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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0392e4a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62533 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62533) diff --git a/old/62533-0.txt b/old/62533-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8e3f296..0000000 --- a/old/62533-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11015 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Saint of the Speedway, by Ridgwell Cullum - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Saint of the Speedway - -Author: Ridgwell Cullum - -Release Date: July 1, 2020 [EBook #62533] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SAINT OF THE SPEEDWAY *** - - - - -Produced by ellinora, Susan Carr and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - - - - The Saint of the Speedway - ------------------------- - - Ridgwell Cullum - - - - - The Saint - - of - - The Speedway - - by - - Ridgwell Cullum - - McClelland and Stewart - Publishers : : Toronto - - - - - Copyright, 1924, - - By George H. Doran Company - - [Illustration] - - - The Saint of the Speedway - - --B-- - - Printed in the United States of America - - - - - Foreword - - -If the reader will cast a thought back to the classic sea mystery -of the _Marie Celeste_, it will be clear how much this book owes -its inception to the extraordinary derelict, the mystery of which -remains unsolved to this day. But the author disclaims any attempt -in the following pages to offer a solution of the mystery and has -only used certain of the features surrounding the condition of the -_Marie Celeste_ at the time she was found abandoned in mid-ocean -for the purposes of his story-narrative. - - - - - Contents - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I The Adventurers 11 - - II The Headland 23 - - III In Beacon Glory 40 - - IV The Great Disaster 55 - - V Eight Months Later--On the Lias River 68 - - VI A Bunch of Humanity 82 - - VII The Speedway 94 - - VIII The Man from Lias River 104 - - IX The Aurora Clan 121 - - X The Haunt of the Clansmen 134 - - XI The Wreck at the River Mouth 142 - - XII The _Limpet_ of Boston 156 - - XIII The “Come-back” 169 - - XIV In the Sunshine 179 - - XV The Man from the Hills 196 - - XVI The Lazaret 209 - - XVII Links in a Chain 225 - - XVIII McLagan Achieves an End 243 - - XIX McLagan Returns from the Hills 256 - - XX The Last of the Moving Shadow 276 - - XXI Julian Caspar at Bay 289 - - XXII The Quitting 311 - - XXIII The Passing of the “Chief-Light” 322 - - - - - The Saint of the Speedway - - - - - CHAPTER I - - The Adventurers - - -It was a time of tense emotion. Each was a-surge with an almost -uncontrollable excitement as the two men moved up the whole length -of the riffled sluice. Neither uttered one single word. But they -moved slowly on either side of the long, primitive, box-like -construction, keeping pace, each with the other, as though in a -mutual desire that such fortune as was theirs should be witnessed -together, as though neither had courage to face alone the -possibilities of this their first serious “washing.” - -At each riffle the men paused. The more emotional of the two, Len -Stern, thrust out a hand and stirred the deposit lying there. And -at each stirring the same result was revealed. The riffles were -filled with deposit. On the top was a spread of lighter soil, with -here and there a dull yellow protrusion thrusting above it. But -under this lay a solid thickness of pure alluvial gold in dust -and smaller nuggets. From the top end of the sluice-box to the -mouth which disgorged the red soil upon the miniature mountain -of tailings below it, it was the same. There was not one single -riffle that was not laden to its capacity with the precious metal. - -They came to a halt at the head of the box. Len Stern stood for -a moment gazing down its narrow channel. But Jim Carver was -disinclined for any dreaming. Stolid, practical, for all the -emotion of those amazing moments, he climbed up the light trestle -work and shut off the water stream which had supplied the washing. -Then he dropped again to the ground and waited. - -The stream of water fell away, and instantly the torrid heat of the -sun began to dry up the woodwork. And as his gaze passed down over -the succession of riffles the unshining yellow of their precious -burden suggested a golden pathway the whole length of the sluice. - -“It makes you feel good, Len,” he said quietly, for all the burning -excitement in his big blue eyes. - -The other nodded as though the thing he were contemplating had left -him speechless. - -Jim Carver eyed him shrewdly. Then he glanced up at the blazing -tropical sky. He gazed down at the slow-moving river, meandering on -between jungle-grown banks on its way to the bay, less than five -miles distant. Finally he bestirred himself. - -“We best clean this wash up, Len,” he said. “We best clean it up -an’ take it right back to camp. It’s feed time.” - -He started to work at the top riffle, and Len Stern came back to -realities. - -“Sure,” he agreed. And at once joined in the work. “Say, Jim, do -you get it?” he cried, glancing quickly at the mountain of pay dirt -they had spent months in accumulating, standing ready for washing. -“We guessed to wash a ton. Maybe it was, more or less. Ther’s not -ounces in these riffles--no, ther’s--ther’s pounds!” - -Jim nodded as he laboured. - -“It’s the biggest ‘strike’ ever made in the world,” he admitted in -a tone that might well have been taken for one of grudging. - - * * * * * - -It was the northwest coast of Australia, the coast of that almost -unexplored region which is one of the few remote territories of the -world still retaining its fabulous atmosphere of romance. - -It was on the shores of a wide, shallow bay where a small river -abruptly opened out its land arms in welcome to the tropical ocean. -Sun-scorched, fleshy vegetation grew densely almost to the water’s -edge, keeping dank and fever-laden the suffocating atmosphere -within its widespread bosom. Yet only was it this merciful shade -that made life endurable to sensitive human creatures. - -The sun was at its zenith, a furious disc of molten heat in a -brazen sky. The sea at the river mouth lay dead flat under its -burning rays, except for the ripple where some huge submarine -creature disturbed its surface. Not a breath of air was stirring to -relieve the suffocating atmosphere. - -The two men were lounging in the shade of the wattle walls of -their reed-thatched shelter. It was built amidst a cluster of -dense-growing trees, and the site looked out over the brilliant -bay. They had long since eaten, and were now awaiting the cooling -of the day before returning to their labours. - -They were youthful adventurers, foreigners to the country in which -they found themselves. They were northerners, far-northerners, from -the great snow-crowned hills of Alaska. They had set out on their -adventure as a result of listening to the flimsiest, most fanciful -yarn that ever a half-vagrant Chinaman had dispensed out of the -remote cells of his drug-laden imagination. And as a result, that -day, after two-and-a-half years of marooning on a coast peopled -only by none too friendly blacks, and in the heart of a jungle -alive with every bug and beast and reptile of a pestilential -nature, they had, at long last, proved beyond every question of -doubt that Charlie Wun Lee had, for once in his life, fallen a -victim to sheer veracity. - -For all its usually incredible source, the story, which had set -these men wandering in the world’s remote places, had had a curious -ring of reality in it. Charlie Wun Lee was a queer, reasonably -honest, far-travelled old Chinaman who dispensed ham and eggs to -belated travellers in a squalid frame house in their home town -of Beacon Glory, hidden away in the hill country of Alaska. And -his story had been inspired by sheer friendliness for two men who -found themselves in a position where the outlook for livelihood was -completely threatening. - -He had told them he knew where there was more gold than the world -had ever seen before, and both being gold men their appetites had -been at once whetted. - -Briefly, his story was that he had been shipwrecked when he was -cook on an Australian coasting vessel. The ship went to pieces, -but he and six others reached land after terrible privations. All -they knew about their whereabouts was that it was the coast of -Australia somewhere on the northwest of the continent. It was a -country of unbearable heat and fever-haunted jungle. They were -marooned on this coast for more than a year, keeping body and soul -together with such food as they could collect from the sea and -the forest. Fortunately, they had little need for clothing, for -they discovered not a living soul, and no indication, even, of the -blacks whom they knew peopled these regions of the country. But -during that long, desperate year one by one his white companions -had died off, victims of a subtle jungle fever that killed them -slowly and painfully, until only he and one other were left alive. -This stealing death frightened him. The dank jungle became a place -of dread. So he and his last remaining companion took to the river -and sought to reach the hills out of which it sprang. - -But they never reached the hills. No. The river claimed them. -They forgot their fears. They forgot even their contemplated -destination. In his own graphic fashion he told them the river was -alive with gold. Gold looked up at them out of the pay dirt which -composed its bed throughout its whole course. Oh, yes. They tried -it out with such means as they had to their hands. But they only -collected nuggets of reasonable size and troubled nothing with -“dust.” They collected a large quantity and secreted them, and -it was this store that ultimately started him on the way to the -prosperity he now enjoyed. - -After this he endeavoured to study the coast line with a view to -making a chart at such time as he might be rescued, for he had -never given up the hope that they would ultimately be rescued. And -sure enough they were. A storm-driven coasting vessel ran into the -mouth of the river for shelter. - -They were taken on board and clothed. But they kept their secret -of the gold, determined, should opportunity ever offer, to come -again and work it. On the plea of desiring to know the position of -the territory which had been so disastrous to them, the skipper of -the boat was induced to give them the exact bearings of the river -mouth, and later, Charlie Wun Lee inscribed it on his rough chart -which he produced in corroboration of his story. He also produced -for his audience a couple of nuggets of gold which he declared he -had kept as a souvenir ever since. - -But he shook his head sadly over them when he told how opportunity -never came of returning to collect the gold awaiting him. His -companion died on the way to Sydney, a victim of the jungle fever, -the germs of which had contrived to impregnate him. And he--well, -other things came his way and he did not fancy facing the hateful -coast alone. Besides, he did very well with the laundry he started -in Sydney until he got burnt out, and finally migrated to Alaska. -No, he assured them, he would rather dispense ham and eggs at two -dollars a time in Beacon Glory than go back for that gold. Besides, -his little gambling parlour at the back of his restaurant was not -so bad a gold mine. - -Well, anyhow, there it was. It was true what he had told them. -Every word of it. And if they liked they could have the chart as -a present. And when they came back with all the gold they needed, -if the jungle fever didn’t get hold of them and they felt like -making him a present in return, well, he would very gladly receive -it. But, whether they chose to go after it or not, he wanted them -to know that the thing he had told them was no fairy story, but -the real truth, which was a wholly inadequate illustration of the -reality of wealth he had seen there. - -Now they knew the real extent of the debt they owed to the friendly -little dispenser of ham and eggs. But they also knew now, after -the fierce excitement of witnessing the result of the first -real washing had subsided, the immensities of the proposition -confronting them. As yet neither had uttered a word of doubt or -anxiety. But the thought of the potentialities of the situation was -looming heavily. - -Jim Carver’s blue eyes were turned upon the sunlit bay. He was -deeply engrossed, not in the wonders of the tropical scene set out -before him, but in a train of teeming thought. His pipe was his -only real comfort on this intolerable coast, and he was enjoying -it to the uttermost at the moment. Len Stern’s dark eyes were upon -the small mountain of raw gold heaped on an outspread flour sack on -the sun-baked ground in front of him, which represented the result -of their first “clean-up.” Whatever worries lay back of his mind -his mercurial temperament refused to be robbed of one moment of the -delight which this tangible result of their labours afforded. - -“Man, I feel I just want to holler!” he cried in a sudden outburst, -breaking up the silence which was so much their habit. “Say, I just -can’t get a grip on the nature of a boy who sits around doping out -ham an’ eggs with the knowledge of a thing like this back of his -mind. He’s all sorts of a sheer damn fool----” - -“Is he?” - -Jim had removed his pipe. He had turned his big, thoughtful eyes on -the man contemplating the heaped treasure. Len was gazing at him, -his smile of delight completely passed from his dark face. - -They were both big creatures. Broad, and enormously muscular, a -picture of virile capacity and latent human energy. Jim’s eyes -were frankly wide and blue as the distant sea, set in a face whose -skin lent itself to a deep, florid sunburn. Len was dark-eyed and -dark-skinned. He was burned to the mahogany of a nigger. Both were -clad in barely sufficient clothing to meet the demands of decency. - -For a moment Len stared at his companion. Then his smile slowly -returned. - -“Say, Jim, boy, ain’t ther’ a darn thing in all this to set you -crazy to shout?” He shook his head. “It’s no sort of use. Your -head’s always ready to shelter every old bogey it can collect. Two -an’ a bit years of hell! That’s what it’s been. The folks guessed -we were bug. The yarn of a ham-slingin’ Chink. A river of gold! -An’ I guess we came nigh breakin’ our folks for outfit. Well, it’s -ours. All of it. An’ I guess we can pay our folk a hundred times -over. It’s a strike to unship the world’s financial balance. Psha! -It’s so big----” - -“That’s the trouble, Len. It’s too big.” - -Len flung his head back in a boisterous laugh. - -“Too big?” he cried scornfully. “It just couldn’t be!” - -“It could. It is.” - -Jim’s unyielding tone promptly brought the other to seriousness. - -“How?” he asked soberly. “Maybe I’ve got some of your notion. But -let’s talk it out.” - -Jim knocked out his pipe and refilled it. He lit it thoughtfully. -Then he turned smilingly to his friend. - -“Say, I’m as crazy for this thing as you, boy,” he said in his -quiet way. “But I don’t figger to let it snow my senses under. -You’re right. It’s been two years an’ more of hell gettin’ it, and -we want it all, after that. But I seem to see something of what was -back of Charlie’s mind quittin’ the game an’ never returning to it. -Get a look down there.” He pointed at a rough sheltered landing -with a tubby, cutter-rigged fishing smack lying moored there. -“That’s our link with the world outside. An’ we got to get out not -pounds, but tons of metal if I’m a judge. We got to market it an’ -keep it quiet, or we’ll have the Australian Government jumping in -on us, to say nothing of all the rest of the world.” He shook his -head. “How’s it to be done? It can’t.” - -“But it can. It must!” - -Len’s whole manner had undergone a complete transformation. All -the excited delight had passed out of his eyes. They had suddenly -become hard, and shrewd, and full of keen resolution. The thought -of failure with the prize in their hands had stirred him to a -feeling like that of a mother who sees her offspring about to be -snatched from her arms. He was ready to fight with the last breath -of life for this thing he so dearly coveted. - -“Here, you can’t tell me a thing I haven’t thought, Jim,” he cried. -“All this stuff’s been in my brain tank ever since we bought that -barge of ours down in Perth. I’d got it all then. An’ I planned it -all before we beat it up the coast in that old coaster, with our -craft on a tow-line. You’re right. It’s got to be a secret. If we -shout we’ll lose half the game. Maybe we’ll lose it all. We’re not -going to shout. No. I best tell you, an’ we’ll sort out the metal -from the tailings. You’ve a cautious head and a clear brain. Maybe -you’ll see any weak spot lying around.” - -Jim nodded in ready agreement. He had achieved his purpose. Len was -down to hard facts. - -“This is the thing I got planned,” Len went on, dipping his -hands into the pile of gold and letting it sift back between his -hard-worn fingers. “We’ve got to get a third feller into our -game--on commission. We got to think wide and act wide. We got -to play a red-hot game, an’ play it good. Ther’s got to be no -weakening, an’ if any feller we work with plays the skunk he’s got -to get his med’cine short. You get that?” - -Jim made no reply, but the look in his eyes was sufficient. - -“Well, here it is,” Len went on quickly. “If we dope this stuff -out free we’ll break the market, and set every news-sheet shouting -from one end of the world to the other. And the folks’ll jump in -an’ shut us down. We’re sort of in the position of the feller who -can transmute base metal. No. When we’ve a big enough bunch of -stuff out I’m going to take a big trip down to Perth. I’m going -to get a guy with a tramp ship, a Windjammer for preference. I’m -going to fix up with him; he’ll get a handsome commission on our -trade of gold, and I’m going to bring him along up and have him -stand off down the coast a few miles, an’ then, with this old barge -of ours, I’ll come along and pick up all we got, an’ haul it back -aboard of his ship. Then you’re going right along with him and the -stuff, and you’re going to travel from port to port and dispose of -it for credit at such banks as will trade in smallish parcels. And -meanwhile, I’ll stop right here on this coast an’ get stuff out -ready for when you come back. Then I’ll take a trip, an’ you’ll -stop around. An’ when we’ve sold all we need we’ll--quit. It’s the -only way, Jim. We got to play the smugglin’ game, an’ play it -good. We got to take chances. Mighty big chances! I got to trust -you, an’ you got to trust me, an’ we got to trust that skipper by -makin’ it worth his while an’ keeping a gun pushed ready. Ther’s -got to be no weakening. It’s the only way I can see to put our -play through. Otherwise, our gold ain’t worth hell room to us. Do -you see it? Are you on? I want you to make that first trip because -you got folks needing you worse than any one needs me. That’s one -reason. The other is I want you to feel I’m putting right into your -hands my share, and I’m not worrying a thing because that’s so. -See? We know each other. We’re on the square. An’ the thing I want -from you is to keep the commission guy on the same angle. Well?” - -“It’s the sort o’ thing I had in mind, Len, only I hadn’t got it -clear like you.” - -Jim knocked out his pipe and stood up stretching himself, while he -gazed out over the flat calm of the bay. - -“It goes. Sure it does,” he said readily. “An’ I’m glad for that -thought that made you have me make the first trip. It’s kind of -generous, Len. But it’s like you. Gee, I’m sick of this coast! Say, -can you beat it? Here we are, two fellers takin’ every chance in -life to make an honest grub stake out of no-man’s land, and to do -that we got to hunt our holes like gophers, lest folks get wise -to us an’ snatch it from us. It sort of makes you wonder. But you -know, Len, this river’s too rich. I sort of feel that. I kind of -feel the thing’s not goin’ to be as easy as you make it seem. But -we’re goin’ to see it through to the end. An’ God help the feller -that starts in to rob us! Yes, it’s a kind thought of yours, -sending me on the first trip. I got a mother an’ a dandy sister -who’ll likely bless you for this. I guess they’re hard put all -right, and the thought’s had me worried for months. Say----” - -He turned towards the river and glanced up at the sky. Len laughed. - -“That’s all right, Jim. I’m ready all the time,” he said. “It ain’t -work gettin’ back on the river. It’s play. Come on. We’re going to -get out half a ton of stuff,” he laughed, as he sprang to his feet. -“Then I’ll make Perth, an’ buy up that tramp skipper.” - -He moved off beside his partner, leaving his golden pile just where -it lay. And together they passed out of the shelter of the trees. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - The Headland - - -The woman was standing in the doorway of her log-built home. She -was gazing out over the waters of the creek below her which flowed -gently on to the distant Alsek River. A mood of quiet contemplative -happiness was shining in her dark eyes. It was the mother soul in -her that was stirred to a deep sense of happy satisfaction. - -Rebecca Carver was a smallish, sturdy, vigorous creature something -past the middle of life. She had lived hardly enough in the harsh -Alaskan territory that had bred her and had always remained her -home. And even now, with advancing years, and a body sometimes only -barely equal to the onslaught of its pitiless climate, she had not -even a momentary desire to leave it. - -But then she had not lived unhappily. The years of her wifehood had -been passed in the exciting, many-coloured, chequered life which -ever falls to the lot of those who devote themselves to the crazy -uncertainties of the quest of gold. No. Her life had never been -monotonous. And besides the excitement of it all she had had her -son, and daughter, and her man, and these alone would have been -sufficient to keep an atmosphere of smiling contentment in her -woman’s heart. - -Now, however, her man had long since gone. Her son was far away, -fending for them and himself as best he might. She only had her -daughter remaining with her, but the girl was the pride and joy of -her loyal heart; a blue-eyed, beautiful creature who never failed -to remind her, to her contented satisfaction, of the cheerful, -reckless, gambling husband who had been her strong support in the -hard years of their life together. - -Circumstances were hard-pressing with her now. They had pressed -heavily ever since the death of her husband. The future was full -enough of threat to depress the stoutest heart. But, for the -moment, she was not concerned with these things. It was the thought -of her boy, her first-born, that filled her yearning soul with -happiness. Only that morning her daughter had brought her out a -letter from Beacon Glory. It was a letter at long last from Jim. -And the tidings it yielded were of the best. - -The day was utterly grey with the herald of coming winter. There -had been no sun to relieve the dark-hued forests on the hills -which rose up on every side about her. The blistering summer heat -had long since reduced all vegetation to the russet hues of fall, -and even the great forests of jack-pine had lost something of the -intensity of their evergreen hues. Somewhere behind her, hidden -by a rampart of iron-bound coast, lay the open seas of the North -Pacific. For the rest, to the North, and East, and South, lay the -tattered world of broken foothills which were the fringe of the -greater hills beyond. She knew it all by heart, this world of -southern Alaska which had always been her home, and for all the -overwhelming nature of it, for all the threat of the heavy grey -sky, she feared nothing it could show her. And now, perhaps, less -than ever. - -She abruptly withdrew her gaze from the tumultuous scene of it -all. She dived into the capacious pocket of her rough skirt. When -her hand was withdrawn it was grasping the neatly folded pages of -a letter in a big, scrawling handwriting. She unfolded them and -became deeply absorbed. She almost knew the contents of the letter -by heart, but somehow she felt she could never read it often enough. - -The letter was vaguely headed “Australia.” It was without date, -but this she had ascertained from its postmark, as she had also -ascertained that it had been mailed in a city she had barely -cognisance of, called “Perth.” - - DEAREST MOTHER: - - We’ve made good. We’ve made so good I can’t begin to tell you - about it. - -Just for a moment a deep sigh of happiness escaped the mother’s -lips, and something like tears of emotion half-filled her eyes. She -brushed them aside promptly, however, and continued her reading. - - I don’t know the date so I can’t hand it to you. I can’t hand you - our whereabouts either, but for different reasons. What I can - tell you is I’m setting right out for home as soon as Len gets - along back, which’ll maybe in six weeks. He’s taking this letter - with him, an’ will mail it, which’ll maybe in two or three weeks’ - time. I’ll be setting out in a windjammer called the _Imperial_ of - Bristol. When you read the name you’ll wonder to see it in Len’s - handwriting, but you see he’s taking the letter, and we don’t - know the name of the ship till he gets to his destination and - charters it, see? So he’ll have to fill the name in. This’ll all - seem kind of mysterious to you, but it don’t matter. The thing is, - I’m coming right along home to you, an’ll reach you in about six - months’ time, with enough stuff so you’ll never have to worry a - thing again ever. - -The letter went on for several pages, filled to the brim with that -kindly, intimate talk which never fails to stir the depths of -a mother’s heart. And so Rebecca Carver read it all once again, -revelling in the delight with which the words of her boy filled her. - -Jim had made good! Jim was returning home! He was crazy to be with -her and his sister Claire again. Oh, it was good, so good! The -woman’s brown eyes were raised smiling whimsically at the sudden -thought which her mood had inspired. Why, it was all so good that -she would almost joyfully accept whatever offer Bad Booker might -make for their last block of real estate in the city of Beacon -Glory, which now represented their entire resources for the coming -winter. Yes, never in her life had she been so thrilled. Never! - -She remembered earlier thrills. She remembered those hard times -when they had been well-nigh confronted with starvation. She -remembered how her husband, that headlong gambler, had set out -to the gaming tables of Beacon Glory with their last remaining -dollars in his pocket. And she had sat at home with her half-fed -children awaiting his return. Then the joy of his return with -pockets bulging--yes, those had been great moments. But then he was -a skilful gambler and rarely failed. This--this was something on a -different plane. Something---- - -Her contemplative gaze had discovered movement on the hillside -across the water. It was a horse-drawn vehicle moving rapidly, -descending the precipitate slope diagonally at the break of the -forest which gave way to the bald, wind-swept crest above. Its -course would bring it down to the far side of the ford of the river -directly opposite where she was standing. - -Her smile deepened. It needed no second thought to tell her whose -vehicle it was. Ivor McLagan, the oil man from the Alsek River, -was on his way into Beacon Glory, which lay ten miles or so to the -northeast of her home. - -She awaited his arrival. He was a welcome enough visitor at all -times. And he never failed to call in on his way, and leave her -any newspapers he might chance to have. He was wealthy, and a man -everybody esteemed. She had sometimes hoped---- But she knew that -could never be. Claire was a girl of strong decision for all she -was only twenty-one. She had already definitely refused to marry -him. She liked him well enough. They all liked him. Especially had -Jim liked him, but it was her woman’s understanding of the position -that made her fear that Claire’s frank regard would never deepen to -anything warmer. - -The buckboard seemed to be almost falling down the precipitous -slope under the man’s reckless handling. It was literally plunging -headlong, but she understood--she knew. It was McLagan’s way -with his Alaskan bronchos. There would be no disaster. And as -she watched his progress she wanted to laugh, for such was the -lightness of her mood. - - * * * * * - -The buckboard rattled, and shook, and jolted as it bustled down -the hillside over a broken almost undefined trail. Its surefooted, -well-fed team was utterly untiring. The shaggy creatures made no -mistakes. Tough, hardy, they were bred to just such work as this, -and they were in the hands of a super-teamster. So the creek came -up to them with a rush and they plunged belly deep into the chill -water of the ford. Then, moments later, they were reined in sharply -at the door of the man’s familiar stopping place. - -“Say, ma’am, this country’s one hell of a proposition for a quiet, -decent, comfort-loving, ordinary sort of engineer.” - -The man’s greeting was full of cheer, and his smiling eyes conveyed -a quiet sense of dry humour. Ivor McLagan had no claims to good -looks, and his manner ordinarily was sufficiently brusque to -border on rudeness, but in this woman’s presence he had a way -of displaying a side to his character that those who met him in -business, those of his own sex, were never admitted to. No, McLagan -had nothing in face or feature to thrill any woman’s artist soul, -but what he lacked in that direction he made up in another. As he -turned his buckboard wheels and leapt to the ground, he towered -over the little woman in the doorway a figure of magnificent -manhood. - -Rebecca’s eyes smiled up at him responsively. - -“It surely is, Ivor. But I don’t mind a thing. Jim’s coming right -back to me. He’s made good, he and Len, an’ he’s coming home with -stuff so we’ll never need to worry ever again.” - -It was out. The mother had to tell her glorious news on the -instant. And to this old friend of her Jim’s of all men. - -Ivor nodded. Then came the quiet, conventional reply, “You don’t -say?” - -The woman’s excitement rose. “But I surely do,” she cried, holding -up the bundled pages of her letter. “It’s all right here. This -is mail I got from him this morning. Claire brought it out from -Beacon, bless her! My, I--I sort of feel just anyhow. Ever feel -that way? Ever feel you wanted to dance around an’ shout? Say--but -come right in an’ get some coffee. It’s on the stove. I--I’m -forgettin’ everything.” - -Ivor shook his head. - -“Don’t you worry, ma’am,” he said in a tone of sympathy one would -never have associated with him. “Just get busy an’--shout. But tell -me first, when’s Jim getting along?” - -“Guess he’s right on the way now.” The woman’s eyes were alight, -then a shadow crept into them. “He won’t be along for six months -from the start. Maybe that’ll be three months an’ more from the -coming of this letter.” - -“Yes, it would be about that.” - -The man’s eyes were serious as he regarded the letter bunched in -Rebecca’s hand. Then he looked up and was smiling again. - -“I’m just so glad for you, ma’am, I can’t say,” he said cordially. -“Jim’s a great boy. He’s got elegant grit, too. He’s out for you -an’ Claire all the time, and I’ll be real glad to have him around -again for--for all your sakes. How does Claire feel? But there, I -guess she’s crazy glad. Where is she?” - -He craned, peering into the doorway expectantly. But the mother -shook her head. - -“She’s not inside,” she declared. “Glad? Why, it don’t say a -thing, Ivor. You know her. She and Jim are kind of all in all to -themselves. She went sort of white as a corpse when she read that -letter. She didn’t say much, but if you’d seen her eyes! My! You -can guess wher’ she is now. Ther’s only one place for Claire when -Jim’s on the water sailin’ home. It’s right up on the headland -back of here,” she jerked her greying head towards the back of the -house. “She’s right up there where she can see the sea. An’ I guess -she’s dreaming fool dreams of his home-coming.” - -“Yes, I guess it’s kind of wonderful for you both,” Ivor said -kindly. - -“Wonderful? Sure it is. Ther’s another thing. We been kind of in -bad shape an’ were selling out our last block in Beacon that my man -left to us. Oh, I’m not really thinkin’ of the stuff he’s bringing. -No,” Rebecca went on, as though she feared the man might think -that sheer selfishness was the substance of her delight. “But it -helps. And Claire’s been a heap worried dealing with Bad Booker, -but it don’t matter a thing now. We’ll take what he offers an’ be -thankful.” - -Ivor had turned to his horses. He unloosed the halter shank of the -nearside beast and secured it to the tying ring on the log wall of -the house, then he drew out a bundle of well-read newspapers and -held them out to Rebecca. - -“Here, take these,” he said in his quick, rough way. “I’ll leave my -plugs right here. They’ll be glad to stand. I’m just going up to -get a word with Claire. I’ll bring her right along down.” - -The mother took the papers and threw them on to the table in the -room behind her. Somehow her usual interest in them was overwhelmed. - -“Thanks, Ivor,” she said. “You never seem to forget us. I’ll -sure be real glad to have you bring Claire down with you. She’s -crazy glad, sure--we both are, but it don’t seem time to me to be -dreaming around on any old hill-tops. I’ll set coffee an’ a bite to -eat against you get back.” - -She watched him hurry away, this great creature all height, and -muscle, and plainness of feature. She realised his eagerness, and -again there arose in her mother heart that hope which her better -sense sought to deny her. - - * * * * * - -The girl was gazing out upon the distant sea. The iron-bound coast -that lay immediately below her made no claim upon her, for all the -wild beauty, the cruel austerity with which its ages-long battle -with the merciless waters of a storm-swept ocean had endowed it. -Neither had the panorama of tumultuous hills which rose about her, -nor the distant snowy crests of the northern reaches of the Rocky -Mountains any appeal. She only had eyes for the grey, far-off -horizon where sky and sea met. She was searching for some sign of -a sail, which, in fancy, she might translate into the wings of the -vessel bringing home a beloved brother and--fortune. - -She was beautifully tall and slim, for all her somewhat rough -clothing which had little more than warmth and utility to recommend -it. It was the best that the joint efforts of her mother and -herself had been able to contrive out of their limited resources, -and the girl was not given to grumbling. No, she was accustomed to -hardships, and self-denial came easy to her. She was too strong -and resolute, she was too frankly generous to harbour any petty -resentment against her lot. - -In twenty-one years she had grown to superb womanhood, healthy -in mind, healthy in a wonderful degree in body. Her father had -seen something of her splendid development before he died, but -it was left to her mother to witness the final reality of it. To -the latter her child was the most beautiful creature in all the -world. Her wide blue eyes, and her wealth of flaming red hair, -her shapely body, so tall, and vigorous, and straight; then her -sun-tanned, rounded cheeks, and her well-chiselled nose, and broad, -even brows; were they not all something of a reflection of the -early youth of the man who had given her her own life’s happiness? -Time and again her mother had rejoiced that she had had her -christened with so choice a name as “St. Claire.” True, the “Saint” -had been permitted to fall into disuse. But it still belonged to -her, and nothing could rob her of it. And the mother only regretted -that the girl herself refused to permit its revival. - -Just now the girl had given herself up to idle moments of delicious -dreaming. And why not? Difficulties and troubles had beset them -for so long; oh, yes. She had no scruple in admitting the bald, -hard truth. Not alone was her joy at the prospect of Jim’s return. -He was returning with some sort of fortune, for them as well as -himself. - -It would mean so much to them. Her mother would know ease and -peace of mind after all her heroic struggles with adversity. Jim -would be freed from his great responsibility for their care. And -she--she--well, there were so many great and wonderful things in -the world she wanted to do and see. - -And dreaming of all that this splendid return meant to them her -mind went back to the interview she had had only that morning in -Beacon Glory with the man everybody called “Bad” Booker, the chief -real estate man in the city. - -Her journey into town had been inspired by their necessity. Her -mother still owned a small block of property in Beacon Glory, the -last remaining asset left to her by her gambler husband. It was -mortgaged to Booker, himself, but only lightly, and she had visited -him to endeavour to sell it right out. Without Booker’s help they -possessed less than twenty dollars with which to face the winter, -and await Jim’s return. She took no account of the played-out -gold claim on the creek below her. That had ceased to yield a -pennyweight of gold more than two years back, a fact which had been -the inspiration of her brother’s going. - -She remembered Booker’s smiling fat face and bald head as she -offered him her proposition. He always smiled, and it was a -hateful, greasy, fixed sort of smile. She believed he was a Jew. -But Jew or Gentile, he was a merciless money-spinner, ready to rob -the world of its last dollar. - -Her anger surged even now with her thought of the man. He had -offered to take the block off her mother’s hands for two thousand -dollars cash. It was the limit to which he would go. It was -mortgaged for two thousand dollars to him. It was in the very -centre of Beacon Glory, next to the Speedway Dance Hall. And even -though the city was dead flat as a reaction from its early boom, -the property was worth not a cent less than ten thousand dollars. -It was maddening. It was a sheer “hold-up.” But she knew they were -helpless in the man’s hands. Oh, if they could only tide over until -Jim got back! - -She had told her mother not a word of the man’s offer yet. Somehow -she felt she had not the courage to tell her. Yet she would have to -do so, and, worst of all, she knew they would have to accept the -man’s offer or starve. - -Well, she would have one slight consolation. Once the deed was -signed, and the money was in her hands, she would tell “Bad” Booker -all that was in her mind. She---- - -The sound of a footstep behind her broke up the half-fierce, almost -tearful train of her thought. She turned sharply to discover Ivor -McLagan breathing heavily after his climb. - -“Say, Claire,” he cried, while he spread out his hands -deprecatingly, and his smallish eyes twinkled humorously, “why in -the name of everything holy make this darn country worse than it -is? Why you need to climb a mile high to enjoy the thought of your -Jim, boy, coming along, I just can’t see. I surely can’t!” Then he -glanced quickly out to sea and took a deep breath. “My, but this is -a swell spot!” he added soberly. - -The girl’s bad time had passed. Her smile came on the instant. - -“That’s quite a contradiction,” she said slily. - -“Sure. Well, we’ll cut the first part right out.” McLagan’s -twinkling gaze came back to the girl’s face, and he drank in the -fresh beauty of it. “I couldn’t pass along into that nightmare city -of ours without speaking my piece of gladness for your news. It’s -bully! It certainly is. The boy’s made good. An’ for you folks, I -guess, only just in time.” - -The girl nodded as she looked up into the man’s plain face, and a -flash of thoughtful regret for its plainness broke in on all the -rest that preoccupied her. - -“I doubt if it’s even that, Ivor,” she said, a little desperately. - -“How?” - -The man’s interrogation was a return to his roughness of manner. - -“Why, Bad Booker’s got us right in his clutches, and we can’t even -wriggle. He reckons to hand Mum two thousand on top of his two -thousand mortgage for a block of stuff you could market free for -ten thousand. It’s his two thousand or--or starve.” - -The girl finished up with a smile that failed to hide her feelings, -and McLagan’s eyes hardened. - -“The man’s a swine,” he said, and his voice grated harshly. - -“That don’t help.” - -“No. Don’t accept, Claire. Don’t you sell.” - -“But we’ve got to eat.” - -“Sure, an’ you’re going to. Here.” Just for a second the man -hesitated, and shifted his gaze from the beautiful urgent face -that never more deeply appealed to him than now. Then it came back -on the instant. “It’s no use,” he cried, and his tone was rough. -“You’re not going to starve. You and your mother can have all the -cash you need till Jim comes, and--and I want nothing in return. Do -you get my meaning, Claire? If you take money on loan from me till -Jim gets home you’ll never have need to worry. You can just shut it -right out of your head and forget it--till Jim comes home. I mean -that just plain an’ straight. And there isn’t a thing behind it.” - -They stood eye to eye while the girl swiftly read the sheer honesty -lying behind the man’s eyes. Then she shook her head. - -“No,” she said, “I’m going to sell. I’m going to sell, and I’ll -just wait around after, hoping for the day to come when the Aurora -Clan will reckon that Bad Booker’s a sort of nightmare disease an’ -needs plenty good med’cine. Thanks, Ivor. It’s just a real kind -thought of yours, and the thing that makes me glad is I know you -mean it just as you’ve said it. But I don’t want your money. I--I -wouldn’t take it if it was that or--or starve.” - -For all there was something of roughness in the girl’s choice of -words for her refusal, there was none in her manner. Even her hope -that one day Booker would receive his medicine at the hands of the -secret Aurora Clan was without undue feeling. The man was deeply -stirred. - -They were great friends, these two. But for the man’s peace of -mind the frank nature of their friendship was deplorable. He -loved the girl with all the strength of his manhood. He held a -big position with the Mountain Oil Corporation of Ohio as their -consulting engineer, and his whole desire was to take this child -of the northern wilderness away to his far-off home in the sunlit -valleys of California. She had refused to marry him more than once. -But somehow her refusal had left their friendship unaffected. She -liked him whole-heartedly in a manner that to her precluded all -possibility of regard of a deeper nature, but which in the man only -contrived to strengthen his natural persistence. - -The leaping fires of the man’s passion surged up in face of the -rebuff. For a brief moment he contemplated the smiling eyes in -their wonderful framing of vivid hair, which the slouch-brimmed hat -she was wearing failed to conceal. Then his lips obeyed his impulse. - -“Yes, I know, Claire,” he said, his voice harshened by emotion. -“You won’t, you can’t accept my help. Why? I’ll tell you. Because -I don’t belong to you. Because I want to marry you, am crazy with -love for you, and you don’t feel like falling for my notion. So you -can’t have the thing I want to do for you like I never wanted to -do for anybody ever before. I guess you’re right enough in your own -lights, sure you are. You’re not putting yourself under obligation -to the feller you don’t fancy to marry. But why not marry me, -Claire? Maybe I’m not a thing of beauty. But I guess I just love -you to death. Maybe you don’t care a thing for the picture I make -now, but you’ll get used to it. Sure you will.” He laughed a -little bitterly. “I guess folks can get used to most things after -a while.” Then his smile passed. “But, my dear, ther’s not a thing -in the world I wouldn’t do to give you a real dandy life. These -oil wells out here are going to pass me a fortune that I’m crazy -to share with you. Won’t you? No. You won’t. I can see it in your -eyes, the same as I’ve seen it before. But--but if I’ve still got -to stand for that, there’s things I won’t stand for. You need help -and I’ll raise all the hell I can to pass it you.” - -Claire shook her head a shade impatiently. - -“It’s no use, Ivor. Why--why can’t we be friends? True, I haven’t a -thing against you in the world, not a thing, not even”--she smiled -gently--“the looks which you don’t seem to set much stock by. No, -it isn’t anything like that. True it isn’t. I like you, but---- -Here, you don’t get the things lying back of my fool head. Guess -I’m my father’s daughter. You knew him for what he was. He was a -gambler. And maybe, in a way, I’m a gambler, too. I want life with -all its chances. I want to reach out an’ hug it all. I want to take -every chance coming, and do something, and be something in the game -of it all. I don’t want to marry. Sure not yet. I don’t want to -share in any man’s home, and--and grow on like a cabbage. There’s -too much of the big adventure in life for me to miss it all. Maybe -I’ll get sort of disillusioned later--maybe. I can’t help that. -But I mean to take a hand in the game meanwhile.” - -There was such a ring of final resolution in the girl’s smiling -denial that the man realised his momentary defeat. So he offered no -further protest. He made no attempt at argument. He shrugged his -great shoulders, and the happy twinkle returned to his eyes. - -“Don’t say another word, Claire,” he said gently. “Maybe I -understand the thing lying back of your mind. Forget my break. It -was a bad one, and I shouldn’t have made it, but--but I sort of -just had to. I won’t do it again. There isn’t some other feller, is -there?” - -The girl laughed happily in her relief at his manner. - -“Not a soul,” she cried, unhesitatingly. - -“That’s all right.” The man’s eyes smiled responsively. “I can -wait. I’m going to, and I’ll make no more bad breaks. And maybe -when you’ve hit your adventures, and kind of tired of them, and -feel you’d like the rest you’ll have maybe earned, why I’ll be -waiting around, and I’ll surely be ready to hand it you when you -raise a finger, a sign. An’ meanwhile, my dear, I’d be glad to have -you feel ther’s no sort of trouble in the world so big I wouldn’t -be glad to smooth out for you.” He suddenly spread out his muscular -hands. “These two hands are for you, night or day, all the time, -and I’ve two ears that’ll hear the faintest whisper of trouble -that’s worrying you. Say, come along right down. Your mother’s -crazy to talk your Jim to you and she asked me to bring you to -home.” - -The man’s whole manner was so gentle as to be irresistible. For all -the thing that lay between them there had never been a moment when -he had made so great an appeal to the girl. His normal roughness -she knew to be but an unfortunate garment in which he clothed -himself. Now, as times before, she was listening to the real man so -surely hidden from the world that looked on. She was not without -a shadow of regret that she could not see in him the man of her -desire. Without a word of protest she permitted him to lead the way -down from the bald crest of the headland. