.

That evening I went to clean out the cow-byre, and while thus occupied I saw the tall figure of Redpath come clear of the bush, and after a certain hesitation, proceed towards my home. I was about to go out and meet him, when the lessons I had received from MacCaskill that day advised me to alter my mind. Obviously the man had come to discuss his plans, and it would only require a few questions for him to discover that I was in complete ignorance of what was written on the paper he had taken from my hand the previous night. I slipped at once round the building, and passed down to the river, and on to the native encampment. On my return Antoine informed me that Redpath had asked for some fresh meat, and had taken away with him the greater part of a quarter of moose.

At the dead of night another visitor came to me. I was aroused from sleep by a voice whispering hoarsely about the house, and when I had struck a light a small figure came towards me from the door, and I saw the white shifting face of Olaffson, the Icelander, for that was the name of the little man we had found by the camp fire in the bush. He made a warning motion, and then sat down beside me.

“Say, have you spoke wi’ Redpath?” he muttered. I was still so surprised at the strangeness of this visit that I did not answer him at once, and he went on: “He’s no pard of mine, see. I’m with him for what I make. If I came over to you I should make more, eh?”

“This is a trick of Redpath’s,” I said angrily, forcing myself up. “He’s waiting outside now?”

“He’s sleepin’ like a dead man,” said the Icelander. “See now. He got that paper from you, and he knows what’s on it. You know. I don’t. He carries it on him by day, an’ hides it nights. What d’yer say, eh?”

He little thought that I was as ignorant as himself.

“So you want to give your friend away?” I said.

“Redpath ain’t no friend of mine,” said the little scoundrel. “You ain’t either; but I surmise you’d pay me better’n he has. I’m square when I get good pay.”

His white face gleamed unpleasantly by my bedside.

“You want me to show you the place where the gold is?” I suggested, making a double hazard.

“That’s right. We’d go together an’ fight off Redpath, see! You’re strong. We’d work the place, share and share, or each for hisself. Redpath don’t mean you or me neither to have any.”

“There’s enough for all of us,” I said, again at a venture.

“That don’t do for Redpath. He never could share. Gimme a ear, pard. No listeners.”

The little wretch put his horrid face close to mine, and whispered the shocking proposal that, as a consideration for my letting him into the secret, he should murder Redpath in his sleep.

I rose in horror, but when I threatened to throw him out of the house, the Icelander grinned at me.

“Killin’ a man in the bush ain’t much of a job,” he muttered.

“Get out!” I said. “Get out!”

Olaffson backed slowly.

“If I ain’t wi’ you, I’m wi’ Redpath,” he threatened.

“If you were with me, you would sell me to someone else.”

“Not if you paid me well.”

“Take yourself out of the place!” I cried angrily; and the little scoundrel went.

By this I made myself the enemy of Olaffson, the Icelander.

Midway between my homestead and the native encampment lay an open space, where grass and flowers grew strongly, and butterflies played throughout the day. This had always been a favourite spot of mine. On the river side an untenanted ant-mound had become covered by natural green, and this afforded a very comfortable resting-place for one, and a possible one for two, as Akshelah and I had proved. It was our favourite meeting-place, and in order that it might not become invaded by the bush, I had lately given a day to lopping back the encroaching branches and tendrils, and cutting off the shoots of young trees which here and there had tried to take possession in the grass.

Upon the following afternoon, or it might have been the early evening, for I seem to remember that the sun was coming low, I was running to this open space--running, because I had promised to meet Akshelah, and I was well after the appointed time. I had been delayed at the Fort. Truth to tell, MacCaskill was teaching me my letters, and my eagerness to learn was so great that I had temporarily forgotten my beautiful country maid. I was nearing our patch of natural garden, when I heard the sudden sound of a human struggle.

The trained ear does not mistake such sounds, nor can it confuse them with the stir made by animals fighting or at play. For one moment I stopped, that I might be sure of my bearings, but while thus motionless, a cry rang startlingly forth, not of fear, but in defiance, and it was the cry of Akshelah; but it was cut short, as though a hand had closed upon her throat.