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - In Beacon Glory - - -Ivor McLagan eased his great body in the groaning wicker chair, and -his eyes snapped with something like irritation. The long, lean -cigar it was his habit to smoke he removed from between his lips, -and indicated the main thoroughfare beyond the window behind him. - -“Don’t tell me you’ve a hunch for this muck-hole, Victor,” he said -sharply. “Take a pull at yourself, man. Get a cold douche, if you -can find a thing so wholesome in Beacon Glory, and wake yourself -right up. Take a look out there. Take a peek around you, and if -you aren’t as blind as a dead mule, and a sure candidate for the -foolish place, you’ll see this darnation monument to human vanity -as it is. I tell you there’s no sort of limit to human vanity when -it gets a-riot fixing cities. Beacon Glory? Did you ever call a -hogpen by any other fancy name? Sure you didn’t. You aren’t plumb -crazed yet for all you’re talking this burg as though winter had -no right hiding it up for six months of the year. Get a look at -the garbage lying around even the business avenue. Avenue! Sounds -fine, doesn’t it? And then think of the hell of flies and skitters -you got to live through next summer. Look at the shanties lying -scattered around desecrating a swell picture of Nature’s painting. -They’re enough to insult a half-breed settlement that don’t know -better. But that’s no circumstance to the folks who’re to blame -for despoiling God Almighty’s decent earth with a pestilential -collection of man’s assorted junk. The moral atmosphere of Beacon -Glory would leave the hottest oven in hell hollering. There’s more -dirt an’ dishonesty to the square inch in Beacon Glory than you’d -ever find in any mediæval Turkish penitentiary, kept especially for -housing the folks they don’t like the faces of. And they call this -quagmire of corruption ‘Beacon Glory’! They laid it out in Avenues! -They filled it up with garbage an’ human junk, an’ folk like you -sit around with your hat in one hand and the other on your left -chest and breathe the word ‘city’ in the sort of tone you’d hand -out over a deathbed. That’s you, who don’t belong to it. You, who -aren’t any sort of part of it, except you’re here to collect any -stray gold lying around, and pass it back to your home city. You, a -banker! My, it’s queer how folks can fall for their surroundings!” - -Victor Burns laughed cordially at his friend’s diatribe. It amused -him thoroughly. McLagan was on his pet theme, which was an utter -contempt and detestation of the city of Beacon Glory. - -“That’s all right, Ivor,” he said. “You can’t run a branch of your -bank and shout at the folks you do business with. For just as long -as it’s my job collecting the dust folks don’t know better than to -waste their lives chasing, Beacon Glory’s a deal bigger than ‘ace -high’ to me. It’s a swell city that does a mighty big credit to -the folks whose enterprise set it up--and made my living possible. -You’re collecting oil in the big valleys, which is liable to leave -you finding a queer sort of human fog lying about our principal -avenue, but I’d like to say the ‘muck-hole’ of Beacon Glory don’t -hurt your prospect a cent, and you’d miss its ‘beauties’ if the -foolish ones had never dumped it down.” - -McLagan laughed good-naturedly, and returned his cigar to its -place in the corner of his capacious mouth. They were lounging in -the office of Beacon Glory’s principal hotel, this engineer of -the Mountain Oil Corporation and the chief banker of the place. -They were something more than business acquaintances. A pleasant -friendship existed between them, inspired perhaps by mutual esteem -for the other’s integrity in surroundings which each knew to be -something morally deplorable. - -The hotel--the Plaza by name--was an angular three-storied, -wooden-frame building that had once been well and truly painted. -But that was in the boom days. It had a verandah fronting on the -city’s only business avenue, a long, unpaved thoroughfare that had -wrecked the running gear of more vehicles in its time than any -roadway the world had ever known. Over the verandah, on a level -with the first floor, was a wide balcony of similar proportions. -In the heyday of prosperity this had been covered by a brilliant -striped awning, but that, like the outside paint, had long since -yielded to the weather. But for all its dreary, derelict appearance -the Plaza stood out amongst the rest of the city’s buildings, with -one or two exceptions, as something rather magnificent, if only for -its proportions. - -McLagan and the banker had the office with its decayed furniture -and spluttering wood stove to themselves. That is, they only -shared it with its atmosphere of general uncleanness. It was the -hour immediately before supper, a meal which Abe Cranfield’s -fly-blown menu described as “dinner,” a title his boarders refused -to accept. Soon contingents of humanity would foregather in -anticipation of a meal to sustain stomachs which had long since -learned to satisfy themselves on a diet of unsavoury monotony. - -“That’s all right, Victor,” McLagan said readily. “You’re a banker, -I’m not. I’m just a hard citizen the same as the rest, and don’t -need to worry to keep my notions of Beacon Glory to myself. And if -any feller feels like disputing, why, I can argue it out any old -way he fancies. But I’m sick with this city the same as I’m sick -with most things unclean. I guess it isn’t altogether the fault -of folks so much as the times, and the thing life’s drifted into. -Does it ever worry you thinking of modern conditions and the crazy -scramble of it all? You know, I ought to’ve been born two or three -centuries back before some fool guy invented the words ‘democracy’ -and ‘proletariat.’ You can’t run a thing right by committees and -assemblies set up by any popular vote. Think of me trying to -locate oil in the hills back here with a bunch of guys sitting -around telling me how I need to go about it, and where to start my -drills. No, sir. It’s the same with countries and cities and Sunday -schools. You need one head and one hand. And whether for good or -bad you’ll get some sort of order and discipline and things’ll move -quick. I’d say it’s better, seeing human nature is what it is, -to let one feller graft than a government of hundreds, and it’s -cheaper. This territory’s run by a government that only cares for -its job and legislates thousands of miles away. What’s the result? -Why--Beacon Glory, an undisciplined quagmire of human muck!” - -Victor Burns lit a cigarette and grinned through the smoke. He -was a small, round, sleek little man, clean-shaven and with a -pleasant face that looked to be made for smiling. He was almost in -ridiculous contrast to the huge frame and rugged exterior of the -other. - -“That’s all so, all right,” Burns nodded. “I’ve thought heaps -more than that lying awake at nights wondering how far the other -feller’s got me beat. But a grouch in this office isn’t going to -fix things right.” He glanced alertly round the room which still -remained empty. “And that’s why I’m kind of glad for that bunch of -boys who got together to try and clean things up. It don’t matter -to me who or what the folks of the Aurora Clan are, or the ultimate -purpose lying back of their game. They started out a year ago to -clean things up some and they got half the toughs of this burg -scared to foolishness. There hasn’t been a hold-up in months, and -only a week back these white-gowned purifiers burnt out stark that -drug den of Bernard’s where Charlie O’Byrne was done to death for -his wad. Say, those boys are right if they just stick right to the -game they started on. The danger is, when they got Beacon where -they need it and have cleaned up the tougher stuff of the place, -they may be looking for payment.” - -Ivor shook his head. - -“You never can tell, Victor,” he said seriously. “They’re a terror -to the muck of this place now, I agree. Maybe later they’ll be a -terror, anyway, that’s the way of these things. So long as they -act the way they are we’re all glad, we must be. Any feller with -a wide mind would be crazy to feel bad about them, but,” he shook -his head and flung the stump of his cigar almost viciously into the -stove, “maybe it’ll just drift into the usual. With the others out -of the way they’ll do the hold-up. Then the Government, thousands -of miles away’ll butt in. The Aurora Clan will get cleaned right -up and back we’ll fall into the muck those boys did their best to -haul us out of. No, I’ve a brief for them. I surely have. But when -they’ve done their work and start getting gay for themselves, I’ll -be as ready as any one to start cleaning them up. It’s a hell of a -place, anyway!” - -McLagan remained gazing into the stove with eyes that had lost -their usual twinkle. He was a man of immense resolution and -capacity. A brilliant mining engineer, he yearned for wider scope -in the affairs of life. So far all his energies had been directed -to the earth’s remote places, seeking those treasures for his -Corporation which at any cost must be acquired for the purposes of -satisfying voracious shareholders. And Victor Burns, watching him, -understood something of the restless, dissatisfied spirit driving -him. He was a shrewd judge of men, as are most real bankers, and -this burly, plain creature, all energy and capacity, more than -usually interested him. - -“How’s oil?” he asked quietly, as the other remained silent. - -“Just about the same.” Ivor laughed in his short way. “Oh, it’s -there all right. It’s there plenty. The Alsek valley’s full of -it--when we can reach it. That’s one of the things makes me feel -bad for this place. When we strike it, as we’re sure to, the old -gold boom that bred this city won’t be any sort of circumstance.” - -“When’ll that be?” - -Burns’ eyes were shrewdly inquiring. It was his business to be -well-informed. - -“Any old time, maybe a month, maybe two years.” McLagan shook his -head. “You can’t just say. But two years from now is our limit. -That’ll make a seven-year prospect.” - -“I see.” Burns nodded and glanced round. The door had opened to -admit the first arrival of the boarders. “Well, we need it. There’s -some gold flowing in slowly from the country. But things are dead -flat, and I can’t even begin to guess where the folks collect -the dollars spent at the Speedway every night. Max, there, tells -me he’s looking to a big spending winter, but I don’t see how he -figures it. Howdy, Tilbury,” he nodded at the new arrival. “Where’s -your partner, Allison?” - -The newcomer, slight, short and with greying hair, nodded back a -greeting. - -“Oh, I guess he’s on the bum around. He’ll be along. Glad to -see you, Mr. McLagan,” he said, turning quickly and almost -deferentially to the engineer. “Opened up a gusher yet?” - -McLagan’s eyes twinkled as he rose from his protesting chair. - -“Guess I’ll be asked that haf a century of times before the night’s -out. No, boy,” he said. “The old earth’s holding up her secrets -and looks like holding ’em years. An’ say, you’ll be doing me real -service putting that news around when the boys come in to feed. Put -it round quick, while I go and wash. Travelling’s a mighty dirty -pastime around Beacon Glory, which is only reasonable.” And he -passed out of the office just as a distant bell rang announcing the -evening meal. - - * * * * * - -“Bad” Booker was sitting in his private room behind the outer -office. It was a comfortable apartment, almost sumptuous, and -seemed to be the natural setting for the personality of this real -estate man. He was a heavy creature with a flowing moustache, of -which, to judge by the inordinate care he bestowed upon it, he was -exceedingly proud. He was fat and everything about him was gross. -His general appearance and manner were of extreme good nature, -and his smile to this end was of a quality admirably calculated -to emphasise it. But Beacon Glory knew the man because, whatever -other things Beacon Glory may have lacked, it had a swift estimate -of those who were part of its public life. Those whose misfortune -made it necessary to come into business contact with Bad Booker -hated and detested the man, and more particularly his smile, for -they quickly found that the real estate mask was incapable of long -concealing the ugly features of the usurer underneath. - -He was smoking a pungent Turkish cigarette liberally besprinkled -with gold lettering, and the while he was studying the extensive -deed of title relating to a corner block in the chief avenue of the -city. An air of calm satisfaction pervaded the man, for he knew -that the property under consideration was about to fall into his -hands at a price which even he regarded as advantageous. It was -what he desired. - -He was a shrewd creature with a wide vision in the matter of -self-interest. Whatever others might think of Beacon Glory, he, at -least, had no doubts. He realised with absolute certainty that the -place was there to stay. It was within twenty miles of a fine, wide -harbour for shipping from the South. It was built on the shores -of a large lake whose name, since the city’s building, had become -associated with the place, and it occupied a site in the heart of -a splendid valley which ran right down to the sea and was the -highway to the interior of Alaska through the otherwise almost -impassable world of the southern hills. It was the centre of a gold -region that was as yet in its infancy. Furthermore, there was coal -and iron, and undoubtedly oil in abundance in the broken world -about it. The place was “flat” now as a reaction from its original -boom, but it was moving steadily if slowly, and the right men were -drifting in with a view to exploring its resources. - -Very quietly and unostentatiously he was acquiring every property -that fell into the market so long as the price met his ideas of -investment. He was ready to mortgage for any town property. Smiling -at all times, his purse was always open for any proprietor of a -town lot who needed temporary assistance. The man was a merciless -money-spinner of the worst type. Disaster and misfortune to others -were the conditions under which his real business prospered. - -He laid the documents aside and lit a fresh cigarette from the -remains of the other, which he dropped thoughtfully into the -silver-mounted ash-tray on the desk beside him. Then he sat -back in his chair, and, with his fleshy hands clasped over his -ample stomach, gave himself up to a few moments of rapid mental -calculation. - -But his efforts were broken in upon. There was a light tap on the -opaque glass of the door that shut him off from the outer office, -and a clerk pushed his way in. - -In an instant his smiling habit returned, but his tone of greeting -was sharp. - -“What in hell is it this time, Jake?” he demanded, while his hands -fell away from his stomach. - -Jake Forner was a mild-looking creature whose face gave no true -indication of the man behind it. He was broad and angular, with -shoulders that looked sizes too big for the rest of his body. He -was clean-shaven, with the wide brow and big dark eyes of the -student. But his mouth and jaws were firmly set and suggested -possibilities. - -“It’s an open letter,” he said, “and it was handed in by a kid I -just didn’t seem to rec’nise. I didn’t feel like worrying you with -it till I opened it, then I guessed I’d best pass it in to you -right away.” - -He came over to the desk and held out an open sheet of paper, while -his dark eyes closely scrutinised the smiling features of his -employer. - -Booker took the paper without interest for all the other’s quietly -impressive manner. He glanced at the open sheet casually, and, in a -moment, his attention became profoundly absorbed. - -Jake Forner was watching him. His eyes had something in them that -suggested smiling thought behind them. He was noting his employer’s -expression and saw it change rapidly from its habitual smile to -complete seriousness, and, finally, to something that seemed to -suggest anger not undriven by alarm. - -It was a curious document, littered with a scrawling writing made -up of rough block capital letters and evidently indited by some -rough instrument, possibly a piece of sharpened wood. The lettering -was red and at the bottom of it, underneath the signature, was the -rough outline of a skull and crossbones, a flamboyant, melodramatic -finish that might well have inspired derision. But somehow, the -thing inspired nothing of the sort in the mind of the man to whom -it was addressed. He read it carefully: - - BAD BOOKER, - - You are trying to steal a city block from a helpless client. You - have a mortgage on it for two thousand dollars. You are offering - two thousand dollars more to wipe out the mortgage and possess - the lot. The lowest market value of the property is ten thousand - dollars. You will pay the difference between your mortgage and ten - thousand dollars, namely, eight thousand dollars for the site. You - have twenty-four hours in which to make a written offer of this - amount. If you fail to do this, and to complete the deal in one - week from this date, you will be hanged on the site in question. - - Sgd. CHIEF LIGHT OF THE AURORA. - -Booker did not look up as he finished the reading. He sat gazing at -the paper, and once or twice Jake Forner observed that he swallowed -drily. Then, as the man remained furiously silent, the clerk -cleared his throat. - -“That’s about as ugly as I’ve known ’em to play,” he said in a tone -of mild sympathy. - -Booker laid the paper down and raised a pair of angry eyes. The -clerk saw the storm in them and waited for it to break. It came on -the instant. - -“The swines!” Booker’s body was squared in the well-padded chair. -He was sitting up and breathing heavily. “The dirty, low-down -swines!” he cried. Then a heavy fist was raised and fell with a -crash on the ill-drawn sign of the skull. “If they think they can -scare me with a bluff like that I reckon they’re crazy. It’s a -hold-up, and I’m falling for no hold-up. By God! I’ll fight them! -Eight thousand? Not on your life. I’ll press that two thousand home -right away and show ’em they can’t throw a bluff at me and get away -with it. They want a written offer. Well, I guess they’ll get it. -I’ll write it now an’ you can beat it out to the Carver woman, and -put it right into her hands. But it’s for two thousand dollars. -And I guess she’ll fall for it quick or--starve.” - -He pushed the Aurora Clan’s document roughly aside and started to -write out his offer, but Jake anxiously intervened; he quickly -raised a white hand and passed it across his broad forehead. - -“I wouldn’t act in a hurry,” he said quickly. “You’re bucking a -tough game with the ‘aces’ against you. The Aurora bunch have been -mighty busy in the past weeks. Is it worth it? Just look back an’ -see. Bernard’s gone. Clean wiped out, an’ he’s had to beat it out -of Beacon looking like a black rooster that hasn’t moulted right. -Then there was Pat Herne who robbed Len Sitwell when he was soused -at the Speedway. They hanged him right outside the town limits. -Then don’t forget Dick Mansell, who held up the stage coming in -from Ranger. He was left pumped full of lead till you couldn’t tell -his guts from an ash riddle. I’m scared for you, boss. I surely -am. Ther’s a terror creepin’ through this place scares me plumb -to death. These guys are a citizen bunch and no sort of ordinary -toughs. They’re acting seemingly with some sort of slab-sided -purpose. They’re wise to every move going on, an’ I can’t reckon -how they get hold of things. But there it is, and when they hand -in a brief on a boy they put through the thing it says. We’re a -business enterprise, boss, and it’s our job to beat the other -feller if we can. But I sort of feel when ther’s a hanging bee at -the end of it, business goes right out. Don’t you jump, boss. Sure -I’m scared. I haven’t your nerve. But I got it right here,” and he -tapped his forehead with a forefinger, “this is no sort of bluff. -It’s dead straight. An’ I’m not yearning to see you swinging on the -wrong end of a rawhide rope.” - -Jake spoke quietly but urgently, and his usually mild eyes were a -match for his manner. He was Booker’s confidential clerk, a man of -quiet efficiency and whose vision was unusually clear. So, for all -his swift wrath, Booker had let him talk. Now, however, the usurer -leapt uppermost and his reply was swift and biting. - -“You want me to hand out eight thousand at the orders of this -gang?” he cried, furiously. “You want me to pass eight thousand -good dollars to Rebecca Carver when she’s ready to close for two? -You’re crazy, Jake! Crazy as a bed-bug! If that’s the sort of -business we’re to do, I guess the sooner we close our doors and -beat it the better. Besides----” - -“And the hanging bee?” - -The eyes of the clerk were steadily regarding his furious chief, -and somehow the quiet reminder was not without effect. Booker -shifted his gaze and it fell on the lamentable design of the skull. - -“This thing sets me crazy mad,” he protested, and his tone had -somehow fallen from its original bluster. - -“But you’ll be madder--for a while--at the hanging bee.” - -Booker broke into a short, harsh laugh at his clerk’s persistence -in dwelling upon the thing he saw lying ahead. - -“That stunt has got you scared all right, Jake,” Booker said, with -a world of contempt in the quick look he raised to the man’s pale -face. “Maybe you’re guessing, seeing you’re my clerk, they’ll need -you to be present to share in the game.” - -A flush mounted to the clerk’s cheeks. - -“You can guess that way if you fancy, boss,” he retorted, in -a pronounced change of tone. Then his eyes searched the fat, -unsmiling face before him. “But you best get this right now and -get it quick. I’m out for your profit as well as my own. I’m out -to see this business go right on without any interruption in the -nature of a hanging bee. If you collected that chunk of real estate -for two thousand dollars on top of the mortgage it would be a swell -profit. Some folks might call it robbery, seeing they ain’t in it. -But ten thousand dollars is bedrock just now as they say in that -brief, and, when boom time comes again, you won’t miss the six -thousand dollars’ difference they’re demanding. Well, I guess I’d -buy off a hanging bee, with me as the centrepiece, any old time for -six thousand dollars. And if you’re wise, I guess you’ll act that -way, too.” - -“But you’re forgetting the bluff of it all,” Booker said, without -looking up. Then he raised his hard eyes. “Gee, haven’t you any -sort of old guts makes you want to kick? Can you stand for a thing -like that?” he cried, holding up the ill-written document. “Are we -men, or----?” - -“We certainly wouldn’t be men for long if we didn’t stand for it. -You don’t seem to get a grip of this thing, boss. I’ve watched it -all the time. This Aurora bunch is as real as the old Ku-Klux Klan, -that cleaned up the south in the nigger days. You’re wondering if -we’re men. Well, I’d say right here, let’s be. Don’t write your -offer in a hurry. Think awhile. An’ when you’ve thought good I’ll -saddle my pony and ride out to Rebecca Carver with the result. It -won’t hurt us to get that block at the price they say. But it will -at any other. I’m making that tracing of the new city limits and -need to get right on with it. Maybe in a while you’ll let me know -the thing you’ve decided.” - -Jake turned away and passed quickly into the outer office, closing -the partition door carefully behind him. Booker watched him go -with eyes which had doubt in them for the first time. Yielding was -utterly foreign to his nature where advantage in a transaction -lay within his grasp. But the mild-eyed clerk had driven home his -argument in a fashion all the more relentless for its sobriety. And -for once in his life Bad Booker, the usurer, was thinking more of -the vision of a hanging as conjured by his subordinate than he was -of robbing a helpless widow of six thousand dollars. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - The Great Disaster - - -The mother was sitting over her cookstove. She was almost crouching -over it. With her hands tightly clasped she seemed as though she -was striving with every resource of her being to support herself -under the crushing weight of the great grief with which she was -beset. Her widely gazing eyes were straining with the mental -anguish behind them. And they were utterly unseeing for all they -stared into the ruddy heart of the fire shining between the upright -bars. Stony misery looked out of them, that dreadful expression of -heartbreak which seems to leave a woman powerless, helpless. - -The living room about her was neat, and of its usual orderliness. -It lacked nothing of the housewifely care that was usually bestowed -upon it. For all the poverty of its furnishing, it was a place of -comfort, which, even under Rebecca Carver’s suddenly imposed grief, -had not been allowed to suffer. Her daughter Claire had seen to -that. For the time her mother was submerged in her trouble, and the -girl herself was no less stricken, but will and youth in the latter -had overridden every weakness of the moment. - -Thus the mother had sat for many hours. And the transformation -which had taken place in her in twenty-four hours was something -almost horrifying to the devoted daughter. - -During the long hours of night the still, silent figure had -nursed her despair. Claire, no less sleepless, had discovered her -in precisely the same position each time she had left her bed in -an adjoining room. She had prayed her mother, she had sought to -persuade her by every means in her power, to seek her bed, and -such peace as sleep might afford her. But it had all been useless. -Each time her mother had obeyed her submissively, meekly, almost -mechanically, only to return again to her vigil at the fireside the -moment she had been left alone. - -The grey afternoon was far advanced when Claire returned from the -creek below with her arms full of a snowy laundry. Work! It had -been the same all day with her. It was her only defence. She pushed -her way in through the half-open door, and one swift glance and -the sound of rustling paper as she deposited her burden on the -well-worn table, told her of the unchanged mental attitude of her -mother. - -Just for a moment she stood regarding the bowed figure with -troubled eye. She saw the crumpled news-sheet, one of the papers -which Ivor had left with them the day before. It was crushed under -her arms as they rested in her lap. And she understood. Her mother -had been reading again, perhaps for the hundredth time, that brief -newspaper story which was the source of the nightmare of disaster -which had fallen upon them. - -The girl was tired and utterly dispirited. Somehow her tall, -graceful figure seemed slightly bowed out of its usual courageous -bearing. Her pretty eyes were ringed about, as though, in the -absence of observation, she had yielded to her woman’s expression -of grief. But now, at the sight of the silent, tearless figure at -the stove, she summoned every ounce of her youthful courage to her -aid. She moved across the room quickly, and deliberately removed -the paper from beneath the yielding arms. - -“Must you, mother?” she said quietly, but with a sharpness she was -wholly unaware of. Then she added as she smoothed out the paper, -“Will it do any good? You’ve read the story till--till you’re nigh -sick. You’ve read it till I just can’t bear seeing you read it any -longer. I guess I’ll need to burn it if I don’t want to have you -set crazy.” - -But she made no attempt to burn the paper, and all her courage -seemed to fade completely out as her mother raised to hers a pair -of eyes that were filled with a world of piteousness. - -The latter shook her greying head. - -“I won’t go crazy, child,” she said in a low, monotonous voice. -“Give me time, dear. You see, he was my boy--my Jim. He was -everything to me--my son, and--and he’s gone.” - -Something stirred in the girl--something suddenly spurred her. It -was an expression of youthful hope, which, in calmer moments, she -would have realised was ill-enough founded. - -“But has he?” she demanded, almost vehemently. “You don’t know--we -don’t know! You’ve read that story till you can’t read it right. -Our judgment’s been snowed under in the scare of it. That’s so, -sure! What is it? Why, it’s just a news story,” she cried, flinging -scornful emphasis into her tone. “It’s a fool news story they love -to scare folks with, an’ later they’ll contradict it without pity -for the worry and grief it’s caused to the folks who’ve read it. -I’ve thought and thought and I tell you it’s--it’s not real. I -don’t believe he’s dead. Here, I’ll show you. I’ll read it. You -sit there and just listen. Will you? Then you’ll see.” - -She smoothed the paper again and moved away to the open doorway. -Then she read in a strident voice and commented as she read: - - “‘Disaster at Sea? Urgent SOS.’ - -“That’s the headline, mum dear, and there’s a question marked -against it,” she cried. “You get that? Even the paper asks the -question.” - -The girl had looked up. She was urgently regarding the figure at -the stove. She was seeking a sign and seemed to find it in the fact -that her mother had sat up. - -“Listen,” she went on quickly. “You need to get the words just as -they are. - - “‘The S. S. _Arbuthnot_ of Liverpool, bound for Sydney, N.S.W., - picked up the following wireless on the morning of 27th inst.: - “Sailing-ship _Imperial_, Bristol. Steering gear carried away. - Cargo shifted. Plates badly sprung. Sinking. Send help. Possibly - last twenty-four hours.”’” - -Again the girl looked up. - -“Then there’s figgers I don’t understand,” she said. “Maybe they’re -her position. But you see she’s going to last twenty-four hours. -Anything, I guess, could happen in that time. There’s the boats. -Maybe if there’s storm, it’ll let up. We’ve seen it storm nigh -a hurricane on the sea back of here and flatten out in twelve -hours----” - -The mother shook her head despairingly. “I’ve thought all that,” -she said, in a low voice. Then she seemed to pull herself together -for a supreme effort. “It’s kind of you, Claire, to--to--say all -this. I know, my dear. You’re feeling just as badly, and you’re -trying to help us both. But I feel it right here,” she went on, -clasping her bosom with both hands. “He’s gone--our Jim. It just -wasn’t meant for him to get back with----” - -“That’s fool talk, mother, and I won’t listen,” Claire broke in -roughly. “You’ve thought yourself into that. But there’s the rest. - - “‘The _Arbuthnot_, steamed at once to the rescue. She arrived on - the scene at the position indicated, and, though the weather had - improved, no trace of the _Imperial_ was discovered.’ - -“You see, mum? The weather had improved. - - “‘Similarly, the _Argonaut_, bound from Shanghai to New Zealand, - picked up the _Imperial’s_ message and hurried to the rescue. She - apparently arrived at the given position some hours later. She - reports no better success. There was no trace of the distressed - vessel, and it is presumed she must have foundered. The best hope - lies in the fact that, with the storm abating and twenty-four - hours’ grace, the crew of the foundering vessel was able to get - away in the boats, although as yet none of these are reported - having been picked up. - - “‘The _Imperial_ of Bristol is a full-rigged ship of three - thousand tons engaged in a West Australian coasting trade. She - carried a crew of eighteen or twenty.’ - -“No, no, mum, dear,” Claire cried, forcing a smile to her tired -eyes. “We mustn’t lose hope. We surely mustn’t. Why, even the paper -reckons the crew must have got away. Just think. Twenty-four hours -and the storm quitting. You know Jim. I reckon he isn’t the boy to -lie around waiting to drown. I’d bet our last cent they got the -boats out, and----” - -“What then, Claire?” cried the mother, in a sudden passionate -outburst. “I’ve looked up those figgers on the map. That boat, with -our Jim on it, was right out in mid-ocean, thousands of miles from -land. Think of it, girl, and don’t talk foolish. Mid-ocean! Open -boats that couldn’t stand half a gale! And they’re not reported -picked up. I tell you----” - -But the girl had turned to the doorway. A horse-man had just ridden -up and flung out of the saddle. It was Jake Forner, Bad Booker’s -clerk, and he came straight to the doorway where Claire was -standing. - -It was a moment of complete reaction. The sight of the broad -shoulders of the real estate man’s clerk, with his dark, mild eyes -and mild, almost gentle manner, did that for the troubled women -which no effort of their own could have achieved. The pressure -of despairing thought was flung into the background in face of -the urgency of the thing which this man’s arrival heralded. Even, -perhaps, because of the enormity of the trouble which had befallen, -this man’s coming was of greater significance. - -The mother remained unmoving. But Claire bravely faced the newcomer -with a smile that had no inspiration from any pleasurable emotion. - -“How do, Mr. Forner,” she said, with a cheerfulness that had seemed -impossible seconds ago. “Guess you’ve come along for my mother’s -answer? Will you come right in?” - -Then she turned swiftly to the woman at the stove. She moved over -to her and stood close beside her as though to protect her as the -man obeyed her invitation. - -“I’m kind of sorry, dear,” she said quickly. “I didn’t tell you -about it before because--because--Mr. Booker offered you two -thousand dollars for that city block he has a mortgage on. Guess -Mr. Forner has ridden out for his answer.” - -Then she looked straight into the man’s dark eyes while she went on -speaking to her mother. - -“It’s a real tough proposition,” she said slowly, and with all the -biting emphasis she could fling into the words. “It’s so tough I -feel like telling Booker the things a girl ’ud hate to say. The -block is worth ten thousand dollars on the market to-day, which -means eight thousand dollars to him, and he wants to hand you -two thousand dollars for it. Are you going to take the money or -starve--which is Booker’s pleasant alternative? I guess we need to -decide right away.” - -“Ther’s no need for a decision on those figgers, Miss Claire,” Jake -said quickly, his usually impassive face flushing under the sting -of this beautiful girl’s words. - -“How d’you mean?” - -Claire’s demand came sharply. It came in that startled fashion -which suggested apprehension lest Booker had withdrawn even his -usurious offer. - -Jake’s flush had faded out. He stood just within the doorway, a -curiously ungainly figure in his simple city tweed suit which -seemed to belong to another world than that of this primitive -log home built by folks who had lived their lives in the golden -wilderness of the North. His fine eyes were smiling kindly in the -manner of one who feels himself to be something in the nature of a -ministering, beneficent angel rather than the executioner of the -will of an unscrupulous usurer. - -“Why, he’s reconsidered his proposal,” he said quietly, his smile -communicating itself to the rest of his face. “I guess he’s sounded -the market and feels he wants to treat you right. Maybe he didn’t -just remember the exact position of that swell corner block when -he made his offer to you yesterday. He knows about it now,” he -went on drily, “and fancies handing you eight thousand dollars for -complete reversion. I kind of think that’s a square deal, Mrs. -Carver. Here’s his ‘brief’ to that effect and the cash, in dollars, -is enclosed. You’ll just need to sign the deed I’ll hand you as a -preliminary, and the transfer can go through next time you’re along -in town. Do you feel like closing?” - -There was much more in the man’s simply spoken statement than he -realised. There was much more, too, in his manner, and somehow the -unexpectedness of Booker’s change of attitude held Claire silent -while she regarded the smiling face of the man who brought the -pleasant news. - -Rebecca Carver’s interest, however, had fallen back before the -mother grief which had only been deposed from its supremacy for a -few moments. She made no attempt to reply in any form, while her -gaze was turned once more to her stove. - -Claire suddenly urged her. - -“You’ll accept, mother?” she said quickly, and the other nodded. - -Then the girl turned again to the waiting man who had withdrawn a -letter and the document that must be signed, from an inner pocket. - -Claire forced a laugh to her lips. - -“It seems queer, Mr. Forner,” she said shrewdly. “Yes, surely we’ll -accept, and mother’ll sign. But I’m kind of glad you came, and I’m -real glad to hear you say that piece, especially seeing Booker and -I discussed the market value of the block and he was fully aware -of its position. I’d made a guess you’ve somehow had a deal to -do with changing his mind. It isn’t easy for a decent man to sit -around while his boss is trying to rob a helpless woman. I’ll just -get a pen--oh, you’ve a fountain pen. Well, mother’ll sign right -away, and our blessing’ll surely follow you on your way right back -to the city.” - - * * * * * - -Jake Forner had departed and his coming had done more for the two -bereft women than either of them was aware of. The paralysing -effect of the newspaper story had given place to the reality of -things. Grief was still driving them hard, but its pressure had -somehow become less devastating, less numbing--more particularly -was this the case with Claire. - -She was still standing in the open doorway gazing out into the grey -light of the dying fall day whence she had passed her “God-speed” -to the man who had executed his mission with so much obvious -goodwill and pleasure. - -Had the girl possessed half the woman’s vanity to which she was -entitled, she might have understood something of the ungainly man’s -feelings in visiting her home. But Claire had not as yet discovered -in herself that dormant self-appreciation which is so essentially -an expression of all human nature. She had learned little or -nothing from the faithful, if inadequate, mirror in her small -lean-to sleeping quarters. Her wide blue eyes were simply a feature -with which to witness the wonders of the world about her, just as -her mass of ruddy hair was a something to brush laboriously and to -fret over. Her slim, girlish figure she had only learned to deplore -in the arduous labours which her life entailed, and its effect upon -the men with whom she came into contact concerned her not at all. -As yet her woman’s charm was a negative factor in her life. - -But she was thinking hard as she gazed out upon the grey and russet -of the fall world about her. Her gaze was upon the familiar, -wood-clad slopes beyond the creek, on which was situated their -spent gold claim. The slowly meandering waters that murmured their -ceaseless song on the still air helped to impress the loneliness -that for the first time in her life had suddenly made itself felt. -And somehow, it set up an almost irresistible longing to flee from -the sound of it. - -For all her brave effort to help her mother she knew her beloved -brother had been completely swept out of their lives. The hungry, -merciless waters had swallowed him up. She would never, never, -never see him again, or listen to his quiet, confident words. Never -again would she witness those unobtrusive little acts of devotion -which had been so unfailing in their home life with him. No, he was -gone out of their lives completely, utterly. It was the end of a -long chapter of youthful dreaming. And ahead lay an impenetrable -future in which care and responsibility must be shouldered, and -hers must be the burden of it. - -For a moment something like panic surged in her heart. Before, only -grief had stirred her. But, of a sudden now, grief receded into the -background, a depressing shadow always threatening, whilst a wholly -new emotion took possession of her. Her moment of panic passed. -Her thought cleared of all confusion and a swift, keen resolution -descended upon her and brought her calmness of spirit. - -Claire had far more in common with her dead father than with the -gentle woman behind her. In looks, in build, in spirit she was -essentially her father’s child. Never before had the dead man’s -qualities had reason to display themselves in her. But now it was -different. In her realisation of her sudden responsibilities, the -flood-tide of the reckless gambling spirit of her parent poured -forth. Her brother Jim, in the same spirit, had fared forth to the -uttermost ends of the earth on a bare--almost ridiculous--chance to -help them in their need. He had achieved. And only the merciless -waves had robbed him and them of the full fruits of his gambler’s -adventure. Could she sit down under the misfortune that had robbed -them of a well-loved brother and the fortune he had won for them? -No. For all the fall day was closing, with their fortunes at a -lesser ebb than the dawn had found them, their need was still -urgent. And the spirit of her father was awake and burning strongly -in her as she contemplated its reality. - -She turned abruptly into the darkening room. Her gaze took in the -figure of her mother still bowed under her load of grief. Then it -passed to the thick packet of notes lying where she had left them -on the table. They represented the limits of their worldly fortune. -They were all that stood between them and the starvation Booker had -originally designed for them. Her eyes lit, and her spirit suddenly -buoyed. - -But she turned away and passed quickly into the lean-to sleeping -room that was hers. What was her purpose was of little concern. Her -woman’s mind was working swiftly, almost feverishly. She stood for -a while contemplating the trifling wardrobe of gowns hanging under -a cotton curtain. She examined each garment quickly, urgently. -Then, with a gesture that was half impatient, she permitted the -curtain to fall back over them and she moved across to the small -mirror before which she was accustomed to brush her hair. - -Here she stood for a while studying the features it reflected. -The message it passed her was for her ears alone. Maybe it told -her some of those things which everybody but she was fully aware -of. Maybe she only obtained a measure of reassurance. Whatever -happened in those long, silent moments she turned away at last, and -something seemed to have transformed her. Her eyes were alight. Her -shapely lips were firmly set, and she passed into the living-room -beyond. Her whole manner was that of one whose mind is irrevocably -made up. - -She came to her mother’s side and laid a gentle hand on her bowed -shoulder. - -“Mum, dear,” she said deliberately, “we’re going to move right into -Beacon. It’ll set you crazy and me too, to stop around out here. -There’s things this place won’t ever let us forget, an’ we’ve got -to forget. Maybe we’re mostly feeling dead now. That’s the way -grief hits us. But we’re both alive and need to go right on living. -If Jim was here he’d decide for us the thing we need to do. He -isn’t. So--so I’ve got to think for us both and push it through. -We got eight thousand dollars to feed, an’ clothe, an’ shelter us. -Maybe it would do for a while. But after--what then?” - -The mother looked up. It was the questioning of one incapable of -anything else. - -“What do you mean, Claire? What’re you going to do?” - -There was no inspiration, there was even no interest in the -questions. - -“Do? Do?” Claire’s reiteration was thrilling with live purpose and -something like leaping excitement. “Do? Why, do as father would -have done. Do as he did time and again.” - -Her strong young fingers unconsciously gripped the soft flesh of -her mother’s shoulders. Suddenly she dropped on her knees beside -the other’s chair, while she took possession of the work-worn hands -lying in the lap before her. She raised them both to her young lips -and covered them with warm kisses of real devotion. Then she held -them tightly. - -“Mum, dear, we haven’t a thing but that eight thousand. Not a thing -but that. But there’s money--money in plenty in Beacon at the -Speedway. Father always reckoned so when things were bad. And he -most always found it. I’m going to find it, too, all we want. You -know what father used to say. He taught Jim and me the poker game -he played, and he taught us good. And in the end, do you mind how -I took his, and Jim’s, spare cash when they had it? Do you? I do. -And do you remember the thing father always said? He said I’d the -poker face, and the poker head, and the only luck in the world he -was scared to buck. It’s that luck we’re going to buck, dear. We’re -going right into Beacon with our dollars. And I’m going to buck the -game for all that’s in me. Ther’s not a thing else for us. True, -ther’ isn’t. Jim’s gone. Our Jim! You know it. And, for all I’ve -said, I know it, too. We’ve no one but ourselves and my luck to -save us from starving in a fierce, relentless world. Are you game, -dear? I may do it? Sure I may. I can see it in your poor, sad, -tired eyes. Yes. It’s that, sure, dear, and you can trust me.” - -The girl reached up suddenly. It was a moment of supreme emotion. -She yielded to it. She caught and held her mother’s body in her -strong young arms. And then came the flood of tears for the grief -that weighed so heavily on both their devoted hearts. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - Eight Months Later--On the Lias River - - -The dark shadows of winter had long since passed away from the -Alaskan world. The almost interminable nights, the pitifully -brief days of storm, of cold, the drear that literally eats into -the heart and bones of man, these were left a hazy memory to be -quickly forgotten, lost in the new season of hope which comes with -a generous rush. It was a world released from months of cruel -imprisonment. - -Just inland from the mouth of the Lias River, where the broad bosom -of its stream was lightly stirred by the gentlest of warming spring -breezes, a man was at work stowing his stout-built canoe with its -cargo of camp outfit. The vessel was moored against a shelving -of granite rock. A stout rawhide held it secure to a boulder of -ponderous dimensions, for it was a barren, rocky shore without -vegetation of any sort. - -It was a fierce coast line, harsh, unyielding and honeycombed with -every trap for destruction that the wit of Nature could conceive. -Shoals and sunken rocks littered every inlet, and fierce, sweeping -currents and cross-currents made the smiling waters a nightmare -of chaos. Then, behind everything, lay those merciless reserve -forces of sudden wind squalls which howled down the mountain slopes -without warning, or reason, and blasted the coast line into a -churning of fierce tempest. - -Pitiless in its treachery, this long, tattered coast line was for -the most part completely shunned by man. Yet here, well within the -mouth of the Lias River, a white man was labouring at his craft, -indifferent to the terror of his surroundings. - -The man was sturdily built. He was broad and stocky and stood -something less than six feet in height. For all the warming of the -clear, spring day he was clad in the thick clothing with which the -men of the North are loth to part until the summer heat makes it -intolerable. He was a man of something over thirty, with a strong -face that was clean-shaven, or was supposed to be, and with a pair -of such pale blue eyes as to be devoid of all expression. They -were curious eyes, curious in that they revealed not a glimmer of -the mind behind them, curious in that their stony expression was -unchanging under any and every emotion. - -His boat was moored securely, for the tide was a-surge and running -out to sea. An iron bar, jammed in a crevice in the shelving -granite, afforded him his second mooring and left him free to -pursue his labours at leisure. - -Behind him gaped a rift in the granite wall which rose to a height -of several hundred feet. It was obviously the night shelter in -which his camp had been made, for, immediately before the entrance, -the remains of his fire were still smouldering. Maybe, the narrow -opening was the entrance to a cavern that widened and heightened, -for just such caverns, of every size and shape, abounded in these -iron walls. - -He worked on till the last of his outfit was securely stowed -and the canoe lay deep in the water. Then he passed back to his -camp-fire. For a second or two he glanced about him questioningly, -then with the aid of a slab of stone he picked up the hot ashes -and proceeded to dump them into the river. The final clearing was -done with infinite care and patience, and even he resorted to the -brushing away of the last signs of his fire with a sweeper made of -a tied bundle of brushwood. - -It was all a little curious. It was all rather furtive. It seemed -so unnecessary in this wilderness of a no-man’s-land. Yet the man -paid heed to the obliteration of all signs of his encampment with -as much care as though his very life depended upon the complete -covering of his tracks. Finally, the brushwood bundle was added to -the burden of his canoe and he cast off his moorings. Then, in a -moment, he took his place amidships and thrust off with the blade -of his double paddle. - -The little vessel shot out into the tide with a velocity that was -almost threatening. But the man was ready and skilful and its nose -swung round under the pressure of the dipping paddle and headed -across current making tremendous leeway. Slowly, however, the -guiding hand made itself felt, and the bow of the craft headed up -into the stream. Later he would have the flood tide to help him, -but for a while he must battle with a head stream. That was all -right. That was calculated. It was his urgent desire to escape the -chances of these dreaded wind squalls which might descend at any -moment. - -He laboured steadily, creeping up the hither shore to avoid the -full race of the tide. He hugged the granite walls of the canyon -through which the river cut its way to the ocean. The swirling -waters revealed the presence of a chain of sunken rocks through -which he was threading his way, and only skill and keenness -of vision could hope to save him from sheer disaster. But he -pursued his course without hesitation, without a moment of shaken -confidence, often dallying with death by a margin of less than -inches. And so it went on for nearly an hour. - -At the end of that time the change he had awaited took place. -The pace of his progress materially increased. The head pressure -lessened. It was then for the first time he permitted himself a -glance up at the smiling sky in the direction of the distant hills -towards which he was heading. - -A sigh of satisfaction escaped him. The sign of clemency he was -seeking was there in the perfect cloudlessness. The whole breadth -of the sky was a brilliant azure. And, furthermore, the critical -moment of slack water had arrived. Now he knew that the hill -squalls intended to remain quiescent, and he swung his craft clear -of the frowning granite cliffs for the deep waters. - -The man’s pale eyes were no longer watchful. There was no longer -any need. With a great depth of water under his canoe he could -drive her leisurely, awaiting the coming flood from the ocean far -behind. - - * * * * * - -Cy Liskard was lounging in the doorway of his cabin. He was smoking -contemplatively while his pale eyes gazed out over the gravelly, -trickling creek below him. Near by, secured to a tying post, which -was the stump of a sapling spruce, two Alaskan ponies were waiting -ready for the long trail into Beacon Glory. One was saddled and -bridled, the other was carrying a well-laden pack. Both were -sturdy, powerful creatures still clad in their long winter coats. - -It was a still, warm day, with the air full of the hum of the -insect world. The long tails of the horses were swishing with -flail-like force to keep the attacking mosquitoes and flies at bay. -For the moment the sun was lost behind frothing summer clouds, -while below, the dense forests were silent and still with that -profound hush which is their prevailing mood. - -It was a perfect scene, typical of the greater foothills where -Nature permits nothing human to disturb her hush. On every hand -hills rose to immense heights, bald of head, but densely clad on -their lower slopes with forests of every shade of green. Soft, and -gracious, and pleasant to gaze upon, the forests were deep, and -dark, and well-nigh illimitable. They were full of preying animal -life, and even in the full of daylight the howl of coyote and the -harsher bay of prowling timber wolf came echoing down the aisles of -leafless trunks. - -But Cy Liskard was all unconcerned for Nature’s sounds, for -Nature’s moods. He was by no means condemned to a lifelong -existence in the world’s dark places. He was there by selection and -of deliberate purpose, and his purpose appeared fairly obvious. -For there, below him, on the trickling creek, lay the complete, -primitive equipment of the gold-seeker’s craft. - -But for all his expressionless gaze was upon these things his -thought was far away, concerned only with its contemplation of the -thing which lay ahead at the end of the further journey upon which -he was about to embark. As with all the hardy creatures who seek -treasure in the remotenesses of the northern world, the joy of -return to the cities of men was a passionate yearning that had no -limits. - -In the two weeks since his return from the mouth of the Lias -River his preparations had been completed, and they were more -considerable than might have been supposed to be necessary. This -was his home for the time. This was his hunting ground. It was an -uncharted, unregistered gold prospect, and as such it was open to -invasion or any chance discovery that might completely rob him of -any proprietary rights he might claim. So his preparations had been -made carefully and in a fashion best calculated to safeguard his -interests. - -Now with the last detail worked out to his satisfaction he had -abandoned himself to a contemplation of the good time which he -intended Beacon Glory should yield him. And for all his pale -eyes gave no sign, the mind behind them was full of smiling -anticipation. He was thinking of the burden of gold on the -pack-saddle, and of the balance of credit at Victor Burns’ bank -which he knew to be lying there in his name. He was thinking of -the wine to be bought at Max Lepende’s “Speedway”; of the orgy he -intended to buy there. He was contemplating the glitter of the -place and the seductive charm of the women with whom he would -dance. Then there was the great game with its never-failing lure, -and the thought of this last was bound up with the vision of a -young girl, beautiful as a dream, with flaming hair, and eyes whose -colour seemed to change with her every mood, now violet, now blue, -and sometimes almost sea-green. He had only seen her once, but -memory had never let go of the vision. This time he was determined -his memories of her should be more intimate, whatever the price to -be paid. - -He abruptly bestirred himself and a sound escaped him that was like -a laugh. But his harsh face and baffling eyes gave no sign. He -turned and fastened his cabin door behind him. Then he moved across -to the ponies patiently awaiting his pleasure. - -He passed round them quickly, feeling the cinche of both. The pack -was secure, but his own saddle required tightening up. He raised -the legadero of the saddle and pulled mercilessly on the knotted -strap. Then he kicked the grass-fed belly of the docile creature to -make the tightening closer. Finally, he dropped the legadero to its -full length and prepared to mount. - -As he did so a blaze of sun shone out from behind the summer -cloud-bank and the man looked up with something like a start. For -a second he gazed without blinking and his brows depressed as -though the sight of the sun offended him. Then he glanced away, -and followed its beam where it threw his own shadow absurdly -fore-shortened on the ground. In a moment he had raised his foot -to the stirrup and swung himself clumsily into the saddle, and, -snatching up the rawhide quirt hanging on the horn in front of him, -he slashed viciously and needlessly at both horses. - - * * * * * - -The Occidental Exchange was empty of all customers. It was in the -middle of the afternoon and the time just before the mild rush -which usually came about closing-time. The place was a relic of -the earliest days of Beacon Glory, and, unlike most institutions -of its kind, it had remained un-rebuilt as the city grew. But the -fact was, Victor Burns had realised the unstable qualities of -the first boom, and been content to await developments. So the -place, although substantial enough, was small and of no visible -consequence for all it was the city’s principal banking house. - -Burns was at the counter, which completely cut off all approach to -the premises behind. It was well-gridded with substantial iron of -a mesh that would have puzzled any gun-man to negotiate. It was -a grid which had been designed out of wide experience, for bank -hold-ups had been a somewhat favoured pastime in the city’s history. - -The banker was talking to his principal teller, a man who looked -almost too young for his position, but what he lacked in years -he made up in physique. He was a youthful athlete, virile and -smilingly self-confident. - -“What’s she paid in this morning?” he asked, in the quiet fashion -of simple business interest. - -The youth smiled. - -“Why, a mere two thousand dollars,” he said with a shrug. - -“Kind of a quiet night, I guess,” Burns returned, without any -responsive smile. Then he folded his arms on the counter, gazing -out of the half-open door, which was held back by a chain that -could be released from behind the counter. “It’s queer,” he said. -“That girl hadn’t more than two red cents back of last fall. -And now--why, now she can handle more stuff than I’ve collected -in twenty years. And she handles it right, too, that kid. They -reckon she’s collected all the luck in Beacon. Well, I’d say she’s -collected most of the business brains with it.” He laughed. “And -she’s still buying city blocks.” - -“And swell gowns,” added the teller with a grin. - -“Well, I’d say she wouldn’t be the dandy girl she is if she didn’t. -Say----” - -Burns broke off. A pair of rough ponies had come to a halt -outside. They were in full view through the open doorway. - -“Cy Liskard,” he went on after a moment, as he beheld a man fling -out of the saddle. Then he nodded at the gold scales. “Guess we’ll -need them, sure. He’s a big gold winner.” - - * * * * * - -To a practical student of human nature like Victor Burns, Cy -Liskard was of more than common interest. He had come into contact -with him in business, and in business only. But, in consequence, -he saw the man in his most interesting aspect. For, in his -understanding, a man’s business was the best channel through which -to discover the real depth of his character. - -He had come to know him as one of the many individual gold men of -the remoter places which radiated about Beacon. The first time he -had encountered the man was just after winter had closed down, when -he drove into Beacon with a curious, mongrel team of three utterly -inadequate dogs, hauling a home-made sled which bore a goodly -burden of raw gold dust of excellent quality. He had come straight -to the bank and weighed in his treasure. The transaction had been -made with the customary simple formalities, and the man’s credit -had been duly opened. At that time Cy had only revealed himself to -the banker as a surly, silent creature who had none of the reckless -buoyancy of the men who usually came in to sell their dust. - -He had promised, at that time, a further consignment later in the -winter when travelling was good, if he were able to purchase a -really reliable dog team to replace the disreputable bunch that had -at last succeeded in bringing him in. - -Victor had ventured a little frank talk on receiving this opening. -He had complimented the man on his strike, and the quality of -his gold and had inquired if there were other prospectors in his -neighbourhood. It was then he realised something of the man with -whom he was dealing. The baffling eyes were raised to the banker’s. -They looked, or rather stared, coldly and hardly into his, while he -negatively shook his head. - -“Ther’ ain’t a guy around my lay-out but myself--and ther’ don’t -need to be,” he said with a snap of his square jaws. - -It was the quiet tone of threat in the final words that enlightened -the banker to that which lay behind the man’s mask-like face, and -he had made no further effort to interest his customer. - -Since that visit there had been another about mid-winter. The man -blew into the bank on the swirl of a blizzard that lasted for -three days. At that visit his credit had been more, much more than -trebled. And now had come a third trip into the city and Burns was -deeply intrigued. - -The man thrust his way in through the doorway bearing two lashed -bundles, one under each arm. They were large and obviously of -considerable weight, and his movements were swift almost to -hastiness. - -It was to the banker’s thinking an unintentional outward sign of -his relief at the safe completion of his journey and the final -depositing of his treasure. - -“Howdo, Mr. Liskard,” he greeted the man, as he laid his bundles on -the edge of the counter. “Make a good trip in?” Then he smiled on -the two bundles. “You look to be good an’ busy on your patch.” He -turned to the teller, who was looking on interestedly. “The scales, -Rickards.” - -“’Tain’t bad on the trail this time o’ year,” Cy admitted, with -more than usual readiness, as he cut the lashings of his burden -with a vicious-looking sheath-knife. - -The banker watching him noted the details of his powerful body -under the thick pea-jacket that was closely buttoned over it. He -watched the rough hands, with thumbs stumped short in their top -joints, and with the flattest, shortest, ugliest nails he had ever -seen, as he ripped the bonds asunder. Then his gaze lifted again -to the hard face, with its dirty stubble of beard and whisker, -clearly unshaven on his journey, and his shrewd mind was swiftly -estimating. He reckoned, by the growth of whisker, the man must -have been on the trail at least three weeks, if he had started -clean-shaven. - -But the two bundles were open and the canvas bags tied at their -necks were revealed bulging with their precious contents. In a -moment the banker’s interest became absorbed. - -“That all dust?” he asked quickly. Then he added: “Some stuff -there--sure.” - -Cy nodded without speaking. He cut the fastenings and passed the -bags through the grid which Burns had flung open. - -“Weigh it,” he said. - -The man’s voice was harsh and his demand sharp, and the banker -passed the bags to the teller at the scales. - -No further word passed while the youth manipulated the weights, and -Cy watched his every movement with an intensity of concentration -that brought his dark brows closely together over his curious eyes. - -The gold was emptied into the scale, which only took a portion -of one bag. The teller noted the weight and emptied the scale -into one of the bank’s own leather bags. Six times the scale was -filled to overflowing, while the silent men looked on at the dull, -red-yellow of the gold this man had brought. It was dust and -nuggets, but mostly nuggets of splendid proportions. - -Cy Liskard was leaning on the counter with folded arms, and when -the weighing was completed and the teller bent over his task of -working out the sum, he drew a deep sigh as though in relief that -his task had been completed. - -Victor looked up at the sound. - -“Kind of makes a boy glad to get it safe into the bank. In these -days of hold-ups around Beacon it’s jumpy play toting a bunch of -dust around. Say, that’s swell stuff. Good an’ red, like the stuff -the boys collected on ‘Eighty Mile’ years back. I haven’t seen that -colour anywhere around Beacon till you hit along with your bunch -last fall. Are you registered?” - -Cy’s gaze was withdrawn from the moving pen of the teller. “Not on -your life.” - -Burns raised his eyebrows. - -“That’s taking a chance,” he demurred. “Aren’t you scared folks’ll -jump in on you?” - -The man made a sound like a laugh. But his face was unmoving. - -“Not a little bit,” he said roughly. “I guess ther’ ain’t a guy in -Beacon with the guts to get out to the creek I got staked. If he’d -the guts he couldn’t make it. An’ if he made it he’d forgit wakin’ -when the daylight come around. No, sir. I ain’t registered, an’ -don’t figger to. I ain’t handin’ a map of my strike to any cursed -official. I ain’t handin’ the story to a deaf mute. I got my patch, -an’ I’ll keep it. I nigh sweated blood to locate it. Register -an’ haf the world would get right on my back. I’ll take all the -chances, an’ God help the son of a mule who gets within a mile of -it. What’s the tally?” - -The teller read out the figures in a tone of wonderment his youth -could not conceal. - -“Eighty-two thousand dollars and twenty-five cents,” he said, and -passed the figures to his chief for verification. - -Cy nodded, while the banker examined the paper. - -“That’s about my reckoning,” he said. “I’ll be totin’ another bunch -along when I’m through with my summer wash. I’ll just draw a dope -of ten thousand right away. Here’s the brief.” He passed a cheque -across the counter and waited to receive the money. - -Burns looked up. - -“Yes,” he said, seriously. “That’s the reckoning, sure. I -congratulate you. You certainly have a swell claim.” - -Cy nodded. “I certainly have,” he agreed shortly. - -The teller passed the roll of bills and he and his chief watched -their customer bestow it in a hip pocket. As he did so he revealed -a heavy gun strapped about his waist, and Victor, at least, -realised it was there as no mere ornament. Cy had said, “God help -the son of a mule who gets within a mile of it,” and somehow this -watching student of human nature realised that “God’s help” would -certainly be required in the circumstances. This man was not the -sort to stand at trifles. - -Cy took his departure without the least ceremony, and it was only -the banker’s “So long” that forced common politeness from him. -They saw him mount one of the two ponies outside, and they heard -the coarse oath with which he urged the weary creature forward. -Then came the sound of the heavy slash of a quirt and the horses -clattered away. - -“A mighty tough proposition,” Burns laughed quietly. “All the gold -in that boy’s claim wouldn’t tempt me to try and track him to his -hiding-hole. I guess he comes out of the mountains. An’ maybe -they’re somewhere across the border--seeing he’s not registered. -Well, there it is. Guess it’s no worry of mine. We’re here to -collect gold, and I’d say we’ve collected a swell bunch from that -boy.” - -The teller laughed. - -“Guess there’s certainly little else to collect from him, anyway,” -he said significantly. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - A Bunch of Humanity - - -It was the day of celebration at the Speedway. It was the -anniversary of its first opening and Max Lepende had ordained that -once a year high revel should hold sway in commemoration of the -foundation of his fortunes. The Speedway was to Beacon Glory what -the Casino is to Monte Carlo. It was perhaps a good deal more. But -then, Monte Carlo is in the eyes of society and Beacon Glory had -somehow contrived a position on the map more or less unrecorded. On -the whole the “Glory” citizens, as they loved to call themselves, -were well enough satisfied with their position. It was convenient -for many reasons, not the least of which was the feeling of -security it gave to most of them, and the general immunity they -enjoyed from the legitimate consequences of offences committed -against society in earlier life. - -Max, being of Italian extraction and flamboyant in temperament, had -built and designed it in the manner that most appealed to him. The -place was literally a Bacchanalian temple, lavish with white and -gold and brilliant lights. It was gaudy with red furnishings and -glittering glass, and, generally speaking, was as good an example -of a whited sepulchre as the riot of debased human passions, and -the lavish brush of the decorator could make of otherwise perfectly -innocent woodwork. - -The place stared out on the city’s main thoroughfare two blocks -below the Plaza Hotel, a wide-fronted, be-pillared edifice of two -stories. In the brilliant summer sunlight its whitened walls looked -dispiritedly grey and shabby, but in the dark months of winter its -blaze of electric light transformed it into a lure which the people -of Beacon Glory found impossible to resist. - -Max had named it “The Palace of Pleasure.” But then Max wore a -pointed beard which concealed a pair of full, red, something -sensuous lips. Furthermore, he wore the rest of his hair long, -and a large, flowing black cravat adorned the evening clothes he -always appeared in when presiding over the nightly orgy obtaining -in his establishment. Beacon Glory, being frank, apt and unashamed -in its downrightness of phraseology, had promptly dubbed it “The -Speedway,” and, in the end, the ultra-artistic mind of its founder -had to yield, and as the “Speedway” it was known throughout the -length and breadth of southern Alaska. - -Max’s annual celebration was not lightly to be missed, and, -generally speaking, Beacon Glory was not given to missing anything -at other people’s expense. Besides, Max would be offended if his -available customers absented themselves on this his especial -night. Then, too, why should it be missed? There would be a dinner -of exceptional quality in the grand dining-hall--free to invited -guests. There would be a flood of wine of the best quality. -The company, for once, would smoke the best cigars and lap up -expensive, sticky cordials. And it would all be free. Oh, no. There -was no missing it by those men favoured with an invitation. - -There would be no women at the dinner; that was where Max -displayed his fineness of discrimination. He knew his men. And -perhaps his women--some of them. The women would be there for -the dance afterwards--they would be given a good time, but Max -sternly demanded that this, his evening of evenings, should -start--fair. Whatever the later developments, the night should at -least start with such dignity and decorum as an assorted line in -evening clothes could impress upon the manhood of a more or less -disreputable out-world city. - -The Plaza was unusually full in the late afternoon on this day -of celebration. The weather was hot and windless, and the spring -mosquitoes were merciless. But the open verandah, overlooking -the main avenue, was liberally patronised. Mosquitoes were part -of the daily life of Beacon Glory, and their worst torture was -insufficient to disturb its citizens out of their routine. - -Jubilee Hurst and his partner, Burt Riddell, were amongst those -foregathered. They were nominally gold men of the type which is -drawn from the big cities of civilisation. They come at the call -of adventure and easy money, and in the end, generally seek the -latter by means of an active application of wit rather than of -muscle. Then there was the well-liked, amiable and indifferent -Doctor Finch, Beacon’s leading man of medicine. He was reposing -his rotund figure in a chair of doubtful stability, tilted at a -perilous angle, while his heavily-booted feet decorated the rail -of the verandah. Abe Cranfield, the Plaza’s esteemed proprietor, -short, stout, and with a thrusting chin whisker, was squatting on a -low stool many sizes too small for him. And, reposing comfortably -in a prolonged cane deck chair, with a Rye highball on an adjacent -table easily within reach, reclined Victor Burns of the Occidental -Bank. - -None of them had as yet disguised themselves under the uniform -required for the evening’s entertainment to which they were all -invited. That was an evil they preferred to postpone till the last -minute. They one and all preferred to remain the plain examples of -Beacon’s citizenship they really were as long as possible. - -The irrepressible Jubilee Hurst made no pretence of his reluctance, -and he was airing his views with that simple freedom which he -claimed as his right at all times. - -“You know, boys,” he said, smashing a bunch of mosquitoes on the -back of his bull-like neck, “Max is mostly a decent citizen for all -he’s a Dago. But his craze for patent shoes and hair oil gets me -all the time. You know, there’s no sort of reason in a guy acting -the way he does behind a bow-tie fit for a Dago revolutionary, and -wearing a sheath-knife on his hip fit to carve up whale blubber. -Maybe, with an elegant souse in prospect he fancies us boys fixed -the way he gets us because most of our party suits were invented -before the possibilities of the hip-pocket were guessed about. -I’d say the Speeedway’s no sort of joint to fall into without -a whole darn arsenal of weapons lying around to your hand most -all the time, and, I’ll sure be feeling like a lamb at slaughter -time settin’ around disguised like a first-class waiter, while he -belches up his annual hash of the pleasure it hands him having us -suckers around, and how grieved he is the cemetery’s added to its -stock of fancy mausoleums by way of advertising the amenities of -his darn booth.” - -He smiled amiably round upon the company, and took half a highball -at a gulp. And his black, twinkling eyes finally settled on his -partner’s long and grievously unsmiling face. - -“It’s all right, boy,” he said, grinning genially. “You needn’t to -feel the way you’re lookin’. I got two boiled shirts, and seein’ -you’re a partner of mine, I’ll share ’em with you for haf a dollar.” - -Burt raked at the calf of one hairy leg exposed about his sock -suspender to the attacking mosquitoes. - -“Oh, beat it,” he cried irritably. “You wouldn’t miss a thing the -Speedway could hand you, if Max reckoned to have you around in your -underpants. You make me tired.” He turned to the banker. “I got -around the ‘Glory Hole’ this morning. It’s burnt out stark.” - -The banker sipped his highball and gazed thoughtfully out at the -far hills. - -“I’m glad,” he said quietly, after a moment’s deliberation. - -It was coldly said and Abe Cranfield looked round at the speaker -quickly. - -“I can’t say I’m glad for any feller to get burnt out,” he -exclaimed warmly. “The Aurora bunch are acting mighty gay. Wher’s -it goin’ to stop? Is it the Plaza or the Speedway next? How am I -to know when I’m offending their notions? Clancy Roscoe had been -runnin’ his saloon since ever Beacon started. I can’t see----” - -“It was a brothel,” Burns spoke sharply. Then he laughed quietly. -“See here, Abe,” he said in a conciliatory fashion, “I guess you -hold a brief for Clancy and his Glory Hole because he’s in your -line of business--as far as liquor’s concerned. You sort of feel -it’s interference with lawful liberty, and maybe, that way you’re -right. But there’s no right-minded boy to this city’ll feel that -the Clan has done anything but a service to the credit of our burg. -Clancy was warned. He showed me his written warning two weeks back -and he was right up in the air. And his warning was straight and -right. It said, ‘Clear out your women and run your liquor joint -straight.’ It gave him two weeks. Well, he refused. And I got my -notions of the feller who makes his pay out of that sort of thing. -He banks with me and I can’t help it. But I’m glad his shanty’s -gone, and there are some more I’d like to see treated the same.” - -“Sounds like he was the Chief Light of the Aurora,” laughed Jubilee. - -Burns nodded. - -“Maybe it does, boy. But think back to the days when you were your -mother’s kid and you’ll think like me. No, I guess there’s a worry -back of that Clan, but not when they burn up joints like the ‘Glory -Hole.’” - -Doc Finch nodded over his cigar stump. - -“I’m with you, Victor,” he said seriously. - -“I’m sure you are, Doc.” - -“Well, what of Max’s show?” Abe was still considering possibilities -from a personal point of view. “What of the women there? Are things -better there when you get right down to bedrock? Say, I want to -laff. Ther’s vice to the square inch right around that dance hall -’ud pave hell a furlong a minute. But then, Max could buy half the -city,” he finished up bitterly. - -“I can’t stand for that,” the unsmiling face of Burt was suddenly -transformed. He was grinning but in real earnest. “The Speedway’s -the thing folks make it,” he said hotly. “It’s the only real joy -spot in a city that’s forgot how to laff. You can help yourself to -a portion of life there without a meal ticket. Ther’s light and -laughter there if you don’t get around with a grouch. You can burn -money there, or make a bunch, if you’re bright enough to beat the -other feller. Ther’s women who’re foolish, and women who ain’t, -and ther’s boys who’re a real imitation of men, and hogs disguised -under a bank roll. If the Clan was to get after Max’s joint it ’ud -be me for the coast and the first barge for the south. No, Abe, if -ther’s any sort of method back of those guys in their white shirts -and pointed sky-pieces you and Max can sit around without a worry. -An’, anyway, this bum hotel couldn’t have claim to vice, even in -the dreams of a bughouse inmate.” - -Jubilee chuckled as a preliminary to one of his characteristic -outbursts. Then he took in the whole company in his expansive, -headlong way. - -“Burt’s got a hell of a hunch, an’ I won’t have to charge him -haf-a-dollar for that shirt,” he laughed delightedly. “My, Abe, but -he got you plumb in the pit of the stomach. And he was right, sure. -I guess you can throw all the dirt you fancy in Beacon without ever -a chance of missin’ things. But the Speedway ain’t available for -that playing without hurtin’ folks who’re mostly your friends. What -’ud we do without the Speedway? Why, die plumb to death setting -around your verandah, smashin’ skitters. I can’t think of dying -worse.” - -The grin died out of his eyes, and a curious sort of earnestness -replaced it as he went on: - -“No, Abe,” he said, sitting up abruptly and spreading out his lean, -tenacious hands, which were carefully manicured. “Get a grip on -yourself and think of the women-folk who get glad there at night. -Do you grudge ’em? No, sir, you don’t. You couldn’t. It’s not in -you. You know a woman hasn’t a swell time in life when you think -about her. And in Beacon she wouldn’t get any time at all.” He -laughed again. “We’re told the first woman was made out of man’s -‘scrap.’ Maybe that’s how it comes she’s had to put up with man’s -‘left-over’ ever since.” He shook his head. “To my thinking, -woman’s never had a better time than a yaller pup ever since she -disappointed her folk with her sex. It seems to me a poor sort of -life fixing a man’s hash so he don’t take too big a chance on his -life policy. Think how she needs to smile every time a feller hands -her out five cents to make vacation on, same as if she was pleased. -Chores seem to be the limit of woman’s joy in life, and I guess -she’ll go right on chasing kids’ noses with a swab till she jerks -up at the graveyard. She’ll keep on trying to feed her whole bunch -on the change out of a dollar, and the promises her man hands out -to her like dead leaves in the fall. She’s got a hell of a life, -even if it’s only she’s expected to swallow a man’s lies whole and -sit around foolish waiting for ’em to come true. No, Abe, don’t you -ever go for to rob her of a moment’s pleasure. She’ll mother you -sick, and mother you well. She’ll lie for you and fight for you. -And when she’s broke her heart keepin’ folks from lynching you, -she’ll tidy you all she knows and pass you into the crematorium -in the hope of making you a real sanitary proposition for the -first time in your darn life. Ther’s all sorts of ’em find joy in -the Speedway. Some are foolish, but,” he finished up, turning his -perfectly serious eyes in the direction of the great dance hall, -“ther’s those who--aren’t.” - -At that instant a raucous honk! honk! echoed down the wide, -dust-laden, unkempt thoroughfare, and every eye was turned in the -direction. - -Out of a dust cloud a high-powered automobile raced down towards -them, rolling and bumping over the perilous unevennesses of the -road, regardless of every consequence. It was painted a curious -rich red, a big saloon body with black running gear and black -roof. It contained only two women, both expensively clad, one of -whom had a wealth of red hair that seemed to match the colour of -the vehicle. Every man on the verandah was craning. Every eye was -watching the car’s reckless progress. And as it passed, leaving -them almost lost under a fog of dust, it was Doc Finch who, -returning his feet to their resting-place on the verandah rail, -voiced something of the thought that occurred to the mind of each. - -“No,” he said, smiling amiably round on the company, “there’s no -gang, or clan, or bunch of disorderly toughs in Beacon Glory that -’ud dare to do harm to the Speedway so long as St. Claire Carver is -its patron saint.” - -The banker nodded prompt agreement. - -“That’s a cinch, Doc,” he said. “She’s got every man in Beacon just -where any good woman could want him.” - -Abe concurred promptly, if grudgingly. - -“She’s a real dandy an’ a good spender,” he admitted, “and she’s -got the whole fancy of Beacon as well as its luck----” - -“Luck?” Victor Burns drained the remains of his highball to wash -the dust of the automobile from his throat. “She’s made a pile -that would set some of the Wall Street guys screaming. Say!” He -laughed. Then he became serious. “And talking of gold and things,” -he went on, “there’s colour coming in just now from outside. A boy -bought himself a credit at my place this afternoon for eighty -thousand odd, and it was the sort of dust they used to collect on -‘Eighty-Mile’ years back.” - -The banker watched the almost electrical effect of his words on -a company to whom gold was the beginning and end of everything. -Discussion of the Speedway and its morals, and even of its -beautiful patron saint, was forgotten. Every man at once sat agog. -And even Jubilee Hurst, who was mainly a sheer gambler, who had -been gazing down the avenue after the now-vanished automobile, -eagerly sought information. - -“Where did it come from?” he asked, without hesitation or scruple. - -Burns shook his head. - -“Search me,” he said with a laugh. - -“Who’s the guy?” demanded Burt. - -“Guess I’m a banker.” - -“Can’t you hand us a thing?” inquired Abe. - -“Not a thing but just that,” Burns said quietly. “It’s the third -big bunch of dust come in from the same place, by the same boy, in -six months. And there’s more coming. I wanted you fellows to know -about it because it’s my job to collect the stuff, and the more -folks know about it the more they’ll worry to get after it. There’s -big gold coming into Beacon, and I guess that’s the best news -you----” - -He broke off. Ivor McLagan had appeared in the open glass doorway -leading on to the verandah. - -“Say,” he cried, after a moment’s pause, “I hadn’t a notion you -were in town, Ivor.” - -Jubilee laughed. - -“You ain’t much of a guesser, Burns,” he interjected. “Why wouldn’t -McLagan be along in? Is he missing Max’s show any more than you and -me? But say, Mac, tell us about oil. We just been hearing gold -from Burns and now we want oil. The oil king is right with us, -folk. He’s right in our midst,” he cried, with his ready laugh. -“The soft yellow stuff gets us all the time, but nice, black, -sticky oil’s only a short cut to it. You’re the guy to grease the -wheels of Beacon right. Gold won’t be a circumstance when you open -out one of your gushers. Sit around, man, and hand us news that’ll -help us digest Max’s Dago feast right. Talk to us of options and -borings and coal mountains, and all that sort of truck you can’t -eat and I’ll buy you a highball right now, and swear to set up a -swell piece by way of epitaph on your mausoleum when you’ve got -mired to death in the juice you’re going to flood Beacon with. -You’re our only hope of----” - -“And a darnation poor one, Jubilee,” McLagan interrupted, “that -is, right up to now.” He pulled up a chair and leaned his great -body over it, while his plain face smiled indulgently on the -irrepressible man who never failed to amuse him. “But we’re right -on oil. We’ve hit a--trickle. A hell of a fine--trickle.” - -Abe sat up. - -“Is that right?” he demanded, his eyes lighting. - -Ivor nodded. - -“It surely is, Abe. You’ll be re-building this hogpen in a year’s -time and you’ll need to add a hundred rooms.” - -Burns leant forward in his chair. - -“Is it going to be big?” - -“A real flood--if I’m not foolish.” - -“Will you talk to-night at Max’s feed?” inquired Doc Finch, a -staunch believer in publicity. - -“Not a whisper.” - -“Why not?” inquired Burt Riddell. - -“Because I got a deal too much that’s worth saying,” McLagan -laughed. “The only time it’s safe to talk is when you haven’t.” - -Jubilee chuckled appreciatively. - -“I’m buying that highball right away, Abe,” he cried. “And make it -for the whole darn house, if it’s my last buck. McLagan’s right. -Don’t shout till you want. Then shout like hell. Folk’ll hand it -you if it’s only to keep you quiet while they shout. Oil? And it’s -coming? Are there any options lying around? Are we to be in on the -ground floor, Mac, or is the darn door bolted and locked?” - -McLagan shook his head. - -“Sure it’s locked and I’ve hidden up the key,” he said quietly. -“My prospect’s a tight one. You see, it’s been a long trail and -I’m taking no chances. Easy money’s fine for those who make it. -But I’m not passing easy money to a soul. Guess I’ll go and clean -up for Max’s party.” He laughed pleasantly. “And I’ll collect your -highball on the way, boy. So long.” - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - The Speedway - - -Max Lepende, for all Jubilee Hurst’s estimate of him, was a -creature of unusual mentality. His ability was quite beyond -question; his morals were something of a less buoyant nature; while -his poses were wholly Latin in their extravagance, and contrived to -set up an impenetrable armour against those who sought to discover -the real man underneath. - -The Speedway was the reality of his own dream. Its inspiration -was a product of memories and experiences of early life in a land -of beauty and an atmosphere of bygone glories. And as such it -was a sufficient anachronism in its present setting to grip the -imagination of the crude minds which made up the clientele he hoped -to pillage in the outland territory he had chosen for his hunting -ground. - -He boasted the refinements of his designing, and was mercilessly -jealous of the Speedway’s fame. The attitude of other minds was -less benevolent towards it. The citizens of Beacon Glory were prone -at all times to downrightness, and, consequently, they set no halo -about the place. But they delighted in the licence it afforded them -for indulgence in pleasant surroundings. - -The fronting colonnade of five gaudily decorated pillars meant -nothing to the citizens of Beacon Glory. Yet they sometimes -marvelled at the costliness and the extent of the white paint that -looked so drab in the sunlight. Some never even paused to consider -the rich carpetings they trod underfoot in the gaming rooms, or -the wonderful block-flooring over which their heavy boots glided -in the great dance hall. But there were few enough who failed to -appreciate the raised private boxes