I had never known what it was to lose control over my strength, but I had learnt much since my father’s death, so that it became merely fitting for the animal side of my nature to receive its lesson. The trees seemed to rise and float away from me; a hot hand inside my body jumped up to my throat; a mist closed before my eyes, and the sunlight appeared to glint with a red glow. I felt my feet flying under me, and the bushes giving or breaking as they went by.

I sprang panting over the ant-mound, and two figures resolved themselves out of the mist--Akshelah fighting upon her knees, a thin line of blood joining her nostril and lip, and over her the tall, leaning figure of Redpath, his great hands holding her throat, his eyes hideous, and his flabby face white and slimy. I was mad. I was a wild beast, with no control, and with no human knowledge.

I crossed the interval of grass at one bound--another; and while I descended, I struck out with my left arm, and my wiry fingers met the dull, loose flesh of the adventurer with the hard shock of a great bullet smashing into a tree. I threw myself after the blow, and when that terrible heat of rage and brute strength had cooled, I was sprawling across the body of Redpath, and he was stretched as he fell, making a strange shape along the grass.

Akshelah wiped the blood from her face, and as I rose, she came upon me; and when I clasped her pretty body in my arms, she kissed me passionately. And while she kissed me, I wondered how it was that men set so much store upon gold.

I lifted Redpath’s head. He was breathing heavily; his skin was cold, and to touch it was like handling a fish.

“Run to the encampment, little squirrel,” I said, calling Akshelah affectionately after her totem. “Send a boy to bring the Icelander here.”

The girl came up to me, deliberately wreathed her warm arms about my neck, lightly caressed my forehead with hers, and went quickly to do my bidding, without a word.

Then I removed from Redpath’s breast-pocket a case, which contained the well-preserved piece of paper that had belonged to my father. Sitting upon the ant-mound, my body still quivering from its late passion, I awaited the coming of the Icelander.

So I made myself the enemy of Redpath, the Englishman.

A LAND OF HIDDEN TREASURE

The voices of the bush sang a changed song during my night walk. The moon came out over the ridges and lit up the flagstaff, and faintly illumined the thread of smoke ascending from the single stove-pipe chimney of the Fort.

I walked across the furrowed fire-break, where a few pink briars lingered, and opened the door of the low, whitewashed building, with the lack of ceremony to which I had always been accustomed.

MacCaskill sat at his table, making entries in a big ledger. He looked up morosely, nodded, and his big head went again over his writing.

“Three gallons fish-oil,” he muttered, speaking each word as he set it down, “at one blanket, value four, seventy-five. Profits ain’t what they was when furs were plentiful. Well, what’s the latest racket?”

I came over to his side and opened the sheet of paper upon the table, smoothing the ragged edges with my flat hand.

The factor’s face changed, and he stopped drawing in his smoke, but looked up from the table and scanned me narrowly.

“Which goes to say,” he said in a deep voice, “that you and Redpath have been havin’ a match, and you’ve come in Number One.”

“Not a word has passed between us,” I said.

“Give me deeds every time,” muttered MacCaskill.

He brought his head nearer the table, and I waited for his next word. “Bonanza” was that word; and then a silence came between us, until the factor left his seat, and stood upright against the stove.

“What does it mean?” I exclaimed.

MacCaskill drew a sulphur match along the top of the stove, and let it splutter and burn until the flame touched his fingers. Then he dropped it unused.

“You’re twenty-one, and I’m sixty-five. You’re fresh, and I’m spoilt. You’ve got everything before you, and all mine’s ’way behind. There’s that difference between us.” Then he burst out: “I don’t know that a man can get too old for this one thing. I’ve had a bad, lonely, useless life.” He struck another match violently, flung it away, as though he tried to throw off his weight of years. “Darn me if I don’t begin all over again!” He came to me, his great face agitated. “Redpath asked you to be his pard, did he? You’ve broke with him to-night; and if you want another pard, he’s right here before you. Is it a go?”

He gave me his strong hand, and I knew that I had won a friend.

Then he spoke to me regarding Bonanza, the place of gold, my father’s secret, while I told him of my meeting with Redpath, and of the punishment I had given him.

“For a woman!” the factor said grimly. “Wait till you know the world, and you’ll find that the woman comes in everywhere. Watch out when you’re walkin’ lone in the bush, and fasten your door nights. Redpath won’t forget that knock-down; and mind, you’re standin’ in his way all the time.”

I asked him what he thought of Olaffson, and he answered with scorn:

“Just a crooked tool. He’d stick a knife into his brother if there was anything comin’ to him for the job.”

The factor reached for his straw bonnet, and announced his intention of going down to the encampment.

“I must get one of the boys to start first thing in the morning, to take a message along to Fort Determination. I want someone to take my place here right away,” he explained. “Redpath’ll have to wait for the _Lac Seul_. We’ll go by canoe, and get ahead of him at the start.”

We had not left the sparkling river, after visiting the native encampment, when MacCaskill asked abruptly:

“Anything else in that chest of your ole father’s, Rupe? Always been thinkin’ of it when you weren’t handy?”

What a fool I had been! I had completely forgotten that packet of letters, after I had taken and hidden them in a box under the floor. My companion proposed that he should come at once and examine them, so we turned off into the bush, where the dew showed like points of light, and on to my homestead, which was dark and silent, for Antoine was already asleep. Entering, I closed the door, and after lighting the lamp I dug out the box, and handed its contents over to MacCaskill.

One by one he glanced them through, and pronounced them for the most part unimportant.

“No use worryin’ out old man’s back life,” he said. “Most o’ these are from his gal, your mother, addressed to him at Seymour Place, Hyde Park, London, England. A copy of his marriage certificate. Another of your baptism. Better keep that. You don’t know what it means, but you will one time, maybe, if you strike a missionary. Now, here’s something a bit different: ‘Your sincere friend, Francis Redpath’; headed, ‘Forsyth Mansions, Victoria Street.’ P’r’aps that is London again. Golden Jerusalem! He’s promising to be your father’s best man; postscript, ‘Anything from J. F.?’”

MacCaskill’s busy fingers pulled out another letter, and, as he read, he fell into indistinctness. At last his hands dropped.

“Shall I tell you, lad, or shall I just say it’s bad and burn it, and leave you to guess?”

“Tell me,” I said, as anyone else would have done.

The factor picked up the letter, and read:

“‘It is common knowledge that you killed Joe Fagge that night, and there will be as little mercy for you as you showed to that poor old devil, when you are taken. You have deceived and ruined me, and though you are at present out of my reach, you must know, my good Petrie, that I shall find you, if I hunt long enough. I have set my mind upon having the old man’s secret, and I shall have it. If you try to withhold it from me, I am afraid I shall have to kill you. Remember me. I don’t give up a search, if I fail twenty times.’”

The factor folded up the sheet.

“That’s enough,” he said. “No address. I guess it was brought to ole Petrie by someone who wouldn’t give his hiding-place away. Now we know why he wasted his life away here. I thought maybe ’twas something like it, and Redpath’s got here, as he said he would, though he didn’t get in until old man had his notice to quit.”

His words came booming at my ears.

“Father was never a murderer,” I said.

“I knew old man, and now I know Redpath. If I was asked to pick out the murderer, I wouldn’t stop to choose. Now here’s something else. Golden gates! Listen, Rupe. Listen to this.”

He read out slowly:

“‘The true statement of James Petrie.’ That’s your father, lad. That’s old man. And this is gospel, for he never wanted it to be read while he was alive. Listen to this, I tell ye.”

I was listening with both my ears, while the night quivered and murmured around my home. MacCaskill began to read:

“‘It was late in the fall of 1874 when Joe Fagge made his accidental discovery of Bonanza. He was accompanied only by the half-breed Leblanc, who was in camp when the old man made the great find of the hole, and who was kept in ignorance, I imagine, of the whole thing. As it was too late to do anything until the next season, Fagge returned south, and settled to winter in Portage la Prairie, where he came against Redpath, who at the time was speculating in land, and, as usual, doing no good. Both he and I knew Fagge well enough, and we had often received from him useful hints regarding promising localities for gold-finding.

“‘The old man was the cleverest, and most eccentric, miner in the whole north-west; but in that winter of 1874 his brain began to fail, and when given a little liquor he could be brought to talk about his one great discovery. Redpath knew his weakness, and kept close to the old man to hinder him from giving away the secret to others; but Joe had a violent dislike for Redpath, and refused to give him any details as to the bearings of Bonanza.