which lined the walls of the -latter, furnished as they were with drinking tables, and deeply -upholstered chairs and divans, and hung with curtains to be drawn -at will. Then there was the glitter of innumerable mirrors, and the -broad staircase with its carved balustrades leading to the rooms -above, where every game from “crap dice” to “baccarat” could be -indulged in. - -The general run of the men and women of Beacon Glory demanded a -good time. And the Speedway, under Max’s consummate guidance and -absolute control, provided for their every need in this direction. -Oh, yes, Max saw to that. For underneath his patient, smiling -veneer, and his pose of polished respectability, he possessed a -hard, unyielding, astute commercial soul, greedy for the last cent -of profit he could extract from his customers. - -Hardened trail men, no less than educated men from the cities -of culture in the outer world, yielded to the seductions of the -Speedway. So did the women, who regarded it as a part of their -daily lives. The charm of subdued lights in the gaming rooms; the -dazzle and glitter at the gilded bars, and in the dance hall; the -subtle, rather sickly perfume of the place, the value of which Max -so perfectly understood; these things all contributed to make it a -veritable temple for the spiritual debasement of its devotees. - -On the night of its birthday the Speedway was swept and garnished -to the last degree. Fashion and custom were no less strong in -Beacon than in the more enlightened dwelling-places of humanity. -Every visitor to the place would be clad for the occasion. No -woman would dare to appear for the festival without some sort of a -new gown. And as for the men, knee-boots would be taboo, and heavy -working shoes were under the ban. Every man who was accustomed to -resort there would be raiding the shoe store the day before, and, -failing evening suits as part of their wardrobes, certainly only -the best they possessed could be tolerated. - -It was truly a splendid function and possessed all the outward -display with which humanity loves to hide up the wealth of moral -blemish to which it is unfortunately and unfailingly heir. The -place was super-heated and the air was heavy-laden, and Max, as he -welcomed his customers and guests, radiated smile, and perfume, and -punctilio without discrimination. - -Jubilee Hurst, observing him after enduring his own portion of the -formalities at the foot of the great staircase in the central hall, -realised to the full the delicious mockery of it all. He whispered -his comment to Ivor McLagan, who stood beside him, clad in the -well-cut evening suit that was anathema to his downright soul. - -“You know, Mac, there’s a heap to Max of the feline species. He’s -a mitt on him that ’ud shame velvet, and a tongue to match, and -I feel plumb sick in the pit of the stomach, and like handling a -newly hooked eel, when I get near enough to listen to his fancy -dope, and feel the tips of his polished fingers in my hand. Get a -line on him bowing around to folks whose bank roll he’s made his -life’s study. See his Dago antics. You’d guess he loves us all to -death, while all the time he’s out for plunder like any ‘hold-up’ -that ever flagged a western express. And we’re all grinning back at -him to schedule. And we’re all saying a piece we’ve sort of learnt -by heart from years of repetition. Can you beat it? No. I’ll eat -his darn feed an’ likely get full up to the back teeth with the -liquor he’s going to hand out. But to me it’s simply the change -out of the dollars he’s collected out of my wad over a long period -of darn foolishness. It isn’t a thing else, unless it’s to say I’m -just one of the mutts of life mired at the wrong end of things, an’ -can’t afford to act diff’rent.” - -McLagan smiled. - -“Don’t worry a thing, boy,” he said easily. “It’s just the game of -things we’ve all of us got to play more or less as we beat it along -the trail to the crematorium. I’d certainly say Max don’t need -showing a thing. I want to laff.” - -But for all the bitterness of spirit the Italian’s antics might -have inspired in those who saw through the mockery of it all, -the whole comedy looked to be playing out as the master-mind had -designed. It was ordained that the gathering at the Speedway, on -this one night in the year, should be a vivid landmark impressed -upon the minds of the city’s people, from the banquet to the -invited guests, to the ball, and the great gamble that would -later take place at the tables. There would be impressive decorum -for just as long as decorum could be maintained. And after that, -circumstances and the proprietor’s tact, and, failing that, his -powers of other persuasion, would deal with every contingency that -arose. There would be nothing allowed to occur on that occasion -calculated to besmirch the record of the place. That was Max’s -purpose. A purpose from which he had no intention of departing. - - * * * * * - -The banquet was over and the company had dispersed in such -directions as individual inclination prompted. Max had thrown his -annual shower of verbal bouquets, and had drunk in the responsive -adulation and laudatory expressions which custom demanded from -his guests. The courses had been disposed of by healthy appetites -which refused to be disguised, and an excellent brand of champagne -had flowed in no niggard measure to lubricate faculties that were -easily enough set in motion for full appreciation of the night’s -riot. The ballroom was already thronged with dancers of every grade -of ability, and the lure of the tables had claimed their devotees. -While not a few were sufficiently attracted by the magnetic glitter -of the bars where the white-clad bartenders were under orders to -dispense of their best mixtures without charge. - -Ivor McLagan and some of his friends had passed over the -attractions of everything else for the shaded lights of the poker -hall. It was a spacious apartment with panelled walls of dark green -to match the colour of the baize-covered tables. It was carpeted -thickly with oriental reds and blues, and such woodwork as there -was was gleaming white. The tables were spaced evenly round the -walls, with one only somewhat larger than the rest, occupying the -centre of the room. The place was entered from a landing just -beyond a wide, decorated archway hung with curtains, and this, in -turn, gave on to the head of the great staircase. - -It was a room with which little enough fault could be found. For, -apart from the charm of its shaded rose lighting, it was governed -by a number of unwritten laws so that its company could pursue its -devotions without let or hindrance, or any disturbing element. The -chip bureau was presided over by a seemingly voiceless autocrat, -while velvet-footed waiters ministered to the thirst of everybody -in the efficient manner of well-drilled club servants. It was all -admirably calculated to yield the best possible profit out of a -mixed company which consisted of men and women of substance and -undeniable beauty, down to the rough-clad trail men who sold their -“dust” for chips, and a gambling fraternity of every shade of -colour and almost every race. - -Outwardly it was a sheer delight for those who were sufficiently -young and reckless. It was a place to grip the imagination. -Inwardly, or underneath its surface of pleasant seeming, there was -perhaps a different aspect. There was not one of the immaculate -waiters who was not a trained athlete in his ability to deal with -the toughest human violence, and each man was fully armed with an -automatic pistol or some other lethal weapon. Then the voiceless -president at the chip bureau was a dead shot, and had under his -fingers a system of switches which could summon any aid he needed -and close every exit of the establishment, at an instant’s notice. - -McLagan had made no attempt to cut into any of the games that had -already started. For the moment he and the rotund Dr. Finch and -Jubilee Hurst were onlookers. Jubilee was sitting on an unoccupied -table, while the two others were smoking Max’s cigars, watching the -game in progress at the next table. - -The doctor and Jubilee seemed more deeply interested than was the -oil man. A poker game was irresistible to Jubilee at all times. Doc -Finch had partaken of a sufficiently good dinner to find interest -in anything, provided it was witnessed from a comfortable chair. -But McLagan’s attention undisguisedly wandered to the curtained -entrance every time the hangings were drawn aside to admit a -newcomer. - -He was a keen poker player, but only as a pastime. And he rarely -drifted into any of the really big games that were played at the -Speedway. Just now he had no desire at all to participate in any of -them. He was by no means a part of the Speedway’s human freight. -But for months, now, he had never failed to spend his evenings in -its scented atmosphere when business demanded his presence in the -city. - -Jubilee shook his carefully oiled head in response to McLagan’s -challenge. - -“No, I’m not cutting in yet,” he said. Then he added with a grin, -indicating the table in front of them, “Guess I couldn’t make a -one-night hotel bill out of a bunch like that. See that guy open a -fi’ dollar jack pot, an’ throw in at the first bet? They’re a close -bunch, without the nerve to buck four aces right. I’ll wait for the -Saint.” - -McLagan’s quick eyes shot a sharp look into a grinning face. - -“She plays a great game,” he observed quietly. - -“Game? It’s a gift.” Jubilee chuckled. “If she’d take me as -partner,” he went on with meaning, “we’d clean up half the world.” - -McLagan removed his cigar and dropped its ash into the fixed tray -provided on the table on which Jubilee was sitting. - -“Have you put it to her?” he asked smilingly. - -The other shook his head. - -“Not on your life, Mac,” he said seriously. “I’m sure like every -other guy around the way I feel but I’ve a sight too big a respect -for a good woman to want to tie her up to the kind of life I live. -Maybe sometime I’ll make the pile I mostly dream about, and I’ll -be able to quit the game I’ve always run. Well, when that time -comes, and I’ve learnt Sunday School ways, I’ll be feeling and -acting pious. Maybe it ’ud be different then. Say, Doc’s doping off -his feed.” - -“You’re wrong, boy.” The Doctor bestirred himself. “But likely -enough I was dreaming. I thought I heard you talking of -acting--pious. I----” - -He broke off. The curtains had been abruptly drawn aside from the -great archway. Two of the waiters were holding them back. Suddenly -there was a curious hissing sound somewhere up in the shadows about -the domed ceiling. The next moment a fierce light flashed out, -filling the archway with the white-circle of its beam. It was a -“spot lime,” and it fell on the tall, slim figure of a beautifully -gowned girl as she appeared from the landing beyond. It was Max’s -greeting, on the night of celebration, to the beautiful Saint of -his beloved Speedway. - -Just for an instant Claire Carver stood dazzled by the glare of the -unexpected light. Every eye in the room was turned in her direction -to discover the meaning of the terrific blaze. And in that moment -Ivor McLagan feasted himself upon the vision he had been awaiting. - -The girl was clad in an expensive sort of semi-evening gown of -soft, black material, aglitter with the shining surfaces of -a myriad of black beads. At her waist was a large, sprawling -artificial flower that matched the ruddy tone of her vivid hair. -She was without gloves, and her rounded arms of alabaster whiteness -were bare to the shoulder, and her gown below the knees revealed -sheeny silk stockings which terminated in high-arched insteps and -exquisite shoes. But her glory was the hat adorned with flowing -Paradise plumes, and the wealth of her hair framing a face whose -beauty set the pulses of the gazing man hammering. - -Never in his life had McLagan seen Claire a creature so exquisite. -And there flashed through his mind a memory of the girl of the -headland, tortured by the threat of Bad Booker’s usurious terms. -The change, the complete transformation, was amazing. There had -been change before. He had seen it and delighted in it. But there -had been nothing like this. This was the girl’s party gown. He -understood that. She was---- - -“God o’ my fathers!” - -Jubilee breathed his astonished admiration into McLagan’s ears, and -was promptly silenced by a look. - -Somewhat embarrassed Claire came down the room with heightened -colour, and eyes that smiled almost shyly. It was the same sweet -face which McLagan had always known. Only it lacked something of -that natural freshness which the wind and the sun of the coast had -bestowed upon it in her days on Lively Creek. The downy bloom of -those days had been replaced by a suggestion of powder. Even her -pretty lips seemed to have gained added ripeness from the careful -touch of cosmetic. But the wide blue eyes, the even brows, and the -rounded, perfectly moulded cheeks were the same, and, to the man’s -thinking, even more beautiful. - -But some of the delight McLagan felt as the girl came quickly -towards him passed at once as he beheld the figure of Max close -behind her. Many a night he had looked on at the centre table where -Claire always played, and had even found amusement in observing -the crowd of men of all conditions who never failed to gather like -moths about a candle flame. He had watched them in their frantic -efforts to win her ready smile, and it had filled him only with -added pleasure in her beauty and simple charm. - -But the sight of Max at that moment, with his sleek, dark head, -and his carefully cut close beard, his immaculate clothes, and his -good-looking foreign face, inspired a feeling he had never before -experienced. He remembered the method of this girl’s entrance. -The elaborate staginess of it. And he realised that Max had not -designed an entrance for the most popular gambler in Beacon Glory. -No. It was for the woman herself. And Max was rich and powerful, -and without scruple. And, furthermore, with immense resources for -achieving any purpose upon which he set his mind. - -Anger rose behind the man’s keen eyes, and their usual easy humour -was changed to a glitter that had nothing mild or yielding in it. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - The Man from the Lias River - - -The little burst of applause which greeted Claire’s entrance had -died out. Like the stage light that had descended upon her it had -left her with a slight feeling of embarrassment. But she understood -that the men, at least, if not the women, were in the mood to -applaud anything and everything, for it was a night of festival. -It was the first of its kind she had attended. She had known by -tradition what was expected, and had seen to it that she played -her part. So her gown was the most expensive she could import from -Seattle and the largish beaded handbag she was carrying was packed -with a roll of money of unusually large proportions. - -In the brief eight months since Claire had plunged into the vortex -of the Speedway’s gaming life she had become a victim of the fever -of it all. Her original purpose had been the simple betterment -of her fortunes and those of her mother. She had desired nothing -more. For, in her heart, she had no sympathy with the reputation of -the place. The whole idea had been cold business. But by degrees -her viewpoint had changed, and the rich youth in her had gained -ascendency. The place, the life, the game, swiftly took possession -of her, and all of the dead father latent in her young soul had -stirred to an irresistible passion. The lure of that centre table -she had made hers, the rattle of the chips, the feel of the -delicate pasteboards in her nimble fingers, were all things she -had come to live for. She had learned to love it all with a real -passion. - -In the process of time there had been scarcely a moment of -disillusion. Her beauty had gained her a deep place in the hearts -of the men. And the women, whatever their real feelings, bowed -before a creature whom the other sex had set on so exalted a -pedestal. Then her skill; her spirit. At the realisation of these -things even the women stood by in frank admiration, while her -amazing good fortune filled them with superlative envy. - -Claire had been staunch and true to herself and her purpose. -Never once had there fallen a lapse. She eschewed the vices she -witnessed in others of her sex who haunted the place, while she -gave full run to her capacity for sheer enjoyment. Never once in -the thirsty, heated atmosphere of the place had she permitted any -beverage more harmful than a mineral water to pass her pretty lips. -She revelled in the scent of the tobacco with which men and women -filled the atmosphere. But she had not the slightest inclination -to essay the mildest of cigarettes herself. Then, too, she had -swiftly discovered herself to be possessed of an unerring instinct -in defence against the ardent and often crude advances she was -constantly encountering amongst the wild youth with which she found -herself surrounded. - -She had been dubbed “The Saint” from the earliest days of her -career at the Speedway. And it was a natural enough appellation. -Her given name had suggested, and her methods had inspired. It was -the jealous minds of her own sex which had coined the designation. -And the manhood of the city had taken it up in real affection. - -Before passing to her table Claire came over to the seat where -McLagan’s great figure was lounging. And her greeting of him had in -it no lessening of their old friendliness. - -“Why, Ivor,” she cried, “I didn’t guess you’d be along in town. -This is real fine on a party night. And--and”--her lighting eyes -surveyed his evening suit--“say, don’t you look swell? You see, I -always sort of expect you in your tough old pea-jacket.” - -The man’s plain face was alight with undisguised pleasure. He shook -his head, and his small eyes twinkled. - -“Don’t just say a thing, Claire,” he said quietly. “If you knew -the way I feel I guess you’d hand me all the pity you know. I am -hating myself under a boiled shirt, but I had to be around to-night -anyway. And I’m glad. I’d have missed that dandy gown of yours -else, and the picture you’re looking. You’ve got Beacon plumb -dazzled and me well-nigh blinded.” - -The girl flushed and laughed, but she left his compliment -unanswered. - -“Are you going to sit in at my table?” she asked. Then with real -sincerity, “I’d be glad.” - -But again McLagan shook his head. - -“No, Claire,” he said reflectively. “I got other notions being here -to-night. Besides,” he added with a smile, “my bank roll isn’t -equal to better than table-stakes,’ and that’s no sort of use -when _you_ get busy. I’ll just sit around awhile. There’s Jubilee -yearning to lighten your wad. He sat right in on the jump when you -came along, and I don’t fancy he’ll squeal when you’re through with -him. No, I’m waiting on Victor Burns, and one or two boys. I can do -business here, and--I’ve pleased Max coming.” - -Claire glanced round at her table and her eyes were no longer -smiling. Her table had filled with the men with whom she was -accustomed to play, and they were waiting on her pleasure. - -“Why must you please Max?” she asked a little sharply. “Why is it -all of you men reckon to please Max?” Suddenly she lowered her -voice and inclined towards him. “He’s gone off to the dance hall so -I don’t mind. I’m getting to hate him like I used to hate Booker -months back. That play of his just now with his light. It sickened -me. It surely did, Ivor. And he’s getting like a tame cat. And I -hate cats. Give me a dog all the time, and a good, rough, fighting -trail husky at that.” - -McLagan nodded. His eyes were smiling inscrutably. - -“Don’t worry with him,” he said. “Don’t worry with any feller. Max -has his uses, which don’t need to concern you. But your boys are -looking gun-play my way.” - -Claire laughed. The man was dismissing her. This big, burly, plain -creature who had persistently asked her to marry him. Just for a -moment a sense of pique disturbed her, but it passed immediately, -lost in her laugh. There was no other man in that room would have -done the same. She nodded at him and took her dismissal. - -“Swell clothes hide up all sorts of things, I guess,” she cried, -as she moved away, “but it’s queer how the rough in a man can leak -through. I guess those boys at the table won’t be in such a hurry -to lose me.” - -She was gone. And with her going a sense of loneliness at once -stole in on McLagan. He desired her for himself. He desired Claire -Carver above all things in the world. He could cheerfully have -driven the crowd about her table headlong. But that was the feeling -that was his at all times at the sight of the men who gathered -about her. However, he had come there with a resolve from which he -would not deviate, and, in accordance with that which lay at the -back of his mind, he had dismissed her to the game which he knew -was her passionate delight. - -Victor Burns had just passed the curtained archway, and hard on his -heels was a newcomer who at once claimed all McLagan’s interest. -For a moment he observed the man while the banker strolled -leisurely over towards him. He was a broad, powerful creature in -dark clothes, with a pea-jacket tightly buttoned over his chest. -His face was clean-shaven and dark, but his eyes were of the palest -hue of blue, and as expressionless as those of a dead codfish. It -was his eyes that interested McLagan most, and Burns came up almost -before he was aware of it. - -Burns laughed. - -“Hello, Mac, where are the boys? Busy? You seem to be having all -sorts of a time to yourself. I’ll hail a flunkey an’ collect a -cocktail.” - -McLagan edged round towards the empty chair which the banker took -possession of. - -“Nothing for me, Victor,” he said brusquely. “Jubilee’s in the -game there, and the Doc’s oozed off to get a look at the dames -in the dance room. Abe’s passed back to his own booth, and young -Burt Riddell’s sitting in where his game can’t butt in on his -partner’s.” He laughed. “We’re outside it all, eh?” - -“I surely am,” the banker admitted promptly as he surveyed the -crowd. “You can’t run a bank and play big money at the Speedway. -Say----” - -He broke off as he caught sight of the man with the pale blue eyes -thrusting his way unceremoniously through the crowd about Claire’s -table. McLagan followed the direction of his gaze. - -“Who’s that tough-looking guy?” he asked quickly. - -“Cy Liskard,” the banker said. “He’s a client of mine. And he’s -full to the back teeth with dollars and dust. And,” he added -slowly, “looks like he is with liquor, too. Guess he’s out for a -time. He’ll get it if he sits into the Saint’s game. She’ll skin -him to death.” - -The stranger’s movements were rough and forceful. He made no -pretence. The crowd where he joined it about Claire’s table was -at least three deep. It was composed of men in every fashion of -clothing, and women whose faces were sufficiently disguised under -paint to hide up the worst traces of aging and dissipation. He -shouldered his way through and came to a halt immediately behind -one of the players. McLagan wondered at the ease, the impunity, -with which his purpose was accomplished. - -“He’s a roll of ten thousand in his hip pocket, and I can’t say how -much more. I wonder the kind of game he’s got lying back of those -dead eyes of his.” - -Burns spoke reflectively, but his companion made no answer. McLagan -had bestirred himself out of his seat. He had perched himself up on -its arm, the better to view the scene. His gaze was on the stranger -and was swiftly reading the thing that must have been obvious to -any onlooker sufficiently interested. The man was clearly under the -influence of drink, but by no means drunk, and his “dead eyes,” as -Burns had called them, were fixed in a devouring stare upon the -girl at the far end of the table. It was not the game that claimed -the man. No, it was the girl, who remained utterly unconscious of -his regard, lost in the absorbing interest of the hand she was -playing. - -“You know, Mac,” Burns went on, after a moment’s contemplation -of the man, “there’s faces with features that mark a man down in -a feller’s reckoning, and leave him with an opinion that he’s no -right to on the face of things. But his feeling generally proves -right in the end. That boy’s eyes leave me cold in the spine,” he -laughed. “To me they’re the eyes of a dead soul. To me, they’re the -eyes of a feller who’d better have been smothered at birth. I’d -hate----” - -He broke off. Above the murmur of voices with which the room was -filled the tones of a voice jarred harshly. It was Cy Liskard, and -he was speaking to the man behind whose chair he was standing. - -“I want to cut in right away,” he was saying. “Ther’s fi’ hundred -dollars for your chair, Mister. Does it go?” - -McLagan had straightened up from his lounging attitude. Burns, -too, was on his feet, and both had moved nearer to the table. -Five hundred dollars offered for a “cut-in.” It was sufficiently -extravagant. And every eye of those standing around was on the -stranger who made the offer. - -A few moments passed. The hand came to an end, the pot passing to -the man whom the stranger had sought to buy out. Then there came -movement, and the player’s voice made itself heard. - -“Hand us the dough,” he said sharply. “You can cut right in. If -you’ve the nerve to bid five hundred for a chair, I guess you’re -more entitled to it than me.” - -He rose from his place and Cy Liskard dropped into it. Then he -made his way through the smiling crowd. - -“Fifteen hundred dollars for six hands leaves me at peace with the -world,” he said, as he approached McLagan and the banker. “Ain’t -that so, Mac?” he asked, with a wink. - -He stood for a moment looking back at the table, and his smile of -self-satisfaction suddenly faded out of his eyes. - -“I’m kind of sorry I fell for it, though,” he said, lowering his -voice. “That guy’s haf soused, and I’ve let him into _her_ table.” - -“Maybe it’s just as well you did, Soo.” - -Soo Tybert stared at McLagan wonderingly. He was a burly youngster, -partner in a dry goods store, and hailed from his father’s -wholesale house in Seattle. - -“How so?” he asked. - -McLagan shrugged. - -“He meant cutting in, anyway.” - -Burns smiled. - -“I guess the Saint’s going to have a swell night,” he said. “Mister -Cy’ll be along in the morning to replenish his dollar reserves. Can -you beat these boys who come easy by the stuff lying around the -creeks? Haf a highball under their belts and the good air of the -hills blown out of their vitals, and they’re as ready to pass on -their stuff as an elderly, new-made widow-woman.” - -But McLagan and the dry goods boy were paying no heed to the -banker’s reflections. They were talking earnestly in a low tone, -and when they had finished, Soo made a somewhat hurried departure. - -“Where’s he gone?” asked Burns, when McLagan returned to his side. - -“To hunt up Max.” - -“Why?” The banker’s keen eyes had sobered, and a sharp look of -doubt accompanied his interrogation. - -McLagan indicated the table at which Claire presided. - -“What d’you know of Cy Liskard?” he asked, curtly. - -“Not a thing. He’s a customer at the bank, that’s all. He’s on pay -dirt and hit it good.” - -“Where?” - -“Don’t know.” - -Burns shrugged. But the look in his friend’s eyes interested him. - -“There’ll be trouble before the night’s out. I’m going to stop -around.” - -McLagan’s words came sharply, but in a tone only meant for the -banker’s ears. There was a curious hard set to his plain face, -and his small eyes were coldly bright. Victor Burns held him in -deep regard, and his understanding of him was the understanding of -years of intimate association. He had long since probed McLagan’s -interest in Claire Carver, and made his estimate of it. And now, as -he observed the man’s hard-set look, he realised something of the -depths to which he was stirred. - -“You don’t need to worry,” he said quietly. “There’s no man around -here to-night crazy enough to play tough--not to-night.” - -McLagan’s reply came with cold conviction. - -“Ordinarily, I’d say you’re right, Victor. But ther’s mischief back -of that feller’s eyes. He paid five hundred to cut in. Why? For a -hand at poker? Not on your life. I’m going to get in and watch the -game.” - - * * * * * - -McLagan was far too familiar with the poker games played at the -Speedway to concern himself with the bigness of the game he was -looking on at. It mattered little enough to him the relative -value of the heavy red, white and blue chips. Their value might be -twenty-five, fifty and one hundred calculated in cents or dollars. -It made no impression whatsoever upon his imagination, but the -skill of the players was a never-failing source of interest. The -human psychology in the game was fascinating beyond words. - -To him the young girl, who seemed literally to have given up her -life to the lure of the game, was the epitome of all that was -demanded of human nature in the play. Her beautiful face smiled -or remained serious as mood inclined her. But no change in it -was wrought or influenced by the progress of the game. Her mood -seemed at all times buoyant, and her flashes of inspiration came -and passed without a moment of apparent effort or hesitation. In -three hands she had her opponent’s measure with an instinct and -observation that were unerring, while she played her own hand -with the baffling inconsequence which only a beautiful woman -could achieve. The values of every hand, estimated through her -understanding of her opponent’s methods, were instinctive knowledge -to her, and she played on the instant at all times, while her skill -in the draw proclaimed her utter and complete mistress of the game. - -A hand had been dealt since Cy Liskard had sat in and the ante had -remained unchallenged. Now a jack-pot was being dealt for. Claire’s -smile was good to watch, and a light of deep absorption was shining -behind her beautiful eyes. She dealt the hand, and sat waiting for -the opening or passing of the jack-pot. - -Jubilee shook his head and closed his cards up. The next man -refused. Cy Liskard picked up some chips and counted them. - -“I’m opening for ‘fifty,’” he said, while his curious eyes levelled -themselves at the dealer. “Guess that calls a hundred.” - -The hush was profound. The onlookers foresaw a big gamble if all -the table came in. Then again, it might be a crude bluff on the -part of this man who was almost a stranger to them. - -McLagan was observing the man with almost cat-like watchfulness. -Victor Burns was smiling interestedly, wondering the while how long -his customer would last in the hands of these skilled and merciless -gamblers. To him there was, there could be, no doubt as to the end. -This man would stand no chance. He would stand no more chance than -a lamb in the midst of a wolf pack. - -Of the six players at the table Jubilee alone refused to come in. -He threw his cards in and sat back while Claire began to deal for -the draw. The betting started at fifty dollars, and the spectators’ -interest deepened, for, after the draw, all but Claire and the man -who had opened the pot threw in their hands. - -Claire’s instant response to the stranger was a raise to five -hundred dollars. - -It was the sort of thing expected of her, and interest deepened. Cy -Liskard had drawn two cards, and the smiling dealer had matched his -draw. There could be no indication as to what either of the players -held beyond the fact that the man had opened the pot. - -Cy’s response was slower in coming. He glanced at his cards and -closed them instantly. Then, in a moment, he raised the girl’s bet -by one hundred dollars. - -McLagan never for an instant withdrew his gaze from the man, for -it was the man who interested him. It seemed to him the dead eyes -had somehow come to life under the purpose driving him, and he -was endeavouring to read and grasp that purpose. To McLagan it was -a face masking completely every sign of emotion, but he felt that -emotion was burning deeply behind the lustreless eyes, and somehow -the conviction of lurking evil was irresistible. - -Victor Burns, like all the rest around the table, had eyes only -for the beautiful woman, with her graceful figure a-shimmer with -the twinkling beads of her gown, and with her wealth of vivid hair -under her modish hat framing a face which he was never tired of -gazing upon. - -Claire smiled her prompt reply, her lips parting and revealing a -row of perfect teeth as she “saw” the bet and raised it another -five hundred. The challenge was thrilling and on the instant every -eye focussed on the man at the end of the table. - -He raised his strange eyes and gazed hardly into those of the girl, -and as he passed his chips into the centre of the table, McLagan -drew a deep breath. - -“Curse it, ther’s your fi’ hundred, an’ another on top of it. Will -you see it?” - -“Surely. And raise it.” Claire’s retort came in tones of smiling, -unruffled calm. “It’ll cost you a thousand more.” - -The man laughed. But the laugh was harsh and unconvincing in its -lack of mirth. - -“I like it in thousands,” he cried, as the girl’s chips were slid -into place to swell the pot. “There’s your thousand and another. -Well?” - -There was a shuffling of feet amongst the spectators and several -coughed. It was an expression of the wave of excitement surging. - -“Perfectly well.” - -The girl matched his bet and raised it another hundred. And the man -laughed again with a further challenge. - -“It’ll cost you another thousand!” he cried, and his tone was -exulting. - -Victor Burns found himself holding his breath while he waited for -the girl’s move. Just for one instant her eyes flashed out of their -usual calm. There was real excitement in them now. And he wondered -if at last she had been caught out of her depth. - -“And more,” she said. And her voice was perfectly steady. “One -thousand more.” - -Her chips had become exhausted and she thrust forward a roll of -bills. Then she sat waiting for the man to come again. - -It was the supreme moment when the test of nerve was at its highest -pitch. The onlookers understood. Big game as they were used to -witnessing at this centre table, it was the first time they had -looked on with stakes rising by a thousand dollars at a bet. The -question in every mind was the same. The man was obviously a gold -man with a pouch full of dust. What was its limit? How far would he -go under the influence of the surroundings and the liquor he had -obviously consumed? - -Cy Liskard clutched his cards and laughed harshly. - -“Come again,” he shouted. “There’s your thousand an’ another.” - -He literally flung the bills on the table, for he, too, had -exhausted his chips. “Ther’s nigh fifteen thousand in the pot. Can -you see it an’ raise it? Raise it--if you’ve the grit.” - -“Sure, I will,” Claire replied with just a suspicion of sharpness -in her tone for all her smile. “Come again, Mister man. Let’s see -your colour. You haven’t the stuff in you to raise that. It’ll cost -you fifteen hundred.” - -The girl’s breath came quickly for all her self-control. There was -challenge in her tone, a woman’s taunting. But to McLagan, who -knew her every mood, there was more. In his mind he questioned her -nerve if the man came back at her, and he edged his way nearer, and -his instinct was to support and strengthen her in the weakness he -fancied she was beginning to betray. - -He reached her side, and her opponent was forgotten. Just for one -instant her pretty eyes flashed a smiling upward glance into his -plain face, and a wave of relief surged through his anxious mind. -Her eyes were full of the confident courage he had feared for. - -“It’s good enough!” - -Cy Liskard threw his cards on the table face downward. - -“It’s yours, my lady. I’m done.” - -A gasp of astonishment came from the onlookers. The man’s defeat, -his weakness, left them amazed. Then, as Claire reached out and -collected the pool, short and sharp came Jubilee’s challenge. - -“Your ‘openers,’ Mister!” - -Cy Liskard turned his unsmiling eyes on the man. His gaze was cold -for all the harshness of his response. - -“What the hell!” he cried. - -Then he reached towards his cards and sought to turn them. In doing -so he displayed all five. Perhaps it was intentional--perhaps, in -a fury of resentment at the challenge in his defeat, the thing was -inadvertent. Whatever it was, the revelation was complete and a -gasp of amazement greeted his action. - -He had thrown in _four aces_! - -A chorus of derision followed. There was laughter. There were -epithets of undisguised contempt for the play that could yield -four aces so tamely. Even Claire smiled her contempt at her late -opponent while she thrust her own cards deeply into the remainder -of the pack. There was only the straight flush to have beaten that -hand, and the man had parted with something like eight thousand -dollars. - -The comments of the onlookers remained unheeded. The man’s dead -eyes were on the woman opposite him. He seemed oblivious to all but -the smiling contempt in her eyes. - -“Say, ain’t you satisfied?” he demanded, a curious note underlying -the harshness of his tone. - -Claire laughed derisively. - -“Sure I am,” she cried. “I’m always satisfied with easy money. -Guess I’m ready to take all that’s coming, even from a feller who’s -fool enough to throw in four aces. The deal’s with you, Jubilee.” - -She turned to her grinning neighbour, who was shuffling the cards, -but the man at the end of the table was not yet done with. - -“Say,” he cried again, and his tone matched the frigidity of his -soulless eyes. “Ain’t ther’ no change comin’? I handed you better -than eight thousand dollars. Guess you didn’t win that pool. I -passed it you. You didn’t bluff me a thing. Eight thousand couldn’t -scare a feller with my wad. No, sir. You’re queen of this layout, -and I don’t seem to yearn for any lesser dame. You got eight -thousand a present. An’ ther’s fi’ thousand more fer a dance. Guess -that’s what you’re here for, ain’t it? Here’s the stuff. I’m out to -buy. It’s right up to you. Well?” - -The coldness of it was icy. The brutal purpose consummate. The man -was in liquor, but it was no drunken proposal. It was considered -and confident. - -A hot flush swept over the girl’s beautiful cheeks. It dyed her -fine brows right up to the roots of her no less vivid hair. Then -she smiled, and her eyes glittered. She shook her head. - -“You’re drunk or crazy,” she said. “I don’t know where you come -from. I don’t even know your name. But I guess you best get back to -the dirt you scratch your gold out of. It’s the only place for men -like you.” - -Claire spoke quietly, but there was that in her words and tone -that was indescribable in its utter contempt. Cy Liskard withdrew -the bunch of money he was grasping with a jerk. He stood up. And -his cold gaze passed swiftly over the crowd of faces watching the -scene. Then his eyes came to rest again on the beautiful creature -he so obviously coveted, and dull fury looked out of them. - -“You b----!” - -But the filthy epithet was smothered. A man’s great fist crashed it -back into the foul throat that had inspired it. Cy Liskard reeled. -He fell backwards against the chair from which he had arisen. And -when he recovered himself he was looking into the muzzle of a heavy -automatic pistol with the fierce, narrow eyes of Ivor McLagan -behind the weapon. - -“You swine! Beat it! Beat it right out of here or I’ll send you -plumb to the hell you belong to! Push up your hands, darn you! Push -’em up, an’ beat it!” - -But the man made no attempt to obey. His pale eyes stared back -into the fury burning in the engineer’s. His hands remained by his -sides. - -Those looking on realised the thing about to happen. There was -movement and scurrying as those in other parts of the room -scrambled out of the line of fire. This stranger man was looking on -death, calmly and without yielding. Another moment and---- - -But in that moment an amazing thing happened. It almost seemed -as if by magic the room had become peopled by a small army of -ghostly, white-robed figures. They came in a sort of wave through -the curtained archway through which Claire, earlier in the evening, -had made her triumphal entry. And they swept down upon the gold man -from behind in the voiceless fashion of avenging spectres. - -It was all over in a moment. Cy Liskard was engulfed in the -white wave that rushed upon him. There was a moment of confused, -voiceless struggle. Then the white-hooded spectres had vanished -as they had come and McLagan returned his heavy weapon to the -hip-pocket of the evening clothes he so cordially detested. - -Cy Liskard had been spirited away by the white-clad Aurora men, and -almost on the instant the momentarily interrupted game was resumed -amidst a chorus of laughter and eager comment. Nothing would be -allowed to interfere with the Speedway’s routine. Even matters of -life and death were of no real concern comparable with the success -of Max’s annual festival. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - The Aurora Clan - - -It was brilliant moonlight. Millions of stars were shining on the -velvet of the heavenly dome, but their sheen was dimmed against the -vivid spread of moving colour that lit the northern horizon. In the -cloudlessness of the night the mysterious blaze of the Aurora had -transformed the hours of darkness. - -It was somewhere beyond the city limits where the plain rose gently -towards the distant, surrounding hills, and the open gave place -to wide bluffs of forest land. The scene was set in a spacious -clearing, with a wealth of spruce and poplar and jack-pine rising -out of the tangle of undergrowth encompassing it. And somewhere -about its centre stood an aged Western cedar, which looked to -belong to other latitudes, other climates. - -The cedar was a forest giant of immense proportions. It stood -out in the splendid twilight black and overwhelming, for all its -height was dwarfed by the lofty, tattered crowns of its aloofly -respectful neighbours. It formed a wide canopy of shelter beneath -its far-reaching boughs, matted with their manifold carpet of -curious foliage. It was a shelter admirably suited to the ghostly -scene being enacted beneath its shade. - -Twenty white-robed, white-hooded figures stood in an unbroken -circle at a point where the wide-flung boughs were at their -greatest spread. Right above them, almost exactly bisecting their -circle, a monstrous bough reached out supporting a dangling, -rawhide rope which terminated in an ominous noose. Within a foot -of this noose, gazing squarely at it, bound hand and foot, stood a -white man prisoner. - -For the moment complete silence prevailed while Cy Liskard’s pale -eyes surveyed the thing with which he was confronted. He was sober -enough now, and there was no lack of understanding in him. He -knew he was the victim of no play game. For even he, comparative -stranger as he was to the life of Beacon Glory, had heard of the -doings of the men of the Aurora Clan. - -He had offended. He realised that. He had offended these -self-appointed custodians of the city’s morals, and he was -searching acutely the doubtful chances confronting him. - -His cold eyes passed over each silent figure in its white cloth -gown. He sought to penetrate the conical hoods which enveloped -each head, masking it completely and falling generously upon the -shoulders. And all the time he was aware of the ugly thing which -hung precisely at the level of his neck. - -The futility of his search quickly impressed itself upon him. -Bound fast, he was completely helpless. These people had left -him with sufficient freedom to stand erect, but that was all. At -length the silence, his own impotence, and the hideous threat of -the dangling rope got the better of his none too generous stock of -self-restraint. He stirred, and sought to twist his powerful arms -free under their painful bonds. Then of a sudden his voice rang out -sharply, harshly, in a characteristic challenge. - -“Well? What the hell--next?” - -There was fury in his challenge. There was a shadow of something -else in its violence. And as the sound of it died away the silence -of the night came back at him, filling him with a sense of his own -utter helplessness. - -A few moments later one of the white figures stepped out of its -place in the circle. It came forward and halted before the hanging -rope. It raised its arms and took possession of the noose, and when -the rope was finally released the captive realised that the noose -had been considerably widened. - -Then the man stood a pace back and made a sign with outstretched -hands. He beckoned in two directions. And, in a moment, the captive -was seized from behind and securely held by his bound arms. - -Putting forth a tremendous effort, Cy Liskard sought to free -himself. It was quite hopeless; and the effort, as a result of his -bonds, only cost him his balance, and, but for the support of his -captors he would have fallen to the ground. - -The prisoner was no longer under any illusion. The thing about to -happen was obvious, and the silence of it all suddenly drove panic -surging. The man in front of him had again possessed himself of the -swinging noose. He approached slowly. Then, in a moment, the rope -was placed over the prisoner’s head and rested loosely upon his -shoulders. - -The figure withdrew at once to the tree-trunk. And a moment later -the noose drew sharply tight about Cy Liskard’s bull-like neck. - -With the tightening of the noose the last vestige of the prisoner’s -self-restraint vanished. He cried out, and his whole impulse was -for blasphemy and vituperation. - -“Name of God!” he cried violently. “Cut this adrift if you’re men -and not swine. What have I done? What d’you want? Gold? If you’re -‘hold-ups’ I’m ready to pay. You’ve got me where you need me. Turn -loose your lousy tongues. If you cut this gear adrift ther’ ain’t a -man amongst you ’ud stand up to me two seconds.” - -A voice replied to him. It sounded muffled, and hollow, and far-off -as it came from behind the mask of the man at the tree-trunk. But -to the prisoner it came in welcome relief. For it was the first -human voice he had heard since his capture. - -“We want nothing from you, Cy Liskard,” it said. “We aren’t out to -rob dead men. You’re about to be dealt with according to the laws -of the Aurora Clan.” - -The voice seemed to fade out rather than to cease speaking. Then -the controlling figure at the tree-trunk gave a further sign. The -two men standing ward of their prisoner withdrew on the instant, -and with a jerk the rope tightened viciously about the prisoner’s -neck. - -The man writhed under the sudden pressure. He struggled fiercely. -But every effort he made only caused a further tightening of the -rope. In panic and complete and sudden despair, he ceased his -struggles. And on the instant the rope relaxed, and the muffled -voice came again. - -“Your struggles are useless,” it said. “There’s no escape from the -Aurora Clan. Our men are everywhere in the city, the valley, the -forest, the plain. If you broke from us now, you’d be recaptured -within an hour. Our purpose to-night is simple. To-night you -die--unless you swear never to return to Beacon Glory. If you swear -that you’ll be freed at once, and your goods and ponies will be -handed back to you here and now. There’s no alternative. No woman -in Beacon will ever be insulted by you again. We’ll see to that. -Remember, if you ever return to Beacon your death will be instant. -You can choose. You’ve two minutes in which to do so.” - - * * * * * - -The ballroom was a blaze of light. The raised boxes about the walls -were crowded with resting couples refreshing themselves at the -expense of their host. The band, which was more brazen than seemed -necessary, was blaring out a fox-trot with a haunting melody, which -seemed to be the joy of the heart of the uniformed man behind the -slide trombone. The softer strings were almost drowned under his -super-human efforts, and even the notes of the cornet were hard put -to it to obtain a hearing. - -The dancers were many and various in their methods and appearance. -There were dress suits in evidence among the men, and the women’s -garments ranged from prodigal scantiness to redundancy. There -were burly men and fat. There were lean creatures who looked to -spend their days on short rations and hard work. While the women -appeared, as they ever do to the casual onlooker, a rainbow -spectacle of femininity pleasing enough to the masculine eye -careless of the details of their variegated costumes. - -Doc Finch was among the stouter dancers and his partner was only -little less ample. They looked comfortably hot and in no danger -of foot entanglement. Jubilee was striding vigorously with a -good-looking woman whose beauty owed much to her gown and the -careful application of facial make-up. Bad Booker was smiling over -the shoulder of a young thing who was frankly absorbed in the joys -of the dance without regard for the company she was keeping. While -Jake Forner, his chief clerk, was straining every nerve to keep -pace with a woman whose efforts suggested gymnasium training rather -than terpsichorean. He was perspiring freely, and a far-off look -of troubled concentration gazed out of his student’s eyes, leaving -it a matter for speculation as to when the breaking point would be -reached. - -It was a scene of real and comparatively decent human revelry. -Outwardly, at least, its decorum was complete. The night was -still young enough for the human nature gathered there to retain -possession of the cloak of seeming which the occasion imposed. It -was a _bal masque_ without its phantasy of costume. - -Claire Carver and Ivor McLagan were in possession of one of the -boxes. The waiter had just deposited a tray of refreshments on -the table between them. True to her fixed rule the girl had -ordered coffee and a savoury sandwich. But the oil man had no such -scruples. His refreshment was a Rye highball. - -Claire had abandoned her game immediately after the discomfiture of -the stranger gold man. The thing had startled her out of her usual -equanimity. Trouble of one sort or another was by no means new to -her. But in her eight months of the life of the Speedway it had -been the first time she, herself, had been subjected to downright -insult. She had always understood the risk she ran. Her mother and -friends were always behind her ready to remind her if in her more -generous moments of happy optimism she should chance to forget. But -for all that the shock had been no less, and for once she had been -glad enough to accept the company of the man who had so promptly -defended her, and turn her back on the shrine of the temple at -which she worshipped. - -McLagan read through the mask of levity she was endeavouring to -impose upon herself. Out of his love and great sympathy his pity -had promptly leapt. It stirred him to her further aid. And so he -had gladly availed himself of the mood that had made her laughingly -appeal to him for the dance she had refused to the man who had so -grossly enriched her. - -They were talking now as they rested, watching the antics of the -buoyant crowd moving rhythmically to the brazen efforts of the band. - -“You know, Ivor,” Claire said smiling but reflectively, “those -white fixed folk get me scared to death. It’s the first time I’ve -seen them close up. Once before I saw them, or thought I did. I was -out in the automobile, and I kind of thought I saw a bunch of them -move off the trail ahead of me in the dusk and hide up in the bush. -I wasn’t sure, but I was scared enough then. It’s queer. How--how -did they know to-night? How did they come along right on time? was -it Max on the ’phone? I didn’t see Max around at all. Say, does he -run them? Are they sort of his police? They scare me. I was glad -enough to see them get around. You see, that feller didn’t put his -hands up to you when you had him covered. But I sort of feel we -don’t just know where we are with such a gang operating.” - -The girl was gazing down on the moving crowd while she voiced her -apprehensions, and the man was left free to feast his eyes on the -picture she made in her beautiful gown and the hat that was so -perfect a crown to the wealth of vivid hair beneath it. He was -smiling happily in the reward her presence bestowed upon him for -his efforts in her defence. - -“It’s kind of queer, Claire,” he said, and there was that curious -harshness of tone which he rarely seemed able to avoid. “But some -way I don’t feel it’s for you to be scared a thing. If this gang is -what it’s reputed I’d say it’s only the folks with unclean minds -and ways that need to be scared. But there certainly are things -calculated to set folks worrying the way the Clan learns and acts -when things are wrong. I don’t reckon Max has a thing to do with -’em. Though you never can tell. I was talking to Max when we came -down. I allow he’s quite an actor. But--well, if he was acting it -was mighty clever. He was raising hell to learn how those folks got -in on his precious Speedway.” - -The girl turned from the scene that so entertained her. - -“Was he?” She shook her head. “He’s got a head as long as--as the -body of that girl dancing with Burt down there,” she said with -a laugh. “He’s not going to give himself away. I’d say he’s a -great bluff when he feels like it. You know I’ll have to quit the -Speedway or----” - -“Or what?” - -McLagan’s eyes were no longer smiling. - -“Or marry him.” - -The girl’s smile had passed. Her eyes were no less serious than his. - -“You mean that?” - -McLagan was leaning across the table with his hands supporting his -plain face. He waited while Claire sipped her coffee and nodded -over her cup. Then he went on deliberately and almost harshly. - -“You can’t! You mustn’t! You shan’t!” - -He was stirred out of his usual calm. And Claire’s gaze lowered -before the hot fire she beheld leap into his eyes. - -“He’s wealthy,” she said slily. - -“And he’s like a tame cat. The creature you hate.” - -Claire set her cup down and laughed happily. - -“That’s no argument,” she cried. - -“Argument?” McLagan shook his head. Then he added significantly: -“If you want argument I can give it you.” - -“Not that sort,” Claire warned him sharply. “I have your promise. -But I’d like to hear any other--from you.” - -The man sat up. He leant back in his chair and gulped down half -his highball. His moment of unrestraint had passed. He was smiling -again, but a feeling something approaching bitterness laid hold of -him that Claire would tolerate only his friendliness. He gazed into -her face and smiled. But he was yearning with a passion that well -nigh devastated his sternly controlled composure. He shook his head. - -“No, Claire. You mustn’t marry Max,” he said. “You know him as the -actor he is. I know him as he really is.” He leant over the table -again. “Say, I wouldn’t marry a she-wolf to Max.” - -“Why?” - -McLagan shrugged. - -“Leave it at that,” he said brusquely. “Here, kid,” he went on -quickly. “You’re right. You must quit the Speedway. Quit it all. -It’s not for you. Don’t you see? Oh, yes! I know. The folks are -good to you. Sure they are. They’re mostly men, and you’re a swell -girl that sets them crazy to be good to you. But it’s all on the -top. There isn’t a thing underneath but the ordinary muck of human -nature. You’re going to get it sometime when I’m not around, if you -keep on. And there’s sure no need for you to keep on. I----” - -“But there is.” Claire’s interruption came sharply, and she held up -a warning finger at the threat of storm she again read in the man’s -hot eyes. “Here, Ivor. I said plain argument. Listen. I’m making -money in bunches. Big bunches. I need the money. And I love the -game. But some day I’ll need to quit. I know that. But it won’t be -till my luck breaks, or--Max turns. If Max turns first I’ll need to -get out quick. No! I’ll never marry Max! I’d sooner marry--Satan. -Oh, yes! When that happens I’ll get out quick. I know. I’m wise. -You don’t need to be scared for me. But meanwhile I go right on---- -Hello! Say--look!” - -The girl was pointing down the ballroom. Her eyes had widened. They -were sparkling with a queer light. - -McLagan was leaning forward. He was following the direction of -the pointing finger, peering out half hidden behind the curtain -hangings. And as he gazed upon the queer scene that had startled -his companion the braying of the band crashed awkwardly into -complete silence, and the dancing floor was cleared as if by magic. - -Three white-robed figures were making their way in silent -procession down the length of the room. They moved slowly, and with -monkish dignity, their high-pointed mask hoods, with their goggling -eyeholes, creating an atmosphere that hushed the onlookers to dead -silence. Behind them the arched entrance was crowded with similar -ghostly figures. But the illusion in this direction was largely -counteracted by the array of heavy guns held ready for prompt -action by hands all sufficiently human. - -It was a tense moment. The silence was deathly. Only the sound of -the footsteps of the moving figures broke it. The whole company was -shocked to impotence. And the eyes of all were preoccupied between -the array of arms in the far archway and the progress of the moving -trio. The “hold-up” was complete. - -The three figures halted before the buttress pillar which centred -one of the walls, and on which was fixed the notice-board whereon -was pinned the dance programme for the night. They gathered about -it, and for some moments their movements clearly told of their -purpose. Then they moved away, returning as they had come, without -haste and without a word. Again they passed over the polished -floor. They reached the archway and their supporters. They passed -through the closed ranks. Then, in a moment, the whole of the -silent white army had withdrawn as abruptly as it had appeared. - -A rush, a scramble followed. Men and women, even the orchestra men, -hurried over to the notice-board. The dance programme was lying on -the floor below it and its place had been usurped by a large sheet -of paper covering the whole extent of the board. - -McLagan and Claire had abandoned their box and joined the curious -crowd. They were standing on the fringe of it, gazing at the white -sheet of paper bearing its written notice in crude, hand-printed -lettering. There was no need to get nearer. The text was plain -enough and large enough to be read from across the room. - - TAKE NOTICE - - The people of Beacon Glory are warned that the presence of one, Cy - Liskard, on the premises of the Speedway will be the signal for - its complete destruction by fire. - - Sgd. CHIEF LIGHT OF THE AURORA. - -Claire turned to the man at her side. - -“Max isn’t around,” she said significantly. - -McLagan shook his head. - -“He’ll be along,” he said, and glanced expectantly in the direction -of the arched doorway. - -The crowd was recovering itself. It was moving away, and comment -and laughter made themselves heard in every direction. The bandsmen -were hurrying back to their dais where the conductor was summoning -them with sharp taps of his baton on his music stand. The boxes, -too, were rapidly refilling. Doctor Finch approached McLagan and -Claire. He laughed with a little uncertainty. - -“Things are kind of busy,” he said. “Max’ll need to have a sharp -eye. These boys don’t bluff any.” - -McLagan shook his head. - -“No,” he admitted seriously. “They don’t bluff. If that boy shows -up inside the Speedway I wouldn’t give five cents for Max’s fire -policy.” - -Claire looked round quickly. The band had just started a One-step. -She had been interestedly watching the entrance. - -“Let’s dance, Ivor,” she said quietly. “Max has just come in.” - -McLagan glanced round quickly. Max, dark, sleek, picturesque, was -coming towards them hurrying down the room. His face was unsmiling, -and to those who knew him the signs were sufficiently ominous. - -McLagan quickly took possession of the girl and drew her away from -the region of the notice-board and Max, and as the latter came -up and stood himself before the insolent threat it contained, he -found himself alone with such emotions as the message inspired. -Claire and McLagan, like the rest of the dancers, were observing -him half-amusedly, half-doubtfully as they glided about over the -polished floor which was so much his pride. They knew that his -wealth and power as the reigning monarch of his beloved Speedway -had been challenged, and they wondered as to its possible effect -upon a man of his temperament. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - The Haunt of the Clansmen - - -For all the glory of the night had waned, lost in the deeper -shadows of the hour before dawn, the house stood out stark and -decaying on the low foreshore of the lake. Once upon a time the -place had represented luxury. It had possessed an enclosure where -its owner had sought to cultivate a flower garden about it. There -had also been a pile-built landing at the water’s edge, and a stout -boat house. There had even been a roadway approach from the city -which was more than a mile distant. But, like the house itself, -these things had long since yielded to the fierce battle of the -elements. A few up-standing timber-baulks reared their rotting -heads above the water. The original fencing of the enclosure lay -rotting on the ground, and the roadway to the city was almost -completely submerged by the encroaching waters. For the most part -the house was well-nigh roofless. The shingles had been torn from -their places, and the underlying joists stood out bare to the -storms which swept the plain in the howling winter season. - -It was a relic of the vaunting days of the boom of Beacon Glory -when easy money so often robbed even the astuter souls of that -longer vision of which they stood in so much need. It had doubtless -been the pride of some more than usually fortunate creature’s -heart, who yearned to possess a lake-side summer residence. There -were many signs about it to give such an impression. There were the -remains of the deep-roofed stoop for lounging in the sweltering -heat of summer. There were the French casement window frames -overlooking the lake. Then the woodwork and the joinery were of -the finest quality, while the whole planning suggested a type so -beloved of the heart of New England. - -But now, with the waters of the lake lapping about the foundations -of the verandah, with the garden and the roadway approach a partly -submerged wilderness, in the chill windlessness of the last of the -night, the place only added to the general impression of distance -and darkness and utter desolation. - -The moon had lost its cold brilliance. It lay fallen from its -high estate in the dome of the heavens, lolling wearily, a dull -yellow disc just above the horizon. The stars, too, had yielded -their twinkling brightness, while the cold fires of the Aurora -were burning low, and their ceaseless movement suggested a hasty, -disorderly retreat to the mysterious fastnesses of the northern -world which had given them birth. - -Yet life was stirring, and it centred about this derelict -habitation. - -Two men had passed the rotting fencing and made their way through -the tangle of growth to the back entrance, which clearly opened -into the kitchen premises. They paused before the closed door and -remained talking in low tones for some moments, then one of them, a -man of big physique, raised a clenched hand and his knuckles rapped -sharply and peculiarly on the resounding woodwork. There was a -further moment of delay, then the door swung open inwards, and the -darkness beyond swallowed up the newly arrived visitors. - -After awhile there came a further arrival. He was a stoutish -creature who gazed searchingly about him in the darkness before -passing on beyond the line of the containing fence. But finally he, -too, passed from view as had the earlier comers, and the engulfing -solitude in which the derelict habitation was wrapped returned to -its unbroken sway. - -After that, in quick succession, there were two further arrivals. -They came, both of them, from the direction of the sleeping city. -They came singly, and in each case their approach was in similar -method to those who came before. It was as if rule governed them, -they approached cautiously, peering and listening in the dim -twilight of the night. Then came the signal knock upon the door, -and after that the gaping darkness of the interior swallowed -them up in the voiceless mechanical fashion which suggested a -contrivance controlled from somewhere in the far interior of the -deserted habitation. - -As the last of the five visitors passed into the house there came -the sound of the bolting and barring of the entrance door, and the -final operation was completed just as the first streak of dawn -transformed the eastern horizon, and brought forth the waking -chorus of the wild fowl upon the lake. - - * * * * * - -The room was bare of all ordinary furnishings. The brick walls -were cracked and decayed and discoloured with damp patches. It -was a windowless apartment containing the rusted boiler and gear -of a steam-heat furnace. In one corner lay a small quantity of -anthracite coal and a rusted shovel, and the concrete floor of the -place was a-litter with rubbish and damp patches, and odds and ends -of old packing-cases clearly left there for the original purpose of -kindling. - -The place was lit by an oil lamp suspended on a hook in one of the -timber joists supporting the floor of the house above, and by its -dim, yellow light four white-robed figures, with their sugar-loaf -hoods, pierced with eye-holes, were revealed lounging on such of -the upturned packing-cases as afforded reasonable security. A fifth -was standing, leaning in his immaculate garment against the rusted -side of the derelict furnace. - -It was a spectacle for humour to witness these queer, ghostly -figures in their secret haunt, holding solemn conclave in a cellar -which in ordinary life probably nothing on earth would have induced -any of them to enter. But their purpose was utterly and completely -serious. They formed the Supreme Executive of the “Council of the -Northern Lights,” which was the whole control of the great body of -the men of the Aurora Clan. - -The big man at the furnace was clearly the leader and prime moving -spirit of the organisation, and he was talking in the cold, hard -fashion which so much suggested his position. His whole manner was -that of keen command, but for all the coldness of his tone there -was neither roughness of language nor the least vaunting display of -authority. - -“We needed this council right away,” he said. “We need to take a -clear decision before the sun gets up. That’s why I sent you boys -word when maybe you were yearning to make good the sleep you’re -needing. We’ve had a busy night. And I reckon, as a result of it, -we’ve a busy time in the future.” - -He paused. His hooded head was raised so that its eye-holes were -directed at the lantern above him, which had begun to splutter. As -the flame settled again to its business he went on: - -“Our job is primarily to clean up some of the muck lying about our -city. I know that. But I never had any doubts, from the moment of -our foundation, that an endeavour like ours might easily lead us -into other work--other responsibilities. The logic of the whole -position is simple. If we reckon to clean up the muck of the city, -we also need to set its furniture into decent order. It’s no use -setting hogs to live in a palace. If we’re cleaning up morals, -let’s look to folks’ rights.” - -He paused again. This time he was listening acutely. There was a -sound drifting somewhere out over the bosom of the lake. It was the -rising of the wind as the sun approached the horizon. - -“Now, boys,” he went on, speaking more hastily, “I don’t want -to keep you from the sleep you’re all needing, but this is the -proposition as a result of this night’s work. Beacon stands right -at the crossways to-day. Maybe soon there’ll be a flood of oil -come to its rescue through those folks on the Alsek River. That, I -guess, is in the lap of the gods and the feller running it. Then -there’s the other thing--gold. It was gold that raised this city. -Well, Beacon can go up, or further down, as a result of those two -things. A big gold strike or a big oil strike, can send her sky -high. That’s all right. But it seems to me our work demands that -whether it’s the feller, McLagan, with his oil, or any other boy -with gold, we need to see that Beacon gets its due success as a -result of any strike in its neighbourhood. I guess McLagan’ll play -white. If he don’t the remedy is with our Clan. But the gold boys -are more difficult.” - -He stood up from the rusty stove, and his white robe was sadly -besmirched, but he gave no heed and went on sharply and with -obvious feeling. - -“It’s that feller, Cy Liskard, we’ve been dealing with to-night. I -believe he’s made a strike that looks like transforming Beacon from -a derelict city to a hive of prosperity.” - -There was a movement amongst his audience which clearly displayed -the impression, the effect of the magic of gold upon these men of -the gold city. A voice came back at him out of one of the hoods. - -“He comes from the Lias River.” - -“I’ve heard that, too.” - -“An’ the Lias River runs right back into the mountains, hundreds of -miles,” said the same voice. - -“Sure.” The man at the stove nodded his cowled head. “That’s so. -It runs right back into Canadian territory. If that feller has -made a big strike, and I know he has, Beacon should know it. No -feller’s entitled to more than his claim. Beacon should know the -place. Beacon should have a right to jump in, too. There’s decent -men and women with as much right as Cy Liskard, and maybe more, to -handle the wealth of this territory, and it’s up to us to hand them -the chance. We ask ’em to live clean and wholesome. Well, we’ve -the right to show ’em how, and help ’em. We must send a bunch to -the Lias River and locate this strike. We must respect Liskard’s -claim, whether it’s in Alaskan or Canadian Territory, but we want -its secret for the folks of Beacon. Well?” - -Discussion followed promptly. It came in the quick, hot fashion of -men whose main outlook on life is bounded by the precious metal -that first brought their city into being. And the discussion tended -to complete agreement with the man whose guidance they had accepted. - -The leader listened closely to every argument his council put -forth. He agreed to, or negatived, each argument with calm -impartiality, and when, at last, nothing further was forthcoming -from his Counsellors, he leant again against his supporting stove, -and raised up one warning hand in sign that the debate was finished. - -“I put the proposition,” he said formally, “we appoint a bunch of -the boys to investigate on the lines we’ve laid down. There must be -no other action taken. The man must be shadowed to his destination. -His movements must be watched, and when the discovery is complete, -or sufficient has been ascertained of the whereabouts of his -strike, full report must be made to this council. Then we will -decide on procedure. There are gold men amongst us, but our oath -must prevail. The result of this investigation is for the community -of Beacon Glory, regardless of all individual personal interests. -Is it agreed?” - -The prompt show of hands was unanimous. Finally the “Chief Light of -the Aurora” himself raised his right hand. - -One by one the hands were lowered and the leader spoke again: - -“It’s sufficient. The investigators will set out forthwith. We -shall need a competent leader for the work. Therefore, I call -on you, Number Three,” he said, pointing at the stoutish figure -sitting third amongst his audience. “You are best qualified in -every way. You have years of the gold trail behind you, and you -will know how best to deal with any opposition you may encounter -from this man. The meeting is closed.” - -He reached up and unhooked the lantern in the roof. The next moment -the cellar was in complete darkness. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - The Wreck at the River Mouth - - -Sasa Mannik was down at the seashore. He was labouring over his -fishing tackle, which was only little less primitive than that of -his Eskimo fore-bears. His sturdy bluff-nosed, sea-going boat was -lying nearby on the shelving beach, awaiting the moment when she -would be run down into the racing waters waiting to receive it. -The man was a half-breed Eskimo, in whom White and Indian ran a -neck-and-neck race with the original stock from which he sprang. - -Sasa was a characteristic creature. In build he was squat, and of -enormous physical strength. He had a beardless face that might -have belonged to almost any native race. His eyes were mere deeply -set slits; his mouth was large and loose; his nose was as flat and -broad as his cheekbones were high and prominent; while his lank -black hair suggested nothing so much as a horse’s mane. He was -certainly unprepossessing and even crafty to look at, but he was -by no means without many redeeming qualities. He was a fisherman -first and before everything, but he was a reasonably faithful -servant, too. His greatest weakness, however, was an addiction -to a picturesque and superstitious lying which Ivor McLagan, who -employed him, chose to condone for the sake of his otherwise useful -service. The engineer liked the man. Sasa made a curious appeal to -him. And so he paid him ten dollars a month, and permitted him -to cook, and wash, and look after the log shanty, which, like an -eyrie, he had set up on the high cliffs overlooking the mouth of -the Alsek River. - -It was a no less bleak and desolate inlet than a hundred others -which serrated the southern coast line of Alaska. Attacked from -sea and land, a way had been driven through the granite cliffs so -that river and sea merged in an iron-bound bay, sea-bird haunted -and without a vestige of softening from its barren austerity. Its -waters were set with numberless upstanding granite fangs, and the -swirl of its turbulent tide revealed submerged traps in almost any -direction. The bay possessed two definite, comparatively free and -wide channels. One travelled southwards while the other hugged -tightly to the northern shore. But even in these the racing tide -looked ready to crash the adventurous navigator upon unguessed -disasters. - -Sasa Mannik stood up from his labours and his narrowed eyes gazed -contemplatively out over the racing waters. He, like his employer, -saw none of the natural terrors with which their high-perched home -was surrounded. Ivor McLagan had no business with the hauntings and -dread which Nature strives to inspire in her harsher moments. His -was the hard, practical, hungry mind of one of the earth’s seekers. -His only care was for the lure of the business which was his. His -home had been pitched in the heart of this natural wilderness, -that, in his brief moments of rest from the labours of his -enterprise farther up the river, he might look out on the wide-open -sea. Whatever the storms that howled about his staunch homestead -there were always hope, and health, and sunlight in the breath of -the restless ocean. - -Sasa was quite without any concern in the matter of where his -existence was set, provided the sea was within his reach. If his -boss chose to live like some foolish sea-fowl, perched on the -summit of barren cliffs, that was his affair. For himself he -would undoubtedly have chosen some sheltered bluff on the river -where the worst storm would be powerless to fan the flame of his -camp-fire. But then he was not a white man and foolish. So he -contented himself with things as they were, and fished, and traded -his catch at his leisure, and carefully pouched the money he so -earned. And meanwhile he ate and drank well at his boss’s expense, -and fulfilled as much of his side of the contract between them as -suited him. - -The man’s eyes looked to be almost tight shut as he searched the -swirl of waters sweeping by, and the cloud-flecked sky above them. -All his experience was in full play at the back of his mind. It was -a fresh spring day, and the waters were smiling as much as they -ever permitted themselves to smile, and the restless gulls were -winging in every direction accompanying their efforts with mournful -cries of joy. A light breeze was coming out of the northwest. - -In Sasa’s mind the indications were not all that he might have -desired. The northwest wind was always something that could leap -suddenly into a howling gale. But then, on the other hand, it was -good for the salmon shoals, which at no time of the year he had any -scruple about attacking. Yes. On the whole the day was too good -to miss. Besides, the risk of a sudden gale added spice to his -labours. His boat was stout. It was ready. So was his gear. Then, -too, there were many shelters on that broken coast he knew of in -case of need. - -He turned his dark face to windwards, where a sharp and lofty -headland shut out something of his view. His movement possessed no -real inspiration. It was the mechanical result of his thought. This -way lay the northern channel which surged round the rugged beach -at the foot of the headland. He had no thought of passing out that -way. It would be simple madness to make the attempt. Besides, it -would be impossible. No boat could face the torrential rush of the -current in that direction. He knew it as the “Channel of Death.” - -Not even a crazy white man with his boat of iron and smoke could -face that channel and hope to reach the sea. But the current had -its uses for a real sailorman like himself. Oh, yes. A hundred -times he had sailed home to this beach upon it. And even to do -that was an adventure that stirred his native vanity and yielded -him vaunting satisfaction in his own skill. No. He would run down -on the southern channel. He would fish with the ebb till it was -nearing flat water, then he would beat up northward and sail home -down the northerly raceway with a free wind. That is, if no gale -arose to---- - -His train of thought suddenly broke off short. Something had -caught and held his whole attention out there somewhere beyond -the sharp-cut headland. And as he gazed, his eyes screwed up in -the brilliant sunshine, he drew a sharp breath which was his only -expression of astonished incredulity. Just for one brief moment he -stood thus. Then he suddenly set off at a run, making all speed for -the fierce beach where the ocean rollers roared impotently at the -foot of the headland. - - * * * * * - -More than a month had passed since the night of the Speedway’s -festival. It had been a time of intensive work for the head of the -Mountain Oil Corporation. The summer was short, all too short, for -the work he was engaged upon, and of necessity he was forced to -drive hard while the season permitted. Now he was at home drafting -an earlier survey of a territory which looked like revolutionizing -the work of his company. - -In the midst of his labours he looked up as the door of his log -shanty was unceremoniously thrust open. - -The table before which he was seated was a rough enough piece of -furniture, as were most of the fitments of this shelter he had set -up on the wind-swept cliffs. It was littered with the mechanical -drawings, and charts, and maps he was at work upon. There was a -queer assemblage, too, of the instruments of his profession lying -scattered over the completely untidy apartment. - -Peter Loby stood regarding him with a smiling look of relief. - -“I’m glad I took the chance, boss,” he said, with a laugh of -content. “Guess I was two minds about it. You see, I came down the -river because I wanted to save you the trip up--an’ to gain time.” - -“Why? What’s doing, Peter?” - -McLagan spoke quietly, but his eyes were sharply questioning. - -Peter was a tall, lean creature whose whole horizon was bounded -by oil and the business of extracting it from the bosom of mother -earth. He was a practical expert to his finger tips. But he -possessed no knowledge beyond its sheerly technical side. He was -glad enough to serve under McLagan. He knew his chief’s worth as -a dogged, fighting, companionable creature who held his place as -the principal representative of the world’s greatest oil concern by -sheer ability. And he knew his own expertness would have full play -under McLagan’s control, and such reward on results would come his -way as rarely enough fall to the man in his position. Furthermore, -he liked the man, and desired nothing better than to serve as his -foreman of works. - -“Why, I spent three weeks on that coal belt you located last fall. -An’ I’ve made a further rough map of the thing you guessed about it -but didn’t figger to chase up at the time. Here’s the map. Maybe -you best read it. I’ll talk after.” - -He passed a large linen tracing across to the man behind the table, -and drew out a plug of chewing tobacco from the hip pocket of his -moleskin trousers. Then he propped himself against the doorcasing -and gazed out seaward, while his lean jaws masticated the chew he -had bitten off. - -After awhile McLagan looked up from the carefully drawn chart. - -“That belt passes right back into Canadian territory,” he said. - -Peter turned. - -“Sure, boss,” he replied, with a light of triumph in his keen eyes. -“But there’s more than that to it. A heap more. That’s why I got -around on the dead jump.” - -He stood up from his leaning attitude and his hands were spread out -in an expressive gesture. The man was simply bursting with his news. - -“It looks to me we’re in the heart of the world’s biggest coal -beds, an’ the signs are we’re surely right on the fringe of the -oil field that’s mixed up with it,” he went on. He came over and -rested his hands on the table, leaning forward the more surely to -impress the man behind it. “I tell you, boss, right here we’ve hit -the biggest cinch since the world began. We’re on oil now, and -drilling through hard black lime. That’s all right. But further -back is where the real stuff lies, an’ it’s right in the heart -of such a coal belt as I’ve only dreamed about. It’s a range of -coal mountains. It’s nothing less. And the valleys are the natural -drainways for the thick juicy oil we’re yearning to tap. It’s that -brought me along. I want to take you right up there to see the -thing it is. But I’m crazy for you to wire this report I’ve got -here, from Beacon to our folks down home. Here it is, boss,” he -went on urgently, as he drew a folded sheet from an inside pocket. -“I wanted you to get that, an’ send it from Beacon first, an’ then -come right along up where I can show you oil lying around where -ther’ ought to be only creeks of mountain water.” - -The man was wellnigh beside himself with excitement. Oil was his -job. Oil was his whole life. And out of his experience and keen -practical knowledge, he knew he had jumped into the heart of such -an El Dorado as he had only found hitherto in his dreams. - -But McLagan refused to be caught up by the infection of the man’s -excitement. It was not that he doubted. He never doubted when Peter -Loby gave his considered opinion on such a subject. But he knew -the amazing nature of the man’s assertion, and he knew that never -before had he experienced a moment when calm judgment was more -surely needed. - -He read the written report. Then he looked up at the man who still -stood leaning over the table awaiting his decision. He nodded. - -“If this is right, Peter, it’s--the biggest thing in the world,” he -said. - -His eyes were shining. - -“It’s right, boss. You’ll pass that on?” - -McLagan shook his head. - -“It’s too--big--as it is,” he said. “Too sweeping. I’ll rewrite it, -and let you see what I’ll send. I just daren’t send it all till -we’ve tried it out. I’m glad you came along down, Peter.” - -He held out a hand and the oil man gripped it. - -“Act the way you think, boss,” the man said, but with a shadow of -disappointment. “You know best. Say--it’s great.” - -“It surely is. After this I guess you’ll be able to quit the game -and sit back--Hello!” - -Sasa Mannik’s stocky body was filling up the open doorway. He stood -there breathlessly gesticulating. - -“Boss! Boss! You come quick!” he cried. “It dam’ fool white man -with big ship, plenty much sail. Him come along by raceway tide. -Him break all up sure. All no good break up. You come quick. Crazy -white man. All dam’ fool. No good.” - - * * * * * - -The three men were standing outside the hut perched so perilously -near to the sharp-cut edge of the sheer cliff. They were standing -at an altitude of something over four hundred feet, gazing over -the wild scene of the bay. It was the highest point immediately -overlooking the mouth of the Alsek River. - -Behind them, to the north and to the south, rose the great hills -which had remained snow-clad throughout the ages. But there the -iron cliffs of the coast line stretched out at something like -a uniform level. Far as the eye could see the smiling ocean lay -spread out, glittering under the keen spring sunshine, while below -them, marked clearly, sharply, lay the ugly ruins of torn rock -which the storms of centuries had hewn from the parent cliffs. - -It was a scene these men knew by heart. All three were gazing out -seawards. Their eyes were fixed upon a vessel that looked to be -driving head on, under full sail, for the merciless rocks guarding -the entrance to the river mouth. - -It was a sight that stirred the white men deeply. It was a sight -that filled them with a strangely oppressive feeling of complete -helplessness, and left them no longer concerned with those things -which a moment before had completely preoccupied them. Here, on a -calm Spring day, with a seemingly flat sea, a white man’s vessel -under full sail--no wreck, no derelict with broken masts and spars, -and with perhaps the steering-gear carried away--was heading -calmly, almost it seemed, happily, to become a total wreck on -perhaps the cruellest coast in the world. It was amazing! It was -staggering! The awesomeness of the spectacle left them without a -word. - -Not so, however, the half-breed who had brought the news. Perhaps -he was less stirred by such a vision of coming disaster. Perhaps, -in his curious, savage mind, the life or death of a few crazy -white-folk was of no serious account. At any rate, he was under no -spell of silent awe. - -“It all same lak I see this white man do all time,” he commented -for his companions’ benefit. “What you mak? I tell you this. White -man sailor see big bay. He see it all through much long glass. He -say, ‘Yes, it good. We mak him land.’ He not think nothing. He -not think ever. He white man. He do as he please. Yes. It same all -time. White man boss look for oil. He say, ‘We find him.’ So he -look where only hill, an’ forest, an’ river. He look for oil. Psha! -I see white man down the coast same lak this, too. He come down in -big canoe. He look, look all time for some thing. I not know. He -search much. He climb rock. He peek in cave. All time he look where -nothing is. That white man, sure. All time look where nothing is. -I know. This man sailor. He mak break up all bimeby. He look for -some thing. So he come. He sure find something bimeby. Plenty rock. -Plenty all break up. Plenty all go dead.” - -“Oh, beat it!” - -It was Peter who flung his impatience at the half-breed. His -chatter at such a moment was insufferable. Out there far beyond -the headland the vessel was steadily heading on its course. It was -racing down out of the northwest straight, almost as an arrow’s -flight, for the desperate entrance to the bay. - -McLagan remained silent. He seemed oblivious to everything but the -amazing vision of the doomed ship. His narrowed eyes searched her -closely. She was smallish, as sea-going vessels went. He gathered -from her sails and masts she was some sort of full-rigged ship, -perhaps a coaster. Her sails were full in the fair wind. She was -yawing slightly, but not sufficiently to set her aback. But it was -sufficient to suggest some lack of control. Suddenly an inspiration -took hold of him. He turned to the now silent half-breed. - -“You, Sasa,” he said sharply. “It was blowing yesterday an’ you -didn’t go out poaching the salmon. That poor devil of a ship’s -caught in your death current. She’s made a lee shore and got -caught in the current. She’ll pull up right on the beach of our -river, do you understand? He’s no fool skipper looking to make a -landing. He can’t darn well help himself. Don’t you see? Here, -Peter.” He turned to the oil man on the other side of him and his -tone was urgent and thrilling with the horror of the thing he -realised was about to happen. “You don’t know this coast like we -do. There’s a maelstrom current out there. The only crazy man in -the world who’d go near it is this feller, Sasa. Ther’ isn’t a -steamer in the world could beat its way out of it if it once got -caught up in it. As for a windjammer like that--psha!” he threw up -his hands expressively. “That’s it. He’s made a lee shore in the -gale. And now--God help him.” - -He turned again to Sasa. - -“Where’ll he beach?” he asked sharply. - -The half-breed pointed down at the wide foreshore on the south side -of the river mouth. - -“He mak that beach,” the man replied promptly. Then he pointed down -at the northern beach where his own boat was still lying. “I mak -him dis way. But I know. I sail him all time by the headland. So I -slip him current, an’ mak quick shelter by the headland. Big ship -not slip him current. Oh, no, he mak so.” He swung an outstretched -arm from right to left, indicating a great sweep across the bay. -“He full current. An’----” - -“Sasa.” - -“Yep, boss.” - -“Can we signal from that headland?” - -The half-breed’s eyes widened. - -“Wo’ for we signal. It no good sure. Him crazy white man not -understand nothing. Him ship in the Death Current. He go on. Oh, -yes. Crazy white man break all up bimeby.” He shrugged. “It all -same all time. Same lak that other who look into caves an’ climb -rocks. I see him one time mak right out to sea in canoe only built -for river. Him current tak him. I get him with my boat. I tak him -back. He not say nothing but curse me for a black son-of-a-bitch. -Sure he all break up bimeby.” - -The doomed vessel was crashing on at terrific speed. Already it -was looming large as it approached the headland. And now, as it -drew nearer, its yawing became more and more pronounced. For some -moments no one spoke while they contemplated the wretched vessel’s -impending fate. Then, as her high bows disappeared behind the -upstanding belt of the headland, McLagan turned on his contemptuous -servant. - -“Who’s the feller you’re talking about? The feller who looks into -caves and climbs rocks?” he asked sharply. - -The half-breed shrugged without withdrawing his gaze from where the -vessel was disappearing behind the headland. - -“How, I say? I not know. He come down the river out of the hills. -What you call him? All white mans say him Li-as, yes? Indian man -say him Devil River. Oh, yes, he come this way. I see him one, two, -three time this man while I fish. He not see me, only one time. -Maybe he fish. I not know. Plenty fish by Devil River. Oh, yes. -Say, look, him come as I say. See? The Death Current take him. So. -See?” - -He pointed. His narrow eyes were alight with something almost like -joy as the bows of the vessel cleared the headland and the doomed -ship raced on for the far beach. - -“It much big tide. Oh, yes. He go right up to the big rocks. -Bimeby the tide fall. Then us go find plenty thing. Food, clothes, -blanket. All thing dead white man not need more. So. I----” - -“Quit it, you darn thief!” McLagan’s eyes were furious as he turned -on his ghoulish henchman. “And you’ll stay right here and not move -a step till Mr. Loby and I get back. You’re nothing but a dirty -scum of a half-breed. And if I get you near that wreck without my -permission I’ll take you right in to Beacon and get you hanged.” - -He turned to Peter. - -“It’s no good, boy. I can’t stand it. We’ve got to do something. -Poor devils, they’re surely doomed! Come on. Maybe we can help -some. We’ll go right on down. We’ll get Sasa’s boat and ferry -across to where she’ll hit that beach. I----” - -“I go too, boss.” - -Sasa was no longer contemplating the wreck he had hoped to enjoy. -His attitude had suddenly become one of pleading. - -“You not mak that crossing without me,” he urged. “I know. Him my -boat, an’ I sail him good plenty. You my good boss. You drown sure -you sail him, my boat. I come. Yes? I not tak white man’s blankets. -His food. His----” - -McLagan raised a threatening hand. - -“For God’s sake, shut up and come on!” he cried impatiently. “Come -on, Peter. Maybe ther’s women down there. We’ll do what we can.” - -The engineer waited for no reply. The vessel was looming largely -half-way across the bay. Now, as she passed into the shelter of -the towering cliffs, her sails were flapping and booming in the -breeze. But she was racing on to her destruction on the tremendous -current, helpless yet almost magnificent in her white suiting over -her black hull. It seemed incredible that nothing could be done to -save her. A fresh, calm Spring day with a flat sea. And yet there -was no help for her. - -Not a sound came up from her decks but the crashing of her great -sails. There was not a single human voice crying out its agony -of despair. Only there came the mournful shrieks of the circling -sea-fowl as the men raced down the rocky pathway to the beach -below. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - The _Limpet_ of Boston - - -The outlook of the day had materially changed with the tide. The -wind had increased mightily, and the fine, fresh, early summer sky -had changed to one of banking storm-clouds which drove down out of -the northwest. It was a prospect of rough weather, for all there -were still moments when the sun broke through the grey, and strove -nobly to lighten the depressing outlook. - -McLagan and his companions were standing on the slippery, -weed-grown rocks. They were gazing speculatively up at the high -sides of the wrecked vessel as she lay cradled upon the jagged -belt of rocks which the ebb of the tide had laid bare. She was -lifted high out of the water, for the flood tide had long since -abandoned her. It had done the work it had striven to accomplish. -It had flung its victim crashing upon the trap concealed within its -merciless bosom. And now, in turn, satisfied, perhaps satiated, it -had itself yielded to the greater forces of Nature. As the waters -receded the vessel was left with her high, bluff nose stubbed -deeply into the sharply shelving beach, which alone had saved her -from complete destruction upon the granite walls of the cliffs -beyond. - -It was a sight for real pity. Even to the unskilled minds of these -landsmen she was a fine, sturdy craft that deserved better of -the elements. There she lay, slightly a-list, wounded and sorely -stricken. Her forepeak was literally disembowelled and they could -only guess at the damage the rest of her bottom had suffered. Her -yards were groaning under a hectoring wind, and her torn sails were -slashing and whipping viciously in response to its onslaught. Her -plates seemed to be sprung in every direction, and she lay there -utterly helpless, awaiting the inevitable and complete destruction -that was yet to come. - -McLagan had first approached the wreck on the height of the tide. -His purpose had been the simple succour of those poor souls he had -expected to find on board. The adventure had been full of risk, -even under the consummate skill of the half-breed, who had done his -best. But the terrible tide, and the increasing wind had defeated -them, and, reluctantly enough, they had been driven to a perilous -stand-off while they hailed the doomed vessel. - -They had shouted. They shouted again and again, seeking to make -their voices heard above the roar of the ocean rollers driving down -upon the vessel’s side. But the effort had been unavailing. There -was not a sign or sound of life about her, and their only response -was the roar of the sea and the mocking cries of the sea-fowl -whirling about her protesting rigging. - -So in the end, they had been forced to yield. There was no -alternative. They dared not approach nearer. Under the prevailing -conditions their only hope of approaching the wreck was to await -the fall of the tide and make the shore upon which it was piled. - -But even so, their attempt had not been wholly fruitless. They had -discovered many things of deep interest. They had discovered the -vessel’s name, which was set out plainly on her bluff stern. She -was the _Limpet_, and her port of registration was the city of -Boston. Furthermore, they realised that though her rudder post -remained in place the rudder itself was gone. Then they understood -that she had the shape and qualities of a coasting vessel of more -than usual deep-seagoing type. She was built for heavy weather as -well as the lighter work of her coasting trade, and they beheld, -too, a wireless aerial was still in its place between her main and -mizzen masts. - -But in McLagan’s mind the greatest significance lay in the fact -that she was still laden with a deck cargo of lumber, and all her -top gear was intact, and all her sails were set, and the only signs -of her distress were the inroads which the wind had made upon -her canvas suiting. From the distance, when she had first been -discovered, she had looked to be riding proudly, gallantly to her -death under full sail. But at close quarters it was clearly evident -that this had been something of an illusion. Her sails were full -set, it was true, but there were many sad rents that were widening -every moment, and, in many places, their clews were straining upon -a last desperate hold. - -Now, with the tide at its lowest ebb, standing beside her on the -rocks these men were less concerned for her superstructure than -for the evidence the rocks had imposed upon her. Peter Loby was -staring in simple wonder at the yawning gash torn out of her bows. -Sasa Mannik, in true “wrecker” fashion, was contemplating her from -the point of view of his own advantage. He was a sailorman, and -here were gear, ropes and canvas and possibly all the needs of his -heart, for the simple process of collecting them. He had no concern -for anything else. But Ivor McLagan gazed upon her wrecked bows -while his mind was preoccupied by the mystery of her presence in -the remote inlet where he had set up his home. - -He was convinced now that she was without life on board, but -the condition of her fully set sails also convinced him that -her abandonment had taken place in fair weather, perhaps, even, -in a dead calm. He was left quite unimpressed by her rudderless -condition. He argued that this disaster must have occurred after -her abandonment. For even to him it seemed impossible that any -responsible shipmaster could have set full sail on a vessel without -steering gear. Then, except for the almost paintless condition of -her rusted hull, there was no other sign of distress about her. Her -deck cargo was aboard, and her boats, as far as he had been able to -judge, were snugged as though there had never been a thought of the -necessity for launching them. - -No, it was a curious, even mysterious visitation. He understood, he -had often enough heard of a lee-shore and its dangers to a sailing -vessel. Clearly something of the sort must have happened. But not -in association with this vessel’s abandonment. - -He turned abruptly to his subordinate and pointed at the mass of -rusted cable strewn about the rocks fallen through the rent in the -vessel’s side like the litter of some wounded monster’s bowels. - -“That looks to me the easy way aboard,” he said sharply. “I don’t -figger to know a deal when it comes to sea-craft. But it likely -seems the hole that belched up that junk ought to be a way up to -her decks.” - -Peter nodded. He glanced up over the sprung plates of her sides. - -“It surely looks that way,” he agreed. “Maybe--Holy gee! Here! Get -a look up there! Look at ’em!” he cried excitedly, pointing up at -the vessel’s rail. “Ther’s scores! Ther’s regiments of ’em! Get a -look at those darn rats!” - -All three men were staring up at a sight rarely enough to be seen. -Peter’s excited estimate was by no means exaggerated. Just above -the vessel’s rail was an upstanding pile of lumber, and it was -literally swarming with rats of all sizes, from the full-grown, -long-whiskered, grey patriarchs down to the extreme youth of the -colony. They were running hither and thither without apparent aim -or object till it seemed they must be participating in some sort of -curious rodent gambol or driven by senseless panic. - -It was sufficiently repulsive to gaze upon. There was something -utterly repellent in it. For some reason it is against human nature -to view these pests without deeply stirred feelings. And for all -the hardiness of these men the effect upon them now was wholly one -of loathing. - -The scene only occupied a minute or so. Then, of a sudden, one rat, -bigger, it seemed, than all the rest, suddenly made its appearance. -He came to the rail of the vessel. He seemed to be contemplating it -closely, or perhaps he was contemplating the men standing below him -on the rocks. Then, at last, apparently satisfied with his survey, -he set off along the rail on the run. In a moment the rest were -following behind. They ran close together in single file, head to -tail, till they looked like a long, thick, moving, grey rope. At -a given point, the leader turned off back on to the deck, and the -swarming creatures pursued him. - -With the passing from view of the hindmost, McLagan spat and -shrugged his shoulders. - -“Quitting,” he said. Then he laughed. “It’s the way of things. -She’s doomed. So--the rats are quitting. Guess it makes me sick in -the stomach. I’ll hail you boys if I get through this way.” - -He moved over to the great hole in the vessel’s side and, stooping, -peered within the dark cavity. He stood there for a moment. Then -Peter saw him move forward and the hole swallowed him up. - -For all the extent of the rent in the vessel’s side the forepeak -was dark and low and dank with the stench of bilge and rust. -McLagan was forced to move cautiously over the piles of rusted -cable, for he was utterly unfamiliar with his surroundings. But -soon his keen eyes grew accustomed to the twilight and he was able -to measure with some accuracy the place in which he found himself. -A steel bulkhead shut him off from the rest of the vessel’s hold, -and the walls of the place sloped inwards till their point of -meeting was lost beneath the tangle of chains at his feet. Right -in the centre he discovered a fixed iron companion ladder standing -sheerly erect. And examination showed him that it mounted up -through manholes to the top deck, where a small, gaping hatchway -revealed full daylight. - -In a moment he was swarming towards the light above. - - * * * * * - -The three men were standing in the narrow limits of the ship’s -cabin. It was small and unpretentious enough, but not without some -refinement of decoration. The deck of the ship’s poop roofed the -room, and, as is usual in such cases, the ceiling it made to the -cabin was picked out in panels which were outlined in somewhat -striking but sufficiently harmonious colours. It was the same -with the walls, and the doors which opened out of the apartment. -The fixed chairs against the centre table were of the usual ship’s -mahogany, and the upholstery was well-worn leather. There was no -other furnishing to the place except strips of somewhat decayed -carpeting pinned securely to the deck. - -But there was that set out on the table which held both the -white men deeply preoccupied with its significance. It was a -meal obviously arranged for only _one_ man. And it was only half -consumed. There was no confusion, no litter, no sign of hasty -abandonment, except that the meal appeared to have been broken off -in the middle of it. - -The table was partly covered with a white cloth that had seen -better and cleaner days. There was a dish containing some sort -of hash that had become dried up. In front of what was obviously -the captain’s seat at the head of the table, and which faced the -alleyway entrance to the apartment, was a plate containing the -remains of a portion of the hash. This, too, was dried up and -shrivelled, and beside it lay a knife and fork which were both -smeared as with use in consuming the food. Besides these, again, -were the gnawed remains of some broken bread, and a drink that was -clearly whisky and water. - -Further along the table stood a dingy cruet. And beyond this again -was an uncut fruit pie. The crust of this was almost gone, and -that which remained was sour-looking and mildewed. This, too, -had been obviously consumed by rats. And it was the same with -the contents of a bread basket which stood beside it. Even the -table-cloth itself had failed to escape the insatiable depredations -of the rodents. But the signs were unmistakable. The meal had been -interrupted. The man who had been devouring it had clearly been -suddenly inspired to abandon it, and for some unguessed reason he -had clearly failed to return. - -McLagan raised a hand and pushed his cap back from his forehead. It -was a gesture of perplexity. - -“It looks tough,” he said slowly. “It looks like that feller didn’t -take time to eat right for the darn hurry he was in. He was a plain -liver, too, I’d say. But he surely was in an almighty hurry.” - -Peter Loby nodded. Imagination in him was working hard, but the -result was negative. He glanced up from the table and his eyes -surveyed the walls with the doors which opened out into what were -clearly the officer’s sleeping quarters. There were only three -doors besides the entrance from the alleyway. - -“It’s the kind of thing to leave you guessing,” he admitted. “We’ve -looked right into it all from the fo’castle head to this cabin. But -ther’s still those state-rooms yet. Maybe one of ’em’ll hand us the -ship’s papers and the log. That ought to tell us the story of it. -It’s most certainly queer.” - -“Queer?” McLagan laughed shortly. He shook his head. “That don’t -say a thing. Think back, man. What have we found so far? From the -carpenter’s shop under the fo’castle head to the men’s quarters and -the galley, and this, we’ve found just the thing you’d expect to -find in a full-crewed, well-found ship--except the ship’s company -itself.” He shrugged. “There were chips and wood lying around in -the tool shop--and tools--just as if the boy who worked there had -only just quit his job. The men’s quarters in the fo’castle looked -to be in the sort of order you’d find in a ship about to set out -for sea, an’ before she’s taken on her crew. As for the galley, -you could start right in to fix food there now and not be worried -a thing, except for being short on pots an’ things. Look at the -lumber stacked on the deck. It’s there ready for a sea-trip without -a stick or lashing out of place, and I’d say the hold cargo’s -likely the same. And as for the boats----” He paused and gazed -thoughtfully about him, and his eyes came to rest again on the -rat-gnawed food on the table, which held him fascinated. “That’s -the queerest thing of it all. This craft was built with four boats -and they’re all in place snugged down, and I’d say they’ve never -been unshipped except for a coat of paint. Here’s a darn craft been -sailing loose for maybe weeks or months without a soul on board we -can locate, not even with the rats belonging her--now. And there’s -not a sign of how or why the folks belonging her quit.” - -He turned and flung himself into the chair that had obviously been -that usually occupied by the captain of the vessel. He seemed to -be completely at a loss. Peter moved over to one of the doors, and -peered into the apartment beyond. Sasa displayed no curiosity. His -dark eyes were unusually wide, and a curious brooding light left -them almost expressionless. He stood staring down at the littered -table, and after a few prolonged moments of silence, McLagan -stirred irritably in his chair. - -“Get around in those three state-rooms, or whatever they are, -Peter, an’ take the darn breed with you,” he cried. “Poke around -and smell out. Sasa’ll be more use that way than gawking like some -darn mutt around here. If you find a thing, shout me. I’m stopping -around to worry this thing out right here.” - -McLagan was rarely enough given to irritation. But oppressive -irritation was driving him now. He remained where he was until -his lieutenant and the half-breed had passed into the first of -the three compartments. Then, as the door swung to behind them, -he started up and passed swiftly from the room. Moving down the -alleyway, beyond the steward’s pantry, he came to the break of the -poop and out into the daylight. - -Here he paused. It was good to be out in the air again, and a sense -of relief came to him as he surveyed the scene. The main deck here -was clear of cargo. It was clean, almost as clean as if it had only -just endured the attentions of the sand and canvas so beloved of -the seaman. Rope-ends, that should have been neatly cleated, or -coiled away, were littered where the weather had flung them, but it -was the only sign of any confusion. - -He breathed his relief as he leant against the doorway and surveyed -it all with contemplative eyes. The wind was screaming through the -rigging and the torn sails were booming out their protests. The sky -was darkening with a real threat of storm, and beyond the high prow -of the wreck the grey walls of the bay rose up gaunt and forbidding. - -The whole thing had gotten hold of McLagan in a curiously -depressing fashion. He felt that somehow there was an unusual story -lying behind the circumstances of this fair-weather wreck. And his -practical mind was searching every avenue that opened up to its -vision. - -Mutiny? His mind naturally turned to mutiny, but he dismissed -the thought immediately. There was not a sign of mutiny from the -ship’s bows to her stern-post. There was not a sign of force or -struggle, and her boats were in place. Storm? He shook his head. -No storm had broken the heart of her crew. What else was there to -cause her abandonment? Nothing. No. Look which way he would, there -was no reasonable solution in the vessel’s condition. There had -been a purely voluntary exodus, orderly, quiet, even if hasty. Of -that he was convinced. There was no other conclusion to come to. -No. Whatever there still remained to be discovered in her holds, -and in those cabins behind him, there was nothing much else for -him to do but to drive into Beacon on the work he had in hand, and -carry in with him the report of this wreck to Alan Goodchurch, who -represented the United States Government for the district. That -would have to be done. But meanwhile---- - -A curious look crept suddenly into his narrow eyes. He was looking -out straight before him down the deck. Immediately in his focus -were the securely battened main hatch and the galley and the -fo’castle. There were the iron-shod steps of the companion-ladder -up to the roof of these, and, to the right of that stood a -tarpaulin-covered winch, with behind it the donkey-engine room. His -gaze was riveted on the deckway that passed beyond this and which -was stacked high with great baulks of lumber. - -But it was not these things which had inspired the curious, -questioning, incredulous look with which he gazed upon them. It -was something else. Something which startled him, and made him -turn quickly to the stormy sky, which, at that moment, had broken -to permit a pallid beam of sunshine to make its way through. It -was only for a moment he looked up, however. Then again he became -absorbed in the deck ahead of him. - -Suddenly he stood erect. He had abandoned his lounging. The -doubt in his eyes had given place to something else which baffled -description. He drew a deep breath, while a chilly sensation passed -through his great body and left him with a feeling of curious -helplessness. - -He remained unmoving. His fascinated gaze was still held. Not for -a moment did it shift. It almost seemed as if it were impossible -for him to look away. Then the grey of the storm-clouds closed up -again and the sunbeam faded out. And as it did so he raised a hand -slowly, almost involuntarily, and passed it hesitatingly across his -forehead. - -With that movement mobility returned to him. He turned and glanced -back into the alleyway. The next moment the sharp tones of his -voice rang out. - -“Anything doing, boy?” he called, harshly. And he followed up his -question by hastily passing back into the cabin. - - * * * * * - -The search was over. McLagan and Peter Loby were standing at the -break of the poop-deck. Sasa Mannik had separated from the others -and was squatting hunched upon the main hatch. He was watching -the white men, contemplating them with narrowed eyes while his -shrewd native mind was following a train of thought which deeply -preoccupied him. - -“I’m not a thing wiser,” Peter said in reply to a question. “There -wasn’t a scrap of paper, or a bunch of human clothes. But I -wouldn’t rely on that too much. You see, I hurried, an’ when you’re -looking that way you’re liable to miss things. Ther’s one of those -rooms for wireless. The other two were bunks. One with one bunk -and the other with two. Both had bed fixings and they looked so -they hadn’t been slept in. It gets me beat. The lockers were plumb -empty, just as though they’d been cleared out to leave no trace. -It’s the queerest----” - -He broke off. Sasa’s harsh voice had broken in on him. He had risen -from his place on the hatch, and his eyes had widened out of their -usual narrowing. - -“I go,” he said, sharply. “This bad ship--no good. Bimeby I not -come back ever.” - -He turned and glanced almost fearfully about him. - -“Why, Sasa? You don’t like it? Why?” - -McLagan’s questions came sharply and on the instant. There was a -half smile in his eyes. But there was nothing smiling behind them. - -Sasa spat viciously on the deck. - -“Bad spirit plenty,” he said with native panic in his widened eyes. -“I go.” - -And without waiting for reply, or, perhaps, because he feared lest -he should be detained, he passed quickly across to the vessel’s -rail where a heavy downhaul was sprawled on the deck. He flung it -over the side. And in a moment he had followed it, and was swarming -down to the rocks below. - -“This thing’s got on his nerves,” Peter laughed. - -McLagan nodded. But there was no responsive laughter. - -“And I don’t somehow wonder,” he said. Then he shrugged. “I guess -we can’t do any good here now. I’ll get along back, and pass right -on into Beacon. I’ll need to make a report to Goodchurch on this. I -surely will.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - The “Come-back” - - -A radiant sky was smiling down upon the forest-clad hills. -Somewhere away to the West the sun was lolling just above the -horizon. For the moment its glory was lost behind the ranging hills -with their garments of every shade of green. There was no cloud -to be seen anywhere from the purpling distance of the snow-capped -mountains in the East, to the western splendour of the summer -sunset. - -Cy Liskard was squatting over a camp fire that was built just -outside his log home on the hillside. Nearby his dogs were pursuing -some evening pastime that appealed to their savage natures. Maybe -it was play, but the snarls that were so frequently accompanied by -the fierce snapping of ivory-shod jaws suggested the narrow line -dividing it from canine warfare. - -His ponies were beyond the fence of a small, roughly constructed -corral, and they stood close up to it at a point most nearly -approaching the home of the man it was their life’s burden to -serve. Their shaggy heads, still rough with the remains of a winter -coat, which neglect had left clinging to them, were thrust over the -log rail. They were clearly waiting with equine patience the long -overdue attention to which they had full right. - -The man disregarded their appeal; he was in a mood to disregard any -duty that might have been his. Even the claims of his own stomach -were forgotten in the consuming depths of impotent rage that were -driving him. His expressionless eyes gazed out through the smudge -of smoke which lolled heavily upon the still, fresh mountain air. -His view was over the range of his gold workings, which lay down -below upon the wide bank of the creek. But for all, his gaze was -for the thing which held him to his mountain solitude, his thought -was left all unconcerned for it. - -He had returned from Beacon only that noon. The long trail had -claimed him for days, as the condition of his fleshless ponies -testified. He had driven hard and mercilessly, for there was that -behind him which impelled him in a fashion he had never known -before. But the thing which had driven him had no relation to fear, -or, if it had, his apprehension was utterly lost in the rage that -smouldered behind his pale eyes. He had driven his ponies to their -last extremity out of an almost crazy desire for speed and movement -that he might reach the security of his home for the sole purpose -of nursing his fierce desire for swift vengeance upon Ivor McLagan. - -He sat with his rough hands clasped about his knees. He remained -unmoving. There was room for nothing in the mind behind his stony -stare but the fierce longing to hurt, and the method by which it -could be achieved. - -He felt himself to be beyond the reach of the men of the Aurora -Clan. He felt himself free from every threatening human danger, -lost in the heart of these distant hills. As for the threat of that -which his return to Beacon might mean, he dismissed it without -a moment’s consideration. He intended to return to Beacon just -whenever it suited him. It might entail watchfulness. It would -undoubtedly entail sufficient weapons of defence. But he never -moved without these. And in the open and in the daylight fully -prepared, he knew himself to be a match for these absurdly tricked -out bunglers who sought to impress their will upon a foolish, -credulous, awed bunch of white-livered citizens. - -No. It was not against the men of the Aurora Clan that his fury was -directed. He held them in contempt for all they had forced from him -an oath under threat of hanging. He knew well enough the nearness -to disaster to which he had been brought. He knew they had meant -their threat and would have hanged him out of hand had he failed to -yield his oath. Their other doings were not unknown to him. He had -heard of Bernard’s and other outrages, but the whole thing had left -him unimpressed. When men were driven to spectre-play to achieve -their ends he felt that sufficient boldness could defeat them all -the time. So these white-shirted creatures with their cedar boughs, -and rawhide hanging ropes, were dismissed from his mind leaving him -free to contemplate that other who had brought about his undoing at -the Speedway. - -Ivor McLagan! Oh, he knew the man by reputation. Furthermore, he -knew the work he was engaged upon and where that work was being -done and this was the man against whom all his rage and desire for -vengeance were directed. - -Once he released his clasped hands, and, reaching out one heavily -booted foot, kicked the embers of his fire together. With the -sunset the air of the mountains was chill enough. For all the man’s -toughness, for all the thick pilot cloth of his pea-jacket, and the -thick flannel he wore underneath, the chill bit harshly and forced -him to regard the life of his fire. He flung a number of logs on to -it from his near-by stack of fuel and edged closer to the leaping -blaze. Then again his arms embraced his knees, and he yielded -himself to the schemes and plans which sprang so readily to his -mind. - -The wound inside his lips was still raw where McLagan’s blow -had split open the flesh against his teeth. But he needed no -reminder. He never would need reminding. The memory of that night -was indelibly fixed upon a mind which was utterly incapable of -forgetting an injury. But such evidence as still remained only -the more surely drove his headlong desire. He meant to kill Ivor -McLagan, and the only problem that presented itself to him was the -manner he should prefer for the accomplishment of his purpose. - -Oh, yes. He would kill McLagan. He would have killed him at -the Speedway, or some time that night, but for the men who -had smothered him in their numbers. Well, he was beyond their -interference now. He was out in the open. There was only the open -between him and McLagan, a vast, rugged back country, where there -was no human agency to interfere between him and his vengeance. -Yes, out there they were far hidden from the rest of the world with -only the hills to fling back the death-cry he would wring from -his---- - -He broke off from his lusting thought. A broad beam of the dying -sun’s light drove its way through the loose arms of a woodland -bluff. It lit the ground on which he sat, and enveloped his hunched -body. He turned with all the alertness he might have displayed in -the presence of an enemy, and his expressionless eyes looked into -the blaze of light. For a moment the illusion was complete. Low -down on the horizon the sun was sinking to its final rest, and -as it passed from view it looked like a world of consuming fire -devouring the woods which lay in the path of its amazing light. - -It was only for an instant that his narrowed eyes confronted the -intolerable burden of its fierce light. Then he sprang to his feet -and moved away, and his going was something almost precipitate, -headlong. In a moment he had vanished within the doorway of his -primitive home. - - * * * * * - -The moon was at the full of its glory. The night was no less -cloudless than had been the close of day. The sky was ablaze with -stars, but from the heart of the hills no aurora was visible. - -Down on the creek below Cy Liskard’s home the world seemed severely -limited. On either hand, before and behind, the hills rose sharply -in every direction. It was overpowering, overwhelming. The sky -above was transformed into a narrow canopy, with the silver of the -moon shining directly down upon the bosom of the little creek. The -region was brilliantly lit by its ghostly light. Every detail of it -was sharply outlined, and it flung the ghostly shadows of the trees -in every direction. Then the waters of the creek, still flowing -with something of their Spring freedom, were transformed into a -perfect ribbon of silver. - -Midnight was gone and the small hours were slowly growing. The -valley was full of the strange night sounds of a creature world -whose day it was. Cries came echoing down through the forest which -clothed the hillsides, and the voices of water life kept up an -incessant chorus. It was a world of Nature’s unutterable peace--and -something else. - -There was movement about the banks of the creek. There was movement -amongst the gear of the gold-seeker. So, too, was it on the broad -hillside about the cabin where Cy Liskard had abandoned himself to -the blankets which nightly claimed him. It was the silent, ghostly -movement of white-robed figures. They stood out in sharp relief -under the brilliant light of the moon. They came and passed on. -They paused. They crouched, searching. They moved without haste, -or apparent fear of disturbance. And their long white gowns and -high-peaked head pieces transformed them from living humanity into -the spirits of the night. - -The thing that was in progress was plain enough to read. The -white-clad figures were searching the valley of the gold workings -for information of the “strike” which the sleeping man had made. -Their movement made it impossible to estimate their numbers with -any accuracy, for the forest, reaching down to the water’s edge -in many places, hid up much of it. Possibly there were a dozen. -Possibly less. But, whatever the number, the search was utterly -exhaustive. The corral, the log hut on the hillside were not -left unexplored, and the presence of the man’s dogs only made it -something curious that no canine voice had been raised in protest. - -There was not a sound to disturb the night or to give alarm to the -sleeping man. The dogs lay huddled on the ground as though in the -deepest slumber and the man slept on profoundly while the figures -moved about the interior of his quarters. - -It was all curious. But there was doubtless an answer to it. These -men had travelled far and hard under the strictest orders to return -with a full report of the gold strike made by Cy Liskard. Their -report depended on a complete and uninterrupted investigation. -There were many means of accomplishing this. It would have been -simple enough to deal with the man himself. In their numbers they -could have taken him in his blankets. But perhaps they had no -desire that he should be aware of their visitation. In that case -there were other measures. Similar measures such as had doubtless -silenced the dogs. A whiff of some pungent narcotic and the sleep -of these creatures, human as well as canine, would be infallibly -prolonged. - -The search went on to its conclusion. It was prolonged and -completely thorough. And when the movements of the Aurora men -ceased and their ghostly figures no longer haunted the valley, the -moon had passed from her throne in the heavens and the star-light -was already beginning to fade out. Then came darkness, utter and -complete. It was the darkness preceding dawn. And the valley of the -Lias River was given up wholly to the haunting sounds of the night. - - * * * * * - -Cy Liskard was ashore at a landing on the river he had made his -own. His stout canoe was lying moored to the overhanging trunk of -a tree, and it swung away at the end of its rawhide to the easy -stream. A roll of blankets lay in the bottom of it while his camp -outfit was littered upon the gravelly foreshore about his feet. It -was noon or thereabouts, and the day was overcast and threatening. -But down here on the river was the pleasant warmth of a summer day. - -He was gazing out downstream, and his view was of a great expanse -of flowing water moving heavily on towards the sea. There were many -miles between him and the coast yet. The journey would run into -something approaching one hundred and more, which it would take -days to travel. But it was not the distance he had yet to go that -preoccupied him. It was not the scene set out before him with its -amazing hills and dense forests growing down to the water’s edge. -He was literally and perhaps spiritually at the parting of the ways. - -Directly ahead of him a hill reared its lofty crest. It stood -up an indestructible barrier to the rushing waters hurtling on -towards the distant ocean. It had faced the fierce onslaught of the -stream throughout the ages. It had yielded nothing but the loose -soil about its rocky base. And so the waters which refused denial -to their progress had turned sharply away in face of its heroic -resistance. - -Somewhere to the north of that hill he knew that another river -flowed over an almost parallel course. It was a smaller river which -owed its source to the same world of hills as that which bred -the flood of the Lias. But it was not for its proximity he was -concerned. It was not for its relation to his own. It was because, -somewhere further down its course, Ivor McLagan’s oil camp was -pitched. And Ivor McLagan was the man who had hurt and thwarted him. - -Somehow the night had at first wrought a change in the almost -insane mood in which Cy Liskard had sought his blankets. He had -awakened heavily, with a feeling of unusual depression. He had -awakened without any yearning for immediate action against the man -who had hurt him. He had found himself contemplating his future -outlook without enthusiasm or deep interest, and it was not until -he had broken his fast, and perfunctorily executed the simple -chores he was accustomed to perform, that his evil spirit returned -to its full dominion. - -But even then he had been incapable of rising to the pitch of -desire which had stirred him the night before. Perhaps it was the -balance of sanity reasserting itself. Perhaps it was the result of -that long, deep sleep which had robbed him of the night vision of -the movements of the men of the Aurora Clan. Whatever it was, he -decided definitely that his vengeance upon Ivor McLagan could wait. -There was all the summer for that, and meanwhile, there was urgent -work lying ahead of him in another direction. Perhaps a year more -of these solitudes and his work would be finished. Yes, in that -time he would have completed everything. And the while, McLagan -would have forgotten and lulled himself into a sense of security. -Then, at his leisure---- - -So he had gone about his simple preparations. He prepared his -boat down on the river. He loaded it with his camp outfit and -provisioned it. Then he turned his ponies loose to fend for -themselves on such mountain feed as they could find in his absence. -And his trail dogs he treated in similar fashion. These creatures -were subsidiary. His boat was the thing he knew and understood. - -But this more temperate mood had been in the early morning. Since -then there had been hours of labour on his journey downstream. -And the work of it had lightened the dullness of his earlier -inspiration. By high noon he had been completely flung back upon -his desire for the life of the man he had encountered in Beacon. - -So he stood before the great bend of the river where the angry -waters beat impotently against the foot of the mountain and raced -away to the south in search of the outlet they refused to be -denied. And all his passion for revenge was burning deep behind his -soulless eyes. - -Why should he wait? Why should he deny himself? There was all -summer for the rest as well as for that other. Why not reverse the -thing? The rest could wait, far more easily wait than the vengeance -he desired. It would be better so. For just so long as Ivor McLagan -lived, he, Liskard, would never know peace of mind. What was it? At -the most a ten or twelve mile portage to the north of that hill. He -had made it before when he had looked to discover for what purpose -his neighbours were around. Yes. And the Alsek was an easy river. -He could pass down it at his leisure until he came to the oil -camp. He could cache his boat while he searched the place for the -man whose life he desired. Then, if he were not there but down at -the river mouth where he had built his crazy home on the cliffs, -he could pass on down beyond the camp in the night and stalk his -quarry. - -It would be easy--so easy. There would be no need to take chances. -His rifle could do the job at his leisure. The man’s home was -perched up for long-range shots. He could remain under cover---- - -Yes, the rest could wait. It must wait. His desire was -overwhelming, irresistible. He would eat at once and pass over to -the landing he knew of at the foot of the mountain. The water was -turbulent enough there. There were rapids of no mean proportions -to be negotiated. But they were nothing to him--nothing this river -could show him could match his watercraft. - -He moved back from the water’s edge. His decision was final. So he -prepared a fire for his noon meal. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - In the Sunshine - - -“I’m kind of glad you could run down, Peter. I’ve put that report -through to our people. This is the message I handed ’em.” - -Ivor McLagan held out the copy of the message he had despatched -from Beacon, and, while his assistant read it, he stood with -narrowed eyes gazing down upon the wrecked vessel standing high out -of the waters of the bay below. - -He had not long returned from Beacon, and Peter Loby had made a -special trip down the river to meet him. Deeply as McLagan was -concerned for any further news his subordinate might have brought -from the camp on the river, the wreck below had lost none of its -interest for him. In fact, for some unexplained reason, it had -taken even a firmer hold upon his imagination. - -Curiosity had by no means a prominent place in his psychology. -Ordinarily he was not seriously concerned for happenings which -had no intimate relation to the affairs of his life. He was -sufficiently self-centred in the work that was his to leave such -a thing as the sudden appearance of a derelict of the sea, flung -almost on his doorstep, a thing without more than passing interest, -after he had ascertained that no human life stood in need of his -succour. But strangely enough the vessel lying upon its deathbed -below him, claimed him with greater force than he would have cared -to admit. His mind had been full of it on his journey into Beacon. -Its memory had remained with him and deeply increased its spell, as -he made his report to Alan Goodchurch, and his journey back to his -home on the cliffs had been made with haste inspired by the strange -feeling of unrest with which the thought of those last moments he -had spent on the deck of the vessel had filled him. - -Now the wreck was standing out amidst its rugged surroundings, -under a blaze of sunshine, and, as his gaze took in its details, -his mind was full of questioning and unease. The condition of the -vessel had apparently changed very little. The tides that had -passed since his first visit to it had left it wholly undisturbed. -Its sails were in worse shape, and their tattered remains fluttered -and whipped furiously in the breeze and sent the gulls screaming as -they sought to find resting place on the creaking yards. But he was -not thinking of any of these things. No, he was thinking---- - -Peter looked up from his reading. - -“That’s a good report, McLagan,” he conceded with a grin. “It’s a -deal better done than mine. I surely guess that’ll set our folks -smiling a mile wide.” He drew a deep breath. “Well, they can keep -right on grinning. They’re on a bonanza, or I’m all sorts of a -mutt.” - -He gazed up into the face of his chief as he offered his frank -comment and passed back the copy of the message. - -“It makes me feel good,” he went on quickly, “standing around out -here, perched right up on this darn rock breathing good sea air an’ -soaking in elegant sunshine with our play coming right. Makes the -world seem right someway. Makes me sort of feel I want to holler -like a school kid on Thanksgiving Day. Oil? It’s the most crazily -wonderful thing in the world--when you strike it.” - -“Yes.” - -McLagan’s response was without a shadow of the other’s enthusiasm -and Peter turned questioningly. Instantly he realised the direction -of his chief’s gaze and the meaning of his preoccupation. He -chuckled. - -“I’d forgot that crazy barge,” he said. Then he added: “You handed -Goodchurch the dope?” - -The difference in the attitude of these men was profoundly marked. -The lean, practical oil man was alert and thrilling with the -prospect lying ahead of the work they were both engaged upon. -The wreck and the atmosphere of mystery which it had originally -impressed upon him had entirely passed out of his concern. He had -witnessed the wreck. He had explored it. He had shared in the risk -of that first approach. But none of these things, not even the -vision of the deserting rats, had been sufficient to persist in -a mind absorbed in his lifetime’s pursuit of oil. The affairs of -the oil prospect were paramount with him, first, last and all the -time. And the report he had just perused represented something -approaching the crowning of his life’s work. But at that moment, -oil and coal were the two things farthest from McLagan’s mind. - -The latter moved away and approached the edge of the wide ledge -upon which his hut was set. Peter moved up beside him and bit a -chew of tobacco from the disreputable fragment of plug tobacco -which he carried in his hip-pocket. - -As McLagan nodded his gaze was still upon the wreck below. - -“Surely,” he said. “I handed it the best I could, and Goodchurch -guessed things would need looking into. He took down the name of -the ship and its port of registration. He’s wiring right away to -the proper authority and promised to get it broadcast by wireless. -I asked him for that. You see, I kind of got a hunch the folks who -quit that vessel might be glad to locate her--if they’re alive. He -reckons we’ll likely get word from the owners. You know, Peter, I -feel ther’s a mighty queer story lying back of that wreck.” - -“You mean--the boats--and----” - -McLagan shook his head. He was gazing out to sea now and stood -abstractedly filling his pipe. - -“No,” he said. Then his eyes came back again to the scene of the -wreck with the screaming sea-birds circling about it. “Psha!” he -cried impatiently. “What’s the use? Yes, the boats if you like. -It’s the whole darn thing. It’s got me guessing, so I can’t forget -it.” - -Peter chuckled. - -“That’s all right,” he said. “It don’t worry me a thing. It’s oil -for mine. You can play around with all the wrecks if you fancy that -way. I’m beating it right back to camp.” - -McLagan nodded. - -“Yes. It’s oil, not wrecks, for you an’ me,” he said, as though -striving to convince himself. “I know that. But--yes, you beat it -right back to camp and I’ll be along up the moment I touch the -answer our folks send to that report. I’ll just wait around for -that. I’m figgering there’ll be a big move on that new field when -we get word. The drilling we’re doing now looks like it’ll be a -circumstance to the thing coming. Maybe I’ll even have to run down -to Seattle, after I’ve made my own inspection. Still, that won’t -be till the late fall.” - -Peter agreed, his keen eyes lighting afresh. - -“That’s how it looks to me,” he said. - -“Yes. Are you stopping around to eat?” - -“No. I’ll make camp on the river. I’ll pass up on slack water and -grab the tide later.” Peter laughed and nodded down at the wreck. -“You’ll get another look at that while you’re waiting reply from -our folks,” he observed slily. - -“Sure I will.” McLagan looked round quickly as he thrust his pipe -into the corner of his mouth, and his strong jaws shut tight on its -well-bitten stem. “Just as soon as you beat it.” - -“I thought so.” Peter was chuckling. “Well, it doesn’t rattle me -a thing. The only thing worrying me is the yarn lying back of the -coal belt we’ve located. I’m sure crazy to get after that. So--I’ll -beat it. So long.” - -McLagan smiled at the other’s thrust. - -“So long, boy.” - -He stood gazing after the slim figure of his lieutenant as he -hurried towards the head of the pathway down from the ledge on -which they were standing. He waited till the last of his cloth cap -vanished below the level. Then he lit his pipe and turned again to -his absorbed contemplation of the mystery boat below. - - * * * * * - -The breeze was dead flat. It was low water. In something under an -hour the tide would be starting its flood again. Meanwhile, the sky -had clouded over. But it was without any storming threat. It was -only the fleecy shading which came so frequently with the change of -tide. - -Sasa Mannik’s eyes had curiously widened as they gazed up into -the face of the man he served. They were alight with all the -superstitious fear of his kind. He had just concluded a long -and almost incoherent protest which his boss’s demand for his -assistance aboard the wreck had brought forth. - -McLagan’s face was frowning. His eyes were coldly contemptuous. He -stood a towering figure over the sturdy little man who was in open -revolt. - -“You’re worse than a darn fool, Sasa,” he said sharply. “You’re -a low, miserable coward. You’re the worst coward I know. You’re -such a coward you’d run a mile from a jack-rabbit. You make me -sick to death, and I feel like sending you to hell out of my -service. I tell you there’s not a thing to this poor darn wreck to -scare a buck louse. There’s not a thing. She’s dead and done, and -there’s not a living soul aboard.” Then he changed his tone from -condemnation to derision. “What the hell scares you about her? What -d’you think she’s got aboard her? Devils or--what?” - -The half-breed turned away. He glanced down at his own boat lying -half out of water on the smooth surface of the rocks on which it -had been hauled up. Perhaps he desired to reassure himself it was -still there for his safe retreat. A moment later he turned again to -the white man, and from him he gazed up at the high sides of the -great vessel which loomed monstrously as they stood on the slippery -rocks below it. And as he gazed up at the hated object his eyes -further widened, and he spoke in a tone that was almost a whine. - -“Maybe, boss,” he said. He shook his dark head vigorously. “This -thing bad. So bad. I see him same lak you see him, too. I know. It -in your eye when you look. You scare, too, plenty. You not know. I -know. I much coward this thing. Nothing else I scare lak him dis. I -not go aboard. Never.” - -McLagan’s gaze was compelling. He held the other while he put his -question. - -“This thing? What did you see?” he asked sharply. - -The half-breed shifted his position uneasily. He sought to avoid -the white man’s questioning eyes. He turned away. But his fearful -eyes came swiftly back to those they had sought to avoid. - -“I not speak this thing,” he said in a low, surly tone. “It bad. -What you ask him? You see. Oh, yes. I know.” - -He made a movement. It was almost like a shudder. Then without -waiting he passed down to his boat. - -“Sasa!” - -McLagan’s voice brought the terrified creature to a standstill. -He turned and waited. And then he heard the white man laugh as he -flung his final orders. - -“You take your boat and go back to the beach. You wait there till -I hail you. If you leave that beach till I hail you I’ll beat the -life out of you. Now go.” - - * * * * * - -McLagan had made no further attempt at investigation of the secrets -of the wrecked vessel. It was with an unusual feeling of repulsion -that he climbed up through the gloomy precincts of the forepeak. -And somehow the memory of the half-breed’s accusation stung him -sharply, as, involuntarily, his searching gaze sought to penetrate -the darkness surrounding him. In his heart he felt the man was not -without justification in his charge. From the moment he had set -foot on the ladder a strange sensation took hold of him, and, with -every upward step, he wondered what revelation the next would yield. - -Once on deck, however, the uncanny sensation passed. Here was -daylight. Here were the things he knew and recognised. But somehow -he did not want to use the forepeak again, and forthwith he set -about discovering some other means of reaching the deck. - -He found it quickly. It was there lying amidst some sprawled gear -upon the deck, besides a stack of lumber. It was a long rope -companion ladder with broad teakwood steps. It was still secured -to the down haul cleats against the ship’s rail near the main mast -where it had evidently been flung by some previous user. And he -dropped it over the vessel’s side, and saw that it reached almost -to the rocks below. - -His view was out over the bay. And from where he stood he could see -his hut perched high on the cliffs, and, below, the long, low line -of the distant beach. He smiled to himself as he beheld the figure -of Sasa busy mooring his fishing boat. He knew that for all his -rebellious mood, the half-breed would very literally obey his final -orders. - -He turned away. His searching gaze took in the deck in every -direction. It was the same, precisely, as he had found it on his -first visit. The litter of gear was in evidence everywhere. The -stacked lumber. There was the canvas-sheathed winch with its -close-hauled raking arm. The galley with its steel door ajar. Then -the closely battened main hatch, and, beyond it, the break of the -small poop-deck above, with its two alleyways, one to the cabin, -and one to the half-deck on the starboard side. Yes. It was all -just as he had left it, and he glanced quickly up at the sky. - -There was a thin overcast of cloud, but still without any threat of -storm. Even the restless ocean breeze had flattened out, and the -usually protesting gear above him was completely silent. - -McLagan had told himself that he wanted to explore the hundred and -one details which he knew must have escaped him at his first visit. -There were the battened holds. There were those cabins which Peter -and the half-breed had looked into. There were the pantry, and the -half-deck. All these things he had promised himself to look into. -It was his excuse for his visit. But he knew that in reality they -had little enough to do with his coming now. It was that other -thing which had brought him there. That thing which had inspired -terror in the half-breed’s heart, and---- He moved over to the -cabin alleyway and leant against the break of the poop. And he -stood gazing down the deck in the direction of the winch as he had -stood there once before. - -For all Sasa’s challenge McLagan’s nerve was completely unruffled. -He was a man of cool courage and utterly ungiven to vain -imaginings. Imagination was by no means lacking, but it was under -the perfect control of a completely healthy mind. - -He remained for some time in the position he had taken up, and -smoked contentedly for all the expectancy in his eyes. But after -awhile, wearying of his vigil, he moved away, and squatted himself -on the battened hatch in precisely the position which Sasa Mannik -had once occupied. Here he hunched himself with his arms locked -about his knees, and sat regarding the long prospect of the -littered deck. - -The trend of his thought had remained unchanged. And the look in -his eyes retained its unvarying expectancy, even when now and -again he turned them skywards searching the summer shading. Time -seemed to concern him not at all. That presently the flood tide -would begin, and there might be difficulty for Sasa to bring his -boat alongside, did not seem to enter his thought. He sat there -completely preoccupied with the thing that was in his mind, and -luxuriating in the comfort of his pipe. - -Suddenly he started. And his watchful eyes changed from expectancy -to a flashing alertness. A sound had broken up the perfect quiet. -It was a sound that had no relation to creaking gear, or the flap -of sail cloth, or the raucous screaming of sea-fowl. Seemingly -it had no relation to anything he understood. For he remained -precisely where he was, waiting, while his eyes focussed on the -spot whence the sound came. - -It came from nearby to the main-mast. It came from somewhere just -abreast of the carefully covered winch. There was the galley -entrance there, and beyond that a stack of stowed lumber---- - -He started to his feet, and the look in his eyes had changed again. -He was smiling. A head had appeared over the vessel’s rail. It was -a head adorned by a woman’s modish hat, with, underneath it, a face -the sight of which filled him with nothing but delight. He hurried -down the deck. - -“Why, say, Claire,” he cried. “How did you---- Here, wait. Get a -grip on my hand. You shouldn’t have----” - -There was a moment of effort while McLagan took firm hold of -the girl’s two small hands. Then after a struggle, a little -breathlessly, she jumped lightly down from the rail and stood -beside him on the deck. - -“I just had to come, Ivor,” she cried, gazing curiously about her -while she made her explanation. “I heard about it in town, and set -out right away. Mum’s back there with the car on the hill road, -and I came along down to the beach where I saw your man with his -boat.” She laughed. “He didn’t want to, but I made him. I asked -for you, and he said you were aboard here. I asked him why, and he -said because you were ‘dam fool white man.’ Then I guess I offered -him five dollars to bring me across, and he nearly threw a fit. He -refused. But I insisted. It cost me ten before I was through, and -the threat you’d beat him if he didn’t. Even then he tried to dodge -it and guessed you’d beat him if he left the beach. But I got my -way. And----” - -“As you mostly do.” - -McLagan was thinking rapidly and with sudden deep concern. This -girl was all the world to him, and her presence, her proximity -filled him with a wild sensation of joy that he was powerless to -deny, that he made no attempt to deny. But, of a sudden, he had -become horrified as he contemplated the real purpose of his own -visit to the derelict. In a moment his mind was made up. By some -means he must get her off the ship--before---- - -There was no smile in his eyes now. - -“I kind of wish you hadn’t, Claire. I guess I’ll have to deal with -Sasa for disobeying his orders. He was told not to quit that beach -for--anything.” - -The girl looked up into the man’s face and the flash of hot -resentment in her eyes was unmistakable. But she shook her head -and refused the impulse his roughness, his downright rudeness had -stirred in her. Somehow she always found it easy to make excuse for -him. - -“The same. Always the same,” she said impatiently, for all the -smile she forced herself to. “Some day, Ivor, you’ll wake up and -wonder the reason you were built with a rough tongue and a foolish -grouch.” - -The man glanced quickly at the sky. Then he indicated the main -hatch where he had been squatting and led the way towards it. He -seated himself and left the girl standing. And promptly seized -on the opening she had given him, and sought to drive home his -purpose. At all costs he must get her away before---- - -“There’s times when a rough tongue’s needed. When a grouch is -surely dead right,” he said, without any softening. “Is it right -for women to give way to a sort of low curiosity to look into the -trouble and bad luck helpless folk are up against? You came for -that, Claire,” he said deliberately; “it was a swell drive out of -Beacon to pass an idle time. I kind of wouldn’t have thought it of -you.” - -It was one of those moments when the engineer felt that somehow he -ought to have done better. He wanted to drive this girl away. And -on the spur of the moment it was the only thing he could think of. -He wanted to get her off that vessel without explanation. And so -he designed to anger her as the simplest, most direct method of -achieving his purpose. - -But the whole thing missed fire for the reason that Claire was -shrewd, and knew him, and because her reason for coming was -something which had far deeper object than the idle curiosity of -which he accused her. - -The blaze of anger he had expected was not forthcoming. Claire’s -colour heightened, and her soft blue eyes were less wide as she -gazed down into his plain, unsmiling face. Then the corners of her -mouth dropped. And somehow her whole expression suggested distress -to the man who so absolutely worshipped her. She shook her head -slowly. - -“Not curiosity, Ivor,” she said. “Not that.” Then a shadowy smile -lit her eyes. “And as for the swell drive to pass an idle time, I’d -have said you knew the Beacon trail better than that. If you don’t, -why, just ask Mum, and get a look at the tires of our automobile. -If you’d had some one you guessed the sun rose and set in who was -travelling home to you in a ship that’s never been heard of since -she handed out an S.O.S., why, it seems to me you’d feel like -chasing the ends of the earth to get a look at any old wreck that -blew in on to the rocks from Australia to the Arctic. Curiosity?” -she cried scornfully. “Well, you can call it that way if you fancy -it. I’m here because I couldn’t live with peace in my mind till I -knew this boat wasn’t the one that should have brought our Jim back -to us.” - -The girl’s reply drove a wave of contrition surging through the -man’s heart. He felt as though he had struck her a blow in the -face. He felt as though he wanted to flee before the gentle -reproach he interpreted in the look in her half-smiling eyes. And -yet---- He glanced uneasily up at the sky. - -“Your Jim’s ship was the _Imperial_ of Bristol, Claire. You told -me that months back,” he expostulated. “This is the _Limpet_ of -Boston. Your Jim wouldn’t have been aboard a coaster like this. -Beating it from Australia he’d have been on a swell ocean-going -vessel. Goodchurch knew all about this wreck. You must have got -its name. I’d handed him the story myself and all the details. He -should have told you and saved you from the Beacon trail. Say, -little girl, I’m sorry I handed you that. I didn’t think, or---- -You see, I know all your brother meant to you. We’ve talked about -it, you and me, and maybe I ought to have guessed right away when I -saw your dandy face peeking over that darn old rail.” - -Again he looked anxiously up at the sky as a crack of the tattered -sails warned him that the breeze was springing up with the flood -tide. - -“But I just tell you we daresn’t stop around here. You don’t know -this bay like Sasa and I do. The tide’s setting in, and in a few -minutes ther’ll be no getting off these rocks in Sasa’s boat or -any other. It’s the most devilish place in the world. It was that -current that caught and drove this poor blamed barge high and dry. -We must get away right---- Eh?” - -The girl had suddenly reached out a pointing finger. She had -clutched his arm violently. - -“My God! What’s--that?” - -The cry broke from her in a low, almost inarticulate fashion. She -was standing facing down the deck, her horrified gaze fixed on a -spot on the deck in line with the canvas-sheathed winch. Her face -had blanched to ashen whiteness, and the arm held out pointing was -shaking like an aspen. - -McLagan was on his feet beside her, and somehow her clutching hand -had fallen into one of his. He held it tightly as he, too, gazed -down the deck in the beam of sunlight which had broken through the -haze of cloud which the breeze had stirred. - -“What do you see?” he cried quickly, in a low, suppressed tone. -“Tell me, Claire. I want to know. I can see it, too. But I want to -know the thing you see.” - -“It’s--it’s the shadow--of a man. See?” The girl was staring -straight in front of her and her voice was faltering. But the arm -she still held out had steadied under the influence of McLagan’s -presence and touch. “Oh,” she went on, with a gasp. “He’s coming -towards us. I--I can’t stand it. He’s big, too, and--and--Oh, -God!--for pity’s sake, Ivor, take me away--take me away!” - -But the man made no attempt to obey her. Instead his words came -gently and full of confidence and encouragement. - -“Stand your ground, little girl,” he urged. “Quit your scare. I’m -right here, and nothing’s going to do you hurt. It was this I was -trying to save you from. The sight of it. It’ll pass with the sun. -It’s just a queer shadow, and doesn’t mean a thing--to hurt. I’ve -seen it before, and know about it. It’s the sun makes us see it. -But it’s queer. It hasn’t a thing to do with the gear above. Look. -Its outline’s in the air. An’ its shadow’s on the deck. See? It’s -the outline of a man, a big man. He’s carrying something in two -hands. You can’t see what it is. You can’t see any face. Just an -outline. And he’s walking this way and don’t come any nearer. Isn’t -it queer? What is it? A spook, or--or a trick of the sun? Say, it’s -queer. Ah!” He drew a deep breath. “Look, it’s fading out. It’s -going with the sun. Look! That’s better. Now--now it’s gone.” - -The sun had suddenly passed behind the clouds again. And as it did -so the shadow had completely disappeared. - -Claire drew a deep sigh. On the instant the man’s arm was flung out -to her support. But it was unnecessary. For all the ghastly hue -of her cheeks, the utter pallor of her lips, the girl was not of -the fainting sort. He watched the slow return of her colour with -anxious, troubled eyes. - -Suddenly she spoke. Her eyes were still on the spot where the -terrifying shadow had moved so meaninglessly. - -“Let’s--let’s get away, Ivor,” she said, in a low, hushed tone. -“It--it was a ghost--a--I--I----” - -McLagan resorted to the only thing his mind suggested. He laughed. -He felt it was the only thing in face of the girl’s condition. - -“I guess it’s a mighty harmless spook, anyway,” he said lightly. -“The poor darn thing’s pinned right down to that spot. He hasn’t -moved a yard since I first located him days back. But maybe you’re -right though, kid. There’s no sort of use standing around gawking -at a fool spectre that hasn’t sense but to stand around waiting -to show himself when the sun shines. He ought to know better. -Moonlight’s his playtime. Yes, come right along, and we’ll beat it -back to your Mum.” - -For all the man’s banter he hurried the girl down the deck, -carefully avoiding the spot where the shadow had stood. They stood -for a moment at the down-haul cleats, and Claire looked back over -the deck. She felt safer here. There was McLagan, big and smiling. -And there, beside her, was the means of retreat. - -“I guess I’m not brave, Ivor,” she smiled a little pathetically. -“When it comes to that sort of thing I’m like dead mutton. I’m not -scared of a thing living. But the dead----” - -“Dead?” - -Claire nodded. - -“Sure. Some one was killed right there. A big man. Do you wonder -this vessel blew right in here without a soul on board? I don’t.” - -She turned to the rail, and the man moved to her assistance. - -“Can you manage that ladder, Claire?” He had no comment to offer -concerning her summing up of the thing they had both witnessed. His -only desire at the moment was her safe departure from the mystery -boat and its haunting. “Can you?” he went on. - -Then of a sudden he reached out and caught her slight body in his -arms. In a moment he had lifted her on to the rail and held her -safely while she set her feet on the rungs of the ladder beyond -it. He waited while she lowered herself step by step. He was still -holding her warm, soft hands firmly in his when her now smiling -thankful eyes came on a level with his. - -“It’s all right, Ivor,” she nodded. “Guess I’m safe now. But, but -you’re strong lifting me that way. You’re coming right along down, -too.” - -“Yes,” he said. “Sure I am.” For an instant the blood surged to his -head. The pretty eyes, the sweet face were so near, so very near to -his. But slowly it receded, and, as the girl passed below the rail, -McLagan drew a deep breath. He turned abruptly. His gaze was down -the deck where the shadow had been. Then he glanced at the sky. The -next moment he passed over the ship’s rail and followed the girl. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - The Man from the Hills - - -The labour of it was tremendous. The sturdy ponies were a-lather -with sweat in the pleasant warmth of the summer day. Their burden -ordinarily was sufficiently light. A rattling, aged buckboard -driven by the man they had known for nearly five years. It -contained no outfit, no burden of any sort but the reckless -teamster who had literally made the trail by his own many journeys -between his home and the city of Beacon Glory. But it was the final -stage of the journey. A heart-bursting haul up an incline steeper -than one in four. - -At the summit were rest and feed in plenty. Unlike other men in -the region using horse labour, McLagan cared for his ponies better -than he would care for himself. He worked them to the limit if need -be, but his care of them was the same. In his undemonstrative, -unsentimental fashion he loved his shaggy, stocky Alaskan ponies, -and saw to it that they knew it in the fashion they understood. - -Already the crowning plateau of his home was in view through the -gaunt arms of the tattered forest trees with which the track was -lined. A hundred yards or so more and the labour of it would be -over, and the ardent creatures would snuff the ocean breeze in -their gushing nostrils. The man’s whip lay gently playing over -the ponies’ backs, urgent for their last ounce of effort. He was -leaning forward on the hard sprung seat as though to spare them -weight. It was an instinctive attitude that was of no real help. It -was the attitude of a man accustomed to the saddle. - -McLagan was more urgent for his home just now than usual. He had -gone into Beacon to meet the message he expected from his partners -and employers. But that had been excuse. He had, in reality, made -the journey for Claire Carver and her mother. On their return from -the wreck in the bay they had discovered the girl’s mother in a -state of panic. The automobile had been put completely out of -action by the terrible road over which it had passed. Not a single -one of its tires was standing up. The mother was helpless. The girl -was in little better case. And McLagan did what he could in the way -of repair. But it was quite useless. The outer covers were wrecked, -and incapable of containing the inner tubes. - -In the end McLagan was able to impress on them sufficiently the -immediate necessity of himself making a visit to Beacon. He assured -them that he had long since planned it. That his business was -pressing. And the good luck of it was that his buckboard would just -carry the three of them, if they did not mind being somewhat packed -into the seat and badly jolted. They had by no means minded. And -the older woman sighed her relief as they planned to have a man -sent out with new tires to fetch in the derelict automobile. - -“You know, Claire, girl,” she had said, in her downright fashion, -which no improvement in her fortunes had been able to modify, -“them automobiles is liable to set folks thinkin’ you’re all sorts -of a dame ridin’ around in ’em. But give me a team of decent -mountain-bred plugs, with a bunch of grain inside ’em. Maybe they -ain’t a blue streak of lightnin’, but they’ll mostly get you there -an’ haul you back, which it’s a God’s truth is a thing you can -only guess about with one of these oil cans. Ivor’s wise. Maybe -his business depends on his bein’ there to do it. So he gambles on -these dandy four-legged creatures.” - -And she had affectionately patted and stroked the warm flesh that -was ready to help them in their emergency. - -The man had had a better reward than he had looked for. He had -found his reply awaiting him at the mail office. A reply that -he had never hoped to get until the heads of the Mountain Oil -Corporation had held an important meeting. He realised that it must -have been despatched within a day of the receipt of his report. It -was a clear, definite, decided reply such as pleased him mightily. -It was from the chairman of the Board of Directors. - - “Complete prospect earliest possible date. Sailing in ten - weeks. Be with you early fall. Make all preparations for big - forward move. Prospect for large territorial concession. Prepare - everything. Big money.” - -The very brevity of the message was its greatest joy to McLagan. It -was, he felt, the message of a big man unfettered by any smallness -of consideration. His interpretation of it was no less big. To him -it meant go right ahead, grab all you can, and to hell with the -cost. And the engineer, being the man he was, needed no further -urging. So he had spared his ponies on the home trail less than -usual. - -He reached the plateau just as the sunset was at the height of its -glory beyond the bay. The waters were dead flat, a mirror of liquid -fire under the radiant light. Even the ugly, iron-bound coast was -rendered something gracious for once in its ruthless existence. - -He had planned as he came along, absorbed in the prospect that -lay ahead of him. The whole thing was quite simple. Everything -must be got ready. He must set out on a big trip round with Peter. -They must make a broad survey. He would set out with Sasa to join -Peter at the camp. He would close up his shanty and quit it for -the summer, or, at least, until the Directors had completed their -inspection. Early fall. They would be with him in early fall to -settle the final details. That was nearly three months from now. -Yes. He could get everything ready for them by that time. - -Sasa took the hard-blowing team as it drew up at the log barn, and -McLagan walked round the ponies and helped unhitch them. - -“Turn ’em loose, boy,” he said. “Let ’em get a roll, and feed ’em -hay. Don’t water ’em till they cool. Then set ’em in the barn and -push their blankets on. Feed ’em corn in two hours.” - -He passed on to the door of his hut. But he paused on the way. As -he stepped out into the open the wreck of the _Limpet_ came into -his view. In a moment he had forgotten everything else as the -memory of his last visit to the derelict came back to him. - -Somehow the whole episode had been swept out of his mind by the -text of the message he had received from his own people. It could -not have been otherwise in a man of his temper and purpose. He -was at the threshold of a tremendous achievement which years of -infinite labour had brought to his hand. Peter Loby was the oil -man, the expert creature who dealt in drills, and pipes, and the -immediate localities for his operations. But it was McLagan whose -knowledge and vision searched the territory. It was he who had -first realised the possibilities of that black belt of territory -which he had sent Loby to explore. His whole horizon was bounded by -such prospecting, just as Peter’s was by oil. Yes, the news that -these men of finance were ready to put themselves and their money -behind his work had completely cleared his healthy brain of the -cobwebs which his last visit to the _Limpet_ had woven there. - -Now, however, it was different. Just as the other had overwhelmed -every other consideration, the sight of the derelict flung memory -back upon those things which are never failing in their grip on -human imagination. - -He stood gazing down at the queer object and every vestige of his -earlier enthusiasm for the work in hand faded out of his unsmiling -eyes. He had forgotten. And now he remembered. And so he stood -there, for all he was ready enough for the cooking food which Sasa -had prepared, and which smelt so appetising on the still air. - -The sun sank lower upon the horizon. It dipped into the sea and lit -a broad path across the bosom of the waters. The circling gulls -screamed out their night chorus before perching for their rest. -And all the time, deeper and more surely, the fascination of that -derelict below took hold of him. - -At last McLagan stirred. He unfastened the pea-jacket it was his -habit to wear. Then he raised one hand and the palm of it was -passed across his forehead thrusting back his cap in its gesture. -He turned and called over his shoulder. - -“Sasa!” - -The half-breed came sturdily across to him from behind the hut. And -he stood there beside him following the direction of his gaze till -his own rested upon the remains of the _Limpet_. - -“Your canoe. Your kyak. Is she in good shape?” - -“Sure. Him all time same. I mak him so.” - -“You’ll beat it up the river to-night. Get it?” - -The dark-skinned creature looked up into the face of his boss. Then -he turned away, for the white man was still gazing at the wreck -below. - -“You’ll beat it up the river and fetch Mr. Loby right down here. -You’ll beat it quick. You’ll tell him to have an outfit ready at -the camp to go into the hills. He’ll know just what I mean. But -he’s to come right--No. I’ll write it. I’ll give you a ‘brief’ to -take to Mr. Loby. It’s nearly low water now. You can ride up on the -tide.” - -He turned to pass into the hut. But the half-breed detained him. - -“Boss, you think dat ship all time. Yes, I know. I see him in your -eye. Dam’ ship no good. Bad. I go, yes. You not go by dam’ ship -with no man? You not go? No? It bad. So bad.” - -The man’s tone was almost beseeching. - -“You’re a damned coward, Sasa, as I told you before,” McLagan -laughed as he turned away. “You’re a damned coward about everything -but the big water. You get busy right away. You’ve got to have Mr. -Loby down here early to-morrow. I’ll write that brief for you.” - - * * * * * - -The Alsek River had none of the greatness or splendour of its -southern neighbour, the Lias. But then it flowed through a far -different territory as it approached its mouth. Its lower reaches -were marsh and tundra-bounded. It was a deep, sluggish channel -occupying the lowest level in the heart of a wide muskeg, some -thirty or forty miles in extent. Higher up, however, amidst the -great hills, where lay the camp of the Mountain Oil Corporation, -it lacked nothing of the scenic beauty of the hundreds of mountain -creeks and rivers which scored the coast territory of the Alaskan -Hills. In spring, under the fierce freshets, it was a roaring, -blustering watercourse without mercy for any obstructions in its -path. In summer it was a shallow, shoaly stream of guile and -treachery. - -Cy Liskard regretted the river he had made his own as his light -craft passed out of the hill country and entered upon the flat of -muskeg, which would continue until the barrier hills of the coast -were reached. The Alsek River was not only ugly to him. It was a -good deal more. He knew that the vivid, brilliant green of this -limitless plain was one of Nature’s vilest snares. It was one -vast, treeless swamp, thinly disguised by an alkali crust, and as -bottomless as only a northern muskeg can be. It was without life, -animal or human. Only was it swarming with wildfowl for whom it was -a never-failing refuge from trap and gun. - -But he laboured indefatigably. He was running with the stream, his -muscles at ease, but with mind and eye alert and uneasy. He knew -the dangers of this dreary channel. It was deep enough. Oh, yes. -He knew that. At times it was monstrously deep. But its sodden, -reed-grown banks yielded no footing for landing; there were mud -banks dotted throughout its course; and in its open channels masses -of submerged weed flourished abundantly. So his vigilance was -unceasing, and he drove a course whose constant zig-zag suggested -incompetence. - -But there was no incompetence in Cy Liskard on the water. He -travelled swiftly and without doubt or hesitation. For he meant to -reach those distant coast hills with the last of the tide, driven -hard by that which lay back of his mind. - -His search for his quarry about the oil camp in the hills had been -fruitless. He had prosecuted it with infinite determination. He had -lain cached when he encountered McLagan’s river men. He had well -and truly covered his tracks, when at night he had reconnoitred the -camp itself. Then, when he had ascertained beyond all possibility -of doubt that the man he sought was not at the camp, he had passed -on all undetected, unsuspected. Now he was on the last stages of -his journey to the coast. The coast and that crazy, high-perched -shanty overlooking the bay. - -Cy Liskard betrayed no outward sign. He looked to belong to the -long trail of the wilderness whose peace and calm his soulless eyes -expressed so well. His outfit looked to be the outfit of those who -live by trap and gun, and the protruding muzzle of a modern rifle -over the curved bows of his craft increased the illusion. But his -purpose was no less for these things. Perhaps, even, it was the -contrary. - -The miles passed rapidly behind him. They drifted away on a winding -course that flashed and gleamed in the brilliant summer daylight. -But for all his speed, the outlook seemed to remain the same, the -distant hills to come no nearer. - -But they were approaching very rapidly. And, as the late afternoon -ripened the sparkle of earlier day, at last they rose abruptly -till their height seemed to overwhelm the monotonous level of the -muskeg. - -Now the watchful eyes became less watchful. The need was less. The -level, sodden banks had given place to sharp-cut, solid granite, -and the widened stream had slackened and given place to deep, -clear water free of all hidden traps. A sense of ease and safety -permitted the man’s attention to wander to that which lay ahead and -about him. - -The river bent sharply away to the right behind the first of the -foothills and doubled its breadth. Farther on was a leftward sweep, -and as he approached it he realised that he no longer had the river -to himself. A canoe--an Eskimo kyak--had swung round the far bend, -on the outer circle of it, and was driving like an arrow against -the sluggish stream. - -Just for an instant there was hesitation, and the dip of Cy -Liskard’s paddle was less unruffled. Then, seemingly, the man’s -doubt passed and he kept straight on. He made no attempt to hail -the stranger. He never even permitted his gaze to turn in his -direction. But nothing escaped the search of his pale eyes. - -He had recognised the man in the kyak for what he was. He had seen -him before. Something of an Eskimo or Indian. A sturdy, squat -figure, with broad, fleshy shoulders and lank black hair, and eyes -that might have been the folds of a crease in the flesh of his ugly -face had it not been for the deep sockets in which they were set. - -Oh, yes. He had seen him before, and he let him pass him without -word or greeting. - - * * * * * - -The mouth of the Alsek River from the land side was a curious -and interesting effect of erosion. Even granite, that almost -invincible barrier which Nature sets up against the onslaught of -her own fierce elements, had ultimately yielded. The river on the -one side and the storming seas on the other had beaten upon the -granite anvil till the white flag of surrender had been hoisted. - -The attacking elements had met through a narrow gap which had -helped to set the scene for the appalling race of tide which -swept in through it. Two gaunt, barren headlands stood sentry on -either side with less than three hundred yards of water dividing -them. Outside these lay the bay with its guarding headlands and a -multitude of rocky warriors still defending. Inside was an expanse -of water that was nearly a mile wide. This was no less rockbound -than the outer bay, but it was completely sheltered so that no view -of the bay beyond could be obtained except that which was visible -through the narrow opening. - -It was early morning. The sun had just lifted above the eastern -hills. Nature was astir. The restless sea-fowl were breaking -their fast upon such fare as the waters provided, and sunrise had -brought up with it a freshening breeze. The night tide was rapidly -running out and the race of water was still fierce and strong and -threatening. - -Cy Liskard was laboriously clambering along the foreshore of the -inner cove. He was moving up towards the headland guarding the -southern shore of the river mouth. He was searching for the most -promising direction whence he could attack its lofty summit. - -Such was the nature of the shore that his movements were largely -hidden. It was the thing he desired most. Now he was passing along -in the shadow of mountainous boulders. Now he was full in the -open, scaling a barrier impossible otherwise to pass. But he was -making progress, rapid progress onwards and upwards. He had swiftly -realised the danger of passing the gateway on the open water. It -would have been to court discovery on the instant, to say nothing -of the chances of disaster from the race of the tide, so his boat -lay cached behind him while he confronted the task of scaling the -headland. - - * * * * * - -The man was standing on the windswept crest of the southern -guardian of the river. He was sheltering from observation behind a -boulder, and from the whip of the breeze which stung with a wintry -bite. The whole of the great bay lay there below him, calm and -peaceful, and completely inviting. He was gazing down upon it, but -without regard for its austere beauty. For that he had no interest -whatever. The ravishing shimmer of the summer waters, the tattered -magnificence of the element’s aged battle-ground. These things were -matters of complete indifference to him. Even his view of McLagan’s -high-perched home for the moment seemed to make no claim. - -His searching gaze was preoccupied with the thing he had never -looked to discover. He was gazing down upon the wreck of the -_Limpet_ lying upon its deathbed of rocks, which the night ebb had -left bare. He was studying it, searching it, shape and rig and -every detail as might some sailorman who still retains all his -interest for a calling he has long since abandoned. - -For a long time he stood in the shelter of the boulder, and the -fascination of the wreck held him until its spell was abruptly -broken by a thing of more immediate consequence. Suddenly he became -aware of a small boat making its way from the north shore in the -direction of the wreck. And in a moment he understood. He raised -his eyes to the house on the cliffs. He dropped them again to the -beach below. Then they came again to the moving boat with its -solitary occupant. - - * * * * * - -Cy Liskard had made the great descent. Now he was standing in -the shadow of the vessel lying upon the rocks, gazing up at the -lettering of her name on her bluff bows. Some distance away behind -him lay an empty dinghy hauled clear of the lapping waters. - -The man had approached the vessel in a mood that was sheerly -exulting. Here, undoubtedly, was his goal at last. It was a -different goal from that which he had expected. But that was of -no consequence. He had watched the dinghy behind him approach the -rocks. He had seen the man leap out of it and haul it clear of -the water. Then he had seen him approach the derelict and climb -on board it. There was no mistake. He had recognised that tall, -powerful figure on the instant. It was impossible for him to -mistake it, even though it had been clad differently that night at -the Speedway. He felt that he had his man in a trap, and it was a -trap from which he had no intention of letting him escape. - -There was a curious look in his pale eyes as he stared up at -the vessel’s name. For once they had been stirred out of their -customary expressionlessness. There was something almost like a -smile in them. But it was shadowy. It was of the vaguest. And it -only contrived to transform them into something tigerish. - -At last he turned away, and as he did so a harsh sound broke -from his lips. It might have been a short, hard laugh, only that -not a muscle of his face had stirred. He moved slowly down the -vessel’s length till he came to the rope ladder amidships. Then he -paused. He thrust one hand into the pocket of his closely-buttoned -pea-jacket and produced a heavy pistol. It was an automatic, and -he examined its loading carefully. Then, with a hunching movement -of his broad shoulders and a quick, frowning upward glance at the -blazing sun, he seized the rope ladder and set foot on its bottom -rung. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - The Lazaret - - -The last of the daylight had only just passed. It was nearing -midnight, and the sky was clear and with every moment the night -lights of the heavens were gaining power. Already a moving belt -of Northern Lights had made its spectre-like appearance above the -horizon, and the rare, clear atmosphere was ideal for their perfect -development. - -It was a wide flat in the hills something removed from the highway -of the Alsek River, and, dotted about it, were the shadowy outlines -of box-like human habitations, and the litter of a wide-flung oil -camp. Here and there could clearly be seen the upstanding machinery -of the drills with which the earth’s bosom had already been pierced. - -It was in the doorway of one of the shanties that the lean figure -of Peter Loby was lounging. He was only partly dressed. He had been -suddenly roused from his blankets, with only sufficient time to -haul on a pair of earth-stained, moleskin trousers. His first keen -resentment at the breaking of his night’s rest had passed. He had -completed the reading of the brief note which had promptly been -thrust into his hands; but his manner still remained short enough. - -“What in hell made you push this at me now, Sasa?” he protested. -“We can’t start down that darn river till daylight, anyway. We need -all the light if we’re to get through the muskeg bottom right. -What’s keeping McLagan down there? Seems to me it’s dead waste me -going down to the coast only to make back again.” - -His resentful gaze took in the sturdy figure of the half-breed. But -his words were rather an angry expression of his feelings than an -invitation to the messenger to attempt explanation. Sasa Mannik, -however, took the white man literally. - -“I do as boss McLagan say,” he replied, in his halting fashion. -“He say, ‘I mak this brief. You give it boss Loby right away; then -you bring him right down quick. Early to-morrow.’ We mak him trip -right now? Then you speak boss McLagan early to-morrow. The muskeg -nothing. Not nothing. I know dis thing sure. You mak fix all thing -now? Yes?” - -The half-breed’s urgency was something more than his orders -suggested. His eyes were wider than their wont. Altogether the man -seemed to Peter to be disturbed. - -“What is it, Sasa?” Peter’s manner was less irritated. Something -he saw in the coloured man’s eyes left him curious. “Has anything -happened that your boss hasn’t set in this letter?” - -The half-breed looked away behind him in the direction of the -faintly outlined hill behind which lay the river where his -treasured kyak was securely cached. It was a native mannerism of -unease. - -“I not know the thing that ‘brief’ say,” he said evasively, after a -moment’s thought. “Oh, no. You tell me, then I know. I not read the -thing boss McLagan mak. I know all thing I see. I know all thing -white man do. Oh, yes. The boss say I bring you down quick. I mak -that. It good, too, yes?” - -“What d’you mean?” - -Peter was studying the dark face intently. - -“I think it good you come--quick.” - -“Why?” - -The half-breed shrugged. Then his hands moved in an expressive -gesture. - -“One thing. Two thing. I mak think it good you come quick,” he -said. “Boss McLagan go by big ship. All the devil mans get him, -sure. Plenty devil mans by big ship. I know. I see him. Him call -boss all time so he go crazy, sure. Boss look at him ship. He hear -him call. All time call. So boss mak forget all thing. Him mak this -trip with me this night? Oh, no. Devil man call him quick. Him -listen. It not good. Boss go right down by big ship, so devil man -kill him all up. Sure. One thing.” - -The worried man raised a lean, dark finger to count the item. Then -he raised a second finger beside the first. - -“Two thing,” he went on. And now the widening of his eyes lessened. -They closed to slits from which all his superstitious awe had -passed. “I not know this two thing sure,” he said thoughtfully. “I -just think him. I mak up dis river. I meet canoe. I see dis man, I -tell you an’ boss McLagan. Him dis man I see one time, two time, by -the coast. Him go down river. I come right here. What him mak go -down river I not guess. He bad man. Much bad. I see him eye look -all time bad. Him eye lak devilfish. Oh, yes. Bad. Why him go down -river? I not know. Him look all time for some thing. I not know. -You mak this trip right now, quick. Then we mak him coast so quick -this bad man not know us there. No.” He pointed in a low easterly -direction. “Him sun by that place, then us with boss McLagan sure. -I go lak hell quick.” - -Peter Loby wanted to laugh at the simple earnestness of this -creature whose benighted mind was so full of the spectres his -forbears had bred into it. He wanted to deride out of his -superiority and enlightenment. But somehow he refrained from doing -so. - -“You say you don’t know this man? Yet you’re plumb sure he’s bad? -Why?” he asked sharply. - -Sasa’s gesture was full of profound contempt for the limitations of -these “crazy white men.” - -“You shoot up fox. You shoot up wolf,” he said. “You not eat him. -Why? Him good meat, sure. White man not eat him. Eskimo not eat -him--only when he starve. So. You see good man. You say ‘good’! You -see bad man. You say ‘bad’! Why? All man do much thing him not know -why. Why?” The brown finger was raised again, and it tapped the -man’s broad low forehead with its stubby tip. “It here. This man -bad. So bad. I say him. You come quick.” - -Peter nodded. - -“All right. Get right back to your boat, Sasa,” he said resignedly. -“Get her all ready. I’ll be along right away. How’ll the tide serve -down below?” - -“Him good. We mak him in dead water,” Sasa said, with a quick, -ready nod. His air of relief at having persuaded the white man was -almost child-like. “I go mak ready right away. I mak dis trip so -dam’ quick.” - - * * * * * - -Ivor McLagan stared about him in the feeble light of his hurricane -lantern. It was the lazaret of the _Limpet_. A smallish apartment -between decks, with an entrance through a trap in the deck above, -which was also the floor of the steward’s pantry. He had just -descended the ladder and stood gazing upon the iron tanks with -their tightly screwed-down manholes. - -The place contained four of these. Their purpose was obvious enough -even to his landsman’s mind. They were food containers for biscuit -and flour, and such supplies as must be kept safe from the rats -with which the vessel had swarmed. - -But the place contained other things besides. There were packing -cases, and chests of various sizes littered about all round him. -There were barrels, too, which he shrewdly suspected contained -salted meat, beef and pork. Some of the chests were empty. Some -were still nailed fast. Each of the barrels was obviously as it had -been originally shipped and stowed. - -He stood there for some contemplative moments. He had come there -to search this place thoroughly as he intended to search the rest -of the vessel. But he had discovered this storage of food supplies -quite accidentally, and with no suspicion of its existence. It -is even doubtful if he had ever heard of a ship’s lazaret. While -examining the steward’s pantry above he had observed the trap in -the deck, and forthwith had proceeded with his investigations. - -Now he was considering the best means of examination. A shaft -of daylight came down through the trap above him and he had his -lantern. But the double resource left the place ill-lit and -difficult. After awhile he found an iron hook suspended from the -deck above, and promptly availed himself of it. He hung his lantern -thereon and instantly appreciated the added illumination so gained. -He moved slowly amongst the litter. Right at his feet lay two -chests of stout make. They were different from the rest scattered -about. They were iron-bound and of dark, heavy wood. Their iron -bonds had been cut and the lids thrown back, and they were quite -empty. He bent down over these and examined the lids closely. There -was no stencilling upon them to give any clue to their source. -There was no address of any sort. - -He left them, passing on to the rest in deliberate and careful -succession. He had made up his mind that nothing should remain -unexamined. For, he argued, here were the ship’s stores, and these -stores might give him some clue as to whence they came. An address. -A purveyor’s business name. Anything and everything of such a -nature might surely help materially in solving the mystery that so -profoundly intrigued him. - -For a while his search was unproductive of information, although, -in another direction it was not without interest. Each chest he had -discovered had had _all markings carefully erased with a scraper_. -Why? - -It was a curious discovery. It was deeply significant. To McLagan’s -acute mind there was but a single answer. The whole thing suggested -secrecy. Again why? After turning over the last chest he stood -up and gazed about him, and, in the stuffy heat of the place, he -passed a hand across his sweating forehead. But his gesture was in -reality one of perplexity and had no relation to the heat. Clearly -there was only one thing to be done. After he had explored the -sealed tanks he must examine the contents of those cases that still -remained full. They might contain canned fruit or milk. Anyway, -something which would clearly tell him its source. - -Yes. He would first unseal those tanks, and essay the negotiation -of those narrow manholes. Then---- - -He had started to cross over to the nearest tank when his eyes -chanced upon a portion of an old packing case lying in an obscure -corner. There was a square of white upon it. In the doubtful light -he could not be certain what the latter was. But it looked like the -thing for which he had been so long searching. It looked like an -address ticket. He stooped and picked it up. - -It was the thing he hoped. But---- In his profound amazement he -found himself muttering the address upon it aloud. - -“Capt. Julian Caspar, Sailing Ship, _Imperial_ of Bristol, Perth, -Western Australia.” - -At the bottom of the address card was the name of a firm of -wine merchants in “Perth, W.A.,” and at the top of it, in block -lettering, was the usual “With Care.” - -He stood gazing at it for a long time. His thought was travelling -rapidly. In a moment he had realised that this piece of wood -belonged to none of the open cases he had examined. It was probably -something left over from some previous voyage, and, remaining in -its corner, had so escaped the careful obliteration of address and -markings to which the remainder of the stores had been submitted. - -But the name of the ship on the address startled him beyond words. -_Imperial_ of Bristol. It was the name of the ship in which -Claire’s brother Jim had set sail for home. How came it on board -the _Limpet_ of Boston? - -Again came that gesture of perplexity. Then of a sudden his eyes -lit. He moved directly under the lantern and read again the address -on the card. This time he spelt the name of the ship over quite -slowly and aloud. Then he began another spelling and it was the -name of the wreck itself. - -“_L-I-M-P-E-T_,” he muttered. Then after a pause: “_I-M-P-E_. -Yes. Then ther’s the _L._ sure. Boston. Bristol. Gee! Looks like -it’s----” - -He broke off with a startled upward glance in the direction of the -hatch above. Just for an instant he remained listening acutely. -Then he dropped the wood from his hands and it fell with a clatter -on the deck at his feet. He reached up and snatched the lantern -from the hook and extinguished it. There was a sound. It was the -faint stealing sound as of some one cautiously approaching along -the deck above him. - -Who could it be? Loby? Sasa? No. He had no expectation of their -return till afternoon. Claire? He remembered Claire’s unexpected -visit. She was not likely to repeat it. It would not be Claire. -No. Who then? He remembered the ghostly shadow that had terrified -Claire and the half-breed. And, for the first time in his life, -he experienced that thrill of the nerves which the uncanny rarely -fails to inspire even in the hardiest. - -Then came the full and unpleasant realisation of his position. One -glance round him in the twilight warned him of his disadvantage. -Here, in the lazaret, he was like a rat in a trap. He had no idea -of who it could be above. But that which his senses had told him -left him with a feeling of detestation for such a position. He -turned promptly to the iron ladder. - -“You’re covered, McLagan. You’re covered sure as death. The moment -you show your darn head above that hole I’ll blow it plumb to small -meat.” - -McLagan drew back. There was no thrill of the nerves in him now. -It was not the uncanny that held him. He knew that voice on the -instant. It was the voice of Cy Liskard. And he understood that the -man had a score to settle with him, and had come to settle it. - -His position was desperate. He was armed. His automatic was fully -loaded. But it was useless. Quite useless. For the man above had -not shown himself in the aperture of the trap. - - * * * * * - -The man from the hills was standing in the cabin alleyway with his -back to the main deck. He was facing the door of the steward’s -pantry with a clear view of the open trap of the lazaret. But -he, himself, was sufficiently clear of it to stand in no risk of -gun-fire on the part of the man he had trapped there. His gun was -ready in his hand. No man could hope to ascend the ladder of the -lazaret and get the first shot in. He knew that. And, for the -moment, was quite content. Now he was talking, and a curious light -had replaced the deadness usually looking out of his eyes. - -“I didn’t guess to find you here, McLagan,” he said. “I didn’t -think to find this wreck lying around. But I’ve come many miles to -find you, and pay the thing I owe you. I humped it into Beacon to -buy a ‘time.’ I was out to buy it in a fashion you oil folks don’t -guess about. I was there to pay for it in dollars an’ dollars, and -all sorts of gold you never dreamt about; I wanted that dame, and -you jumped in and smashed my face. It ain’t that smash I’m worrying -about--though I owe you for that. But you cost me that dame an’ -darn near a hangin’. That’s what I’m here to pay you for. An’ pay -you good. I’m goin’ to kill you right here. Savvy? An’ I guess it’s -a good place to get away with it right. They’ll find you lying -around dead, an’ it’ll take all the United States lawyers to guess -who did it. I don’t belong this location. I ain’t within miles of -it. Ther’s no one who counts knows I’m around. I guess ther’ ain’t -a soul to disturb us. You see, your folks are up the river, an’ -you--I saw you come along over to this darn wreck. Do you feel like -showing yourself, or will I seal up this hatch an’ fire the ship?” - -The man spoke very deliberately. He spoke without passion. His -manner was quietly confident and satisfied. - -For a moment he contemplated the raised trap as though measuring -his chances of carrying out his final threat. Not for a moment did -he imagine his victim would be unarmed. He remembered the Speedway. -McLagan had been armed then. He had reason enough to remember -something of the calibre of the weapon the man had thrust at him. - -His eyes turned again to the aperture in the deck. Did he know the -construction of that narrow lazaret below? It seemed doubtful. And -yet it was impossible to tell. - -After awhile his voice came again harshly taunting. - -“You ain’t makin’ a lot of fuss, McLagan,” he cried. “But then you -ain’t got a crowd around. You’re on your own, and don’t feel sure -about things. You ken come right up if you fancy, an’ I’ll give -it you fair. I won’t send you glorywards till your face has had a -peek around at the good daylight you’re goin’ to lose quick. If -you ain’t game for that I’ll sure have to batten down, an’ start -that fire. This vessel’s loaded down with an elegant cargo of good -spruce an’ stuff. It’ll burn so ther’ ain’t a living soul could get -near it. Then her bulkheads are steel, I guess. Gee! What a dandy -oven that lazaret’ll make.” - -Still no sound came up from below. Still the engineer gave no sign. -And yet he must surely have realised the desperateness of his case. - -Cy Liskard shifted his position. He was listening acutely. For -all his taunting he was left guessing while his intended victim -remained soundless. He was thinking very hard. He was puzzled. -Suddenly he raised his gun and looked over its sight. And on the -instant a shot rang out. But it came from the lazaret and not from -his weapon. A bullet struck the alleyway wall with a spat. It -ricochetted off the steel and tore screaming past the man’s head. -Instantly Cy’s gun replied and a bullet crashed through one of the -iron tanks below with a boom like a drum beat. - -He waited for a return fire sheltered from the pantry doorway. But -none was forthcoming. Then realisation came to him. There was no -means of closing that trap while the man below still retained a -single shot in his gun. At all costs he must draw his fire. - -So he drew nearer. He stood in view of the trap. It was only -while he fired a second shot. Then he leapt aside under cover as -McLagan’s answering shot rang out. It grazed his passing shoulder -with a hot slither, and the blood surged to his brain. He moved a -step forward and fired again into the depths. And again McLagan -replied. The shot only missed Liskard by inches and the man uttered -a sound like a laugh. It was the engineer’s third shot, and he was -more than satisfied. A few more. Only a few more. - -He stood ready. He darted in and fired again through the trap. -Again came McLagan’s retort which took him in the cloth arm of the -thick pea-jacket covering his body. He sprang clear. And suddenly -a furious oath broke chokingly from his almost stifled throat. -An arm had caught him from behind encircling his bull-like neck. -There was a brief struggle while he tried to turn his weapon on the -unexpected assailant. Then he crashed to the deck undermost, with -his gun-arm held and twisted till his hand released the weapon. - - * * * * * - -Cy Liskard was standing just clear of the break in the vessel’s -poop. He was beside the main hatch, disarmed, defeated, but without -bonds to hold him prisoner. Immediately behind him stood Sasa -Mannik who had sworn never to set foot on the wreck again. And -beside him was Peter Loby, lean, grinning, with a gun in his hand -ready for immediate action. At the head of the alleyway stood Ivor -McLagan still handling his automatic. - -He was gazing at the gold man speculatively. Somehow there was far -less resentment than repulsion in his feeling for this man from the -hills, who, but for the timely arrival of Peter and his servant, -would in all probability have achieved his purpose of cold-blooded -murder. He was a dour, hard-looking creature whose queer eyes -fascinated him. And for the moment he was wondering at the thing -lying back of them. - -“Well, what’re you goin’ to do?” - -Liskard had stood the victor’s scrutiny in silence as long as he -could. - -McLagan laughed derisively at the snarling challenge. - -“Do? There’s surely a lot of things I could do,” he said. “I could -have you pitched into that store room, or lazaret, as I heard you -call it, and close it up and fire the ship. Her steel bulkheads -would make it a dandy oven. Then ther’s good yards to this craft, -for all her canvas is mostly blown off them, and plenty of rope. -Then I’ve still got haf a clip of cartridges in my gun and several -more in my pockets. I could easy pass you on glorywards if I -fancied that way. But I don’t.” - -A sound came from the half-breed behind the prisoner. It was a -native expression of complete disgust. Peter only grinned more -broadly. - -“Ten minutes ago I was yearning to kill as badly as you,” McLagan -went on calmly. “So maybe we’re fifty-fifty on that. Now I’m not. -While I guess you’re still a hundred per cent that way. I’m going -to turn you free to carry on your pretty work. I don’t feel like -spoiling it by any premature action. You see, you’ll surely hang -one day, and I’d rather it was done in the regular fashion of the -law. You want my blood, and you haven’t left me guessing why. If -you were a man, and not a brute, I’d say act the sportsman and take -a chance with me. I’d face you just any old way at any old time. -But you prefer the advantage to be with you all the time. That’s -why I’m dead sure you’ll hang. Now you can get out the way----” - -He broke off. A great spread of sunlight had flashed down on to -the deck. Cy Liskard was no longer heeding him. With the sunshine -a queer look had leapt into his usually expressionless eyes which -were gazing down the deck. Their stare was horrified. And something -like terror had replaced their deadness. He was staring at a moving -shadow. The shadow that had once sent Sasa headlong over the -vessel’s side and again had driven Claire Carver into panic. - -The eyes of both Sasa and Peter Loby were held by it, too. Only -McLagan seemed undisturbed by that shadowy presence. He was -watching the prisoner, and his gun was still ready. - -“You see it, Liskard?” McLagan said, with a derisive laugh. -“We’ve all seen it. And you wanted to add another haunting to the -collection. It’s a big man, eh? As big as I am. Say, we’d have -made a real dandy pair of spooks, one on the deck and one in the -lazaret--if you hadn’t burned up the whole darn shooting match. I -wonder who murdered that poor devil like you’d have murdered me. -We’ll never----” - -A fierce oath broke from the prisoner. It was more a cry of real -terror than any expression of fury against the man taunting him. -The next moment he was speeding down the deck, running for the -companion-ladder, while Peter’s gun was levelled at him. - -“Quit it, Peter!” - -McLagan’s order came on the instant and the man lowered his weapon. - -“Let him go. I want him to go.” Then he turned to the half-breed. -“Over the side with you, boy. You don’t like spooks, but you can be -trusted with men. You’ve your gun. See to it that darn murdering -swine don’t touch our boats. But don’t dare to kill him up.” - - * * * * * - -McLagan and Peter were leaning over the vessel’s rail. Down at the -steadily rising water’s edge the half-breed was standing guard on -the boats lying there. In the direction of the southern headland Cy -Liskard was beating a hasty retreat over the rocks. - -“That pretty feller’s got it in for me, Peter, plumb up to the hilt -of his longest and sharpest knife. I guess he’s a born murderer. -And to me his eyes look that way. He insulted a woman up at the -Speedway, and I beat him on the face and made a bit of a mess of -him. Then the Aurora boys jumped in on him, and I can guess the -thing that happened. It was hard letting him make a get-away. But -I just couldn’t do a thing else. Besides, I’ve got a notion it’s -best. Say, boy, I owe you and Sasa more than I’m likely to be able -to pay in a lifetime. How’d you manage to get around on time?” - -McLagan’s thanks were the deeper for the calm fashion in which they -were expressed. Peter nodded and grinned. - -“I’m glad we got around,” he said simply. “I cursed Sasa for -hauling me from my blankets last night, but I don’t now. He’s -queer, that boy. An’, gee, the pace he drove us down that creek -at! You know he had a notion things were bad. First it was the -darn spook on this ship which worried him. Then he passed a feller -in a canoe, and reckoned he was bad. It was that guy, and I’d say -he was right. He said he was the feller he’d seen crawling around -the rocks at the mouth of the Lias he told us about once. Yes. -He’s queer. He reckoned that feller was going down that creek for -mischief, and the mischief was against you. He didn’t know. He just -guessed.” - -“Well, he guessed right, and”--McLagan laughed--“I’ll have to raise -his wages. He’s a good boy. Say----” - -He broke off thoughtfully and Peter waited. After a moment he -turned from the rail. - -“I got to get a stout turnscrew, and some tools out of the -carpenter’s shop place.” - -“What for?” - -They were moving along the deck. - -“Why, I got a fool notion I’d like to climb over the stern of this -kettle and prise the letters of her name some. It’s a notion.” - -“Why?” - -McLagan shrugged. - -“Just bear a hand, an’ after that I’ve got to go right into Beacon.” - -“But what about our trip?” - -Peter was no longer grinning. He was feeling a little impatient -with this chief who could abandon their all important work for -something he felt had no right to concern him at all. - -“Don’t worry a thing, Peter,” McLagan said, recognising the change -in the other’s manner. “I won’t let you down, boy. It’s not my way. -But I’m on a trail that looks kind of hot to me, and it’s pretty -near to the things that really matter in a man’s life. Get me, boy? -No. You don’t. But it don’t matter. I don’t ever break my word to -a friend. I’m not going to let you down a thing. Our trip goes -through--but later.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - Links in a Chain - - -The full Council of the Aurora Clan was assembled. The crude -accommodation was wholly inadequate. And many of the members were -forced to stand through lack of sitting room amidst the debris of -the old steam-heat cellar of the ruins of the lakeside dwelling. -But then it was the full Council, and not the Supreme Executive. -And its members numbered full twenty. - -It was sufficiently grotesque for all the significance lying -behind the gathering of these queer figures in their burlesque -robes of white. They represented a deadly force in the life of -this wide-flung northern country. It was the inevitable reply of -those who saw and appreciated the problems and needs of their own -existence and were prepared to deal with them without reference -to political visions and principles. It was reaction to pristine -instinct. - -Yes, it was reaction. The fact of it being a council had no -relation to democratic method. The Aurora Clan was ruled over by -one individual who was called the “Chief Light of the Aurora.” The -Chief Light was the brain and the driving force. He was the heart, -the soul, and head of the organisation. His rule was despotic. -The councillors were his supporters, and the executors of his -absolute will. They were possibly, even, advisers, in that they -were listened to in council. But, bound under oath, they obeyed -the ruling of the Chief Light without question, and under ruthless -penalty. - -The Aurora Clan was an expression of passionate exasperation. It -was an expression of men who saw no hope in the far off councils -of self-interested men, who spend their lives in talk. They wanted -their own corner of the earth made safe for decent democracy, -and were prepared to purge it without regard to the rest of the -world’s opinions. Laws might be enacted in those far off councils. -They would obey them if they proved adequate in making decent life -possible. If they proved otherwise, in view of the needs of their -community, they would be simply set aside and other provision would -be made. - -To achieve its purpose the Aurora Clan viewed the situation -with wide-open eyes. It saw things as they were, and refused to -consider them through any medium that presented the picture in any -different light. It was gazing on the rawest human nature, for all -it was tricked out in the fashions of the twentieth century. It -was the same human nature that had fought the old-time battle in -the darkest ages, unchanged in the smallest degree. So the Clan -had adopted the method which has always been the ultimate control -when humanity got out of hand. It was the method of earliest man. -And it will be the method of the last. It was the appeal of Fear. -In the opinion of the controlling mind of the Aurora Clan there -was no short cut to any Utopia, or Millennium, or things of that -sort. There was even no such condition to arrive at. Life was Self. -Simply Self, even if, at times, thinly disguised. And Self could -only be sufficiently impressed to keep it within the bounds of -reasonable decency by the methods of control which had come down -throughout the ages. So the ugly banner of Terror had been raised. -Awe, Superstition, Terror. - -To the humorous mind the grotesqueness of the gathering must have -been without question. Each pair of eyes gazing through rudely cut -eye-holes in those conical hoods, if their humour were sufficient, -must inevitably have smiled at the sight of the other nineteen -ghostly figures squatting or standing about the place with pipes -and cigars protruding through mouth-holes in the cloth of their -hoods. In this respect these men-ghosts were not sacrificing their -comfort for any undue regard for the impression they desired to -create. They were there for business. The cellar was without -comfort. They might be there for hours. Well, tobacco was no -outrage of their principles. - -The place reeked with every grade of tobacco smoke. Rank cigars -and still ranker pipes had overridden the musty dankness of the -atmosphere. Decay in any form was sufficiently abhorrent to the -virile youth of this gathering. So each did his best to mask it -under the fog of smoke which brought comfort to their souls. - -The sitting had been a long one. All sorts of reports from -individual councillors had been listened to, voted upon, and upon -which the Chief Light, leaning against the central rusted furnace, -had given his final decision. There was no secretary to take down -any minutes of the meeting. No writing of any sort was permitted. -All the business of the Council was done verbally. Sentence was -passed on any delinquent reported by the Chief Light, and the work -of its execution deputed by word of mouth. None but the Chief Light -knew upon whom such tasks devolved. Maybe there was recognition in -the voices as each councillor spoke, but that was all. Each member -of the Council was known by a numeral which was inscribed on the -white front of his gown, and, so long as he might serve on the -Council, that would be the only form of identification permitted. - -Towards the end of the session a stoutish councillor, with “No. 3” -blazoned on the bosom of his cloak, bestirred himself. He made a -sign which conveyed his claim to attention. It was given without -question. The tall form of the Chief Light was instantly turned in -his direction. - -“‘No. 3’ has a report for the Council,” he said, in that curious -hollow tone which his masking hood gave to his voice. “We’ll take -his report next.” - -He paused for an instant while the eyes behind his mask surveyed -his supporters. Then he went on in the quiet business-like fashion -which marked his conduct of affairs at all times. - -“There is need for explanation,” he said. “‘Number Three’ was -delegated to certain work at a meeting of the Supreme Executive -which met in emergency awhile back. Many of this Council were not -present at the time. You need to get it that his work was of more -than usual importance to the general community. Maybe you’ll all -likely remember there was a tough guy called Cy Liskard who blew -into the Speedway on the night of Max’s celebration, and raised -particular sort of hell there. ‘Number Three’s’ report concerns -this man. This man Cy Liskard is reputed to have made a big strike -of gold way back on the Lias River. And, anyway, he’s sold big dust -at the bank and holds a credit there. It’s reckoned he’s hugging -this strike to his bosom and we’ve made it our special business -to see, if it’s right, that the field outside his claim is made -available to the folks of our city.” - -There was a slight but definite movement amongst the Chief Light’s -audience. Those who were sitting turned in the direction of ‘Number -Three.’ Those who were standing gazed round on the sturdy figure -expectantly. - -“We’ll take Number Three’s report.” - -The Chief Light leant back against his furnace support prepared to -listen with the rest. - -“Number Three” plunged at once into his story. He began formally, -but quickly drifted into the vernacular common to them all. - -“By the will of the Supreme Executive I set out to investigate -under the orders received. Six Clansmen accompanied me. It was a -darn big trip, an’ we were chasing a wily guy an’ a pretty bright -trailman. I was lucky in having ‘Number Twenty-Six’ with me, who’s -wise to the country of the Lias River. Well, I don’t guess to worry -you folks with the details of that trip. We made it all right, all -right. We tracked our man right up to his home in the hills. He was -there, an’ we doped him and his dogs quiet so we could work easy. -And a pretty fancy hiding hole he’s got. It lies well nigh back on -the Canadian Border.” - -“Number Three” paused. And a shuffling of feet and the clearing of -throats indicated the deepening interest of his audience. - -“Say, it’s queer,” the sturdy figure went on reflectively. “He’s -got a claim there all right. He’s got a swell sluice on a creek, -and a big dump of stuff piled around it. He’s got a shanty on the -hillside, and corrals for his ponies. He’s got a bunch of trail -dogs to carry him anywhere on a winter trail. Then he’s got a -swell canoe, and all the gear of the goldman. But--” He broke off -and, as he gazed round on his audience, it was almost as if he were -smiling behind his mask. “--we couldn’t see he’d washed an ounce -of dust since ever he set up his sluice. I want to tell you right -here, folks, if there’s a thing I’m a’mighty wise to in this darn -country it’s washing the yellow stuff I’ve been chasing twenty -years. There’s no guy on the Lias River can put me wise to any -notion I haven’t got. Well, I tell you right now that boy hasn’t -washed out any gold on that claim ever since it was staked. He’s -set it all out. It ’ud look good to a bum tenderfoot. Maybe, even, -some of you boys ’ud fall for his show down. But he can’t bluff me -a thing. That claim, and all his fancy gear, is a mighty big bluff. -That’s all. He hain’t worked fi’ cents of gold--there. - -“But he’s passed a big pouch of dust into the bank. We’re wise to -that. Where does he work that stuff?” The man paused again. Then a -sound came from behind his mask. It was a funereal sort of laugh. -“I ain’t wise. But I went through with the job as it was ordered. -This guy has been seen chasing around the coast at the mouth of his -river. We came right down the length of that river with our eyes -wide open for any blamed sign.” He shook his cowled head. “He’s -got no workings anywhere along that river. But we found something. -Oh, yes. We surely did. It’s a tough coast, and hard to chase up -right. There’s a thousand holes an’ corners for a cache an’ that -sort of truck. Anyway we located a sort of creek that was hidden -all up. It was rocks and overgrowth so we mostly had a hell of a -time making our way in. But we got through. And, cached right away -up it, cached so as only chance could locate it, we hit on a swell -motor boat fit to make a sea trip in tough weather. Yes, we located -that, and located something else. She was in elegant shape, and -we searched her clear through even to her gasoline tanks. And in -one of her lockers we found two bags, canvas bags such as I knew -as soon as I set eyes on ’em. They were empty. I turned ’em inside -out. There was the remains of dust in ’em caught up in the seams, -an’ I made a collection of it. Sir,” he went on, addressing himself -directly to the tall figure of the Chief Light, “that’s my report, -and I wait for instructions. Ther’s a few bits o’ details I ain’t -spoken on that I ken hand you when you got time to go into them. -Maybe they signify some. I don’t rightly know. Meanwhile, that’s -the report I got to hand to this Council.” - -The Chief Light nodded. - -“Good,” he said. “I’ll take those details later. Meanwhile, you -don’t figger this Cy Liskard is on a strike on his claim?” - -Number Three shook his head promptly. - -“I don’t say all that, Chief,” he said quickly. “The thing I say -is the claim he’s got staked around his home place is sheer bluff. -Maybe he’s blinding us. Maybe his claim lies elsewhere. That being -so it’ll likely take months locating it.” - -At a sign from the Chief Light, full discussion on the report of -Number Three broke out. It was dealt with exhaustively. Then the -meeting passed on to such other business as claimed it. - - * * * * * - -Alan Goodchurch was typical of officialdom, but possessing a -leavening of real human interest in the life of which he was in -official control. In Beacon Glory his prestige stood reasonably -high, but simply because of that leavening. In his official -capacity as Commissioner of the district and chief collector of -revenues for the government he represented, there was no particular -goodwill displayed towards him. But then Beacon Glory had no sort -of use whatsoever for an authority that had its origin so far -away that it required something in the nature of an astronomical -telescope to discover its existence. As a man it was wholly -different. He was a cheery creature outside his office, alive -with kindly sympathy for the difficulties and troubles besetting -his fellow-townsmen and really eager for the steady progress and -prosperity of the heterogeneous collection of life it was his lot -to endeavour to shepherd in its duty towards its Government. - -He was a youngish man for his post. But then it was well enough -recognised that in this especial locality his was a youngish man’s -work. Beacon Glory needed a strong official hand and a strong -official mind, and Goodchurch possessed these things arrayed in a -tall muscular frame and a large, lean face with pronouncedly square -jaws. - -Ivor McLagan was on reasonably intimate terms with Goodchurch. It -was his business to be so, for whatever the general attitude of -the men of Beacon Glory towards their Commissioner, the oil man’s -business demanded official goodwill. - -It was a moment in Goodchurch’s official life when the human -element in him was uppermost. He sat turned away from his desk, -lounging in his swivel chair, talking to the engineer and smoking a -cigar, the latter a most unusual proceeding in his working hours. -McLagan was overflowing a smaller bare wood chair opposite him, -and he, too, was smoking one of the Commissioner’s best cigars. - -The strong face of Goodchurch was smiling pleasantly, and his keen -grey eyes had lost their usual cold stare which had taken him years -to cultivate. He shook his head. - -“There’s no such darn vessel registered at Boston,” he said. “And -there’s no owner yearning to claim anything with a name like the -_Limpet_. That doesn’t leave me guessing. There’s such a thing -as insurance. In a while, maybe, we’ll be getting word from some -underwriting house. Then the fur’ll fly, and some one’ll be -squealing in the Courts. Anyway, the position’s clear. Boston’s -never heard of the _Limpet_ and isn’t yearning to.” - -McLagan removed his cigar and flicked the ash into an immaculate -cuspidor. His narrow eyes surveyed the neat apartment which gave -some indication of the man who presided there. It was Goodchurch’s -private room in the best commercial block in Beacon which was more -than half given up to his staff. He knew well enough the range -of this man’s work. It was from the highest to the lowest in the -realms of the city’s discipline. And for all the man’s capacity, -McLagan felt like smiling at the thought of the net result of his -labours. - -However, his concern at the moment lay in other directions. This -was his last visit to Beacon before setting out on a prolonged -exploration into the hills, and he desired the Commissioner’s -valuable aid in a direction in which he knew he could rely on it. - -He nodded. - -“That’s pretty clear,” he said. “What next?” - -Goodchurch shook his head. - -“There don’t seem to be much to be done--next,” he said -thoughtfully. “After all, what is it? A windjammer blows in on -to the rocks of this abominable coast. You reckon she’s mostly -a cargo of lumber aboard. Well, lumber’s no sort of use on this -coast.” He smiled. “Gold’s the only thing, or oil, that’s going to -set our folks whooping. There don’t seem to be a soul yearning to -claim that craft. Even the folks who quit her.” He shook his head -again. “No. There’s not a thing worth doing but what I’ve done. My -report’s gone in. That’s usual. I guess I can send a couple of boys -down to view things, but if we know anything of the seas beating on -this coast line, the storms that drove her on the rocks are liable -to hammer her to matchwood in a month or so. And then there’ll be -nothing--more.” - -McLagan agreed. - -“It seems that way,” he said, with an assumption of indifference. -“Yet I’ve a sublimely foolish notion there’s something queer behind -that wreck. And the notion’s got hold of me good.” - -“Queer, eh?” Goodchurch’s eyes narrowed, and he surveyed the cigar -in his fingers reflectively. Then he chuckled quietly. “Yes,” he -went on. “Insurance. And that’s not in my work--once my report is -sent in to my chiefs.” - -McLagan bestirred himself. He realised the official horizon of this -otherwise excellent man. He stood up. - -“I told you I’d got a notion,” he said simply. “Well, I got more. -And I’m wondering if you’ll help me out on it. I’ve an idea, more -than an idea--a conviction, in fact, that the name of that bunch -of wreckage has been changed. It was changed on purpose. Real, -desperate purpose. If we can locate the owners and anyone else -interested in the _Imperial_ of Bristol, we shall get back of a -darn ugly story that’s liable to get your department jumping on a -red-hot trail. That’s why I came along now. It’s to give you that -before I go right up into the country on a survey that’s going to -keep me busy till the summer’s nearly through. I daresay by the -time I get back the storming will have left nothing of that wreck -on the rocks. It don’t matter. Her story don’t lie in her now. It -lies in the owners and crew who are the folks that need finding. -You broadcasted before for the other name. Will you do it for this? -Will you send it to the newspapers? And pass it right on to any old -region that can pick it up? I’d be glad, an’--grateful.” - -Goodchurch laughed. He realised the oil man’s earnestness, but it -left him quite unaffected. - -“Sure, I will, Mac,” he said cordially. “How did you locate the -change of name? What’s the story you reckon to discover?” - -The other shrugged his heavy shoulders as he flung his cigar stump -into the cuspidor. - -“It’s clear enough--with the suspicion of it in your mind. I got -a close look at the painted names on the boats, and life belts, -and anything that had the ship’s name on it. Mostly the change has -been made good. But, like all things of that nature, it was a long -job and the folks doing it maybe got weary of it. In two cases, -at least, I recognised the old name had been painted or scraped -out--some of the letters, and others substituted. I’m sure, dead -sure.” - -“And the story?” - -McLagan shook his head and smiled. - -“Murder, I’d guess--amongst other things,” he said simply. - -“Murder?” - -Goodchurch sat up. - -“Sure. And I’m looking to find who did it and why.” - -Goodchurch whistled. - -“That sort of show gets a man.” - -“Ye-es.” - -“Anything else?” - -“If I told you haf the things in my head you’d guess I was bug.” - -Goodchurch laughed. - -“I’d need more than that to reckon Ivor McLagan that way.” He stood -up. “Well, I’ll surely do as you ask, right away. And I guess I’ll -take a trip out to view that wreck myself--instead of sending any -of the boys.” - -McLagan held out a hand which the official gripped with cordiality. - -“Why, do,” he said. “And make use of my shanty all you please. My -boy’ll be along there if I’m away, and he’ll fix you right. I’ll -leave word. An’, say,” he added with a shrewd smile as he moved -towards the door, “if you’re not looking for a scare, don’t get -aboard of that craft when the sun’s shining.” - -“What? Say----” - -But McLagan shook his head. “I’m not going to hand you a thing -else,” he said laughingly. “I’m not yearning for you to get beyond -the limits of your belief in my sanity. Maybe I won’t see you again -till I get through with my trip. So long.” - - * * * * * - -McLagan hurried down the sidewalk in the direction of the Speedway. -He was thinking with a concentration that left him oblivious to his -surroundings and with only his objective clear in his mind. Once he -smiled to himself as the thought of Alan Goodchurch’s remark about -his sanity flashed intrusively upon his preoccupation. He felt sure -that it was as well for his purpose that he had added nothing of -the thing absorbing him now to that which he had imparted to the -Commissioner. No. The thing he had in his mind must remain there -untold until he had completed the chain of circumstances he saw -linking themselves together. Either he was stark, staring, raving -mad, or---- - -He bumped into Victor Burns just outside the banker’s office, -and the collision brought him back to his surroundings and the -realisation of his friend’s laughing protest. - -“Say, you great unmitigated boob, with your two yards of meat, -ain’t there room for an ounce or two like me on the same earth?” - -McLagan laughed. - -“Ounce or two? Say--when two folks collide on the sidewalk it -mostly seems to me occasion for discussion. Who is it has right of -way? The feller using the sidewalk for its original purpose, or the -feller standing around with a figger calculated to set an oil man -yearning? I’ve got five minutes for a yarn in your office.” - -Burns smiled up into the twinkling eyes. - -“Come right in,” he said. “I’ve mostly got five minutes any time of -day for the man who reckons to flood Beacon out with oil.” - -They passed into the bank and to the private office. McLagan -perched his great bulk on the desk and grinned down on his still -standing friend. - -“Just sit around, Victor,” he said, while the other waited for the -purpose lying behind this sudden and unexpected visit. “I want -you to talk, to yarn in your own sweet way about the darn stuff -you’re here to deal in. I want you to tell me all you know about -the stuff. Its grades. Its colours. And the localities where the -colours are found, or have been found. I want you to lay bare your -golden soul to me the same as from time to time I’ve told you the -juicy details of the stuff I spend my life chasing. Can you do it -in ten minutes?” - -“Not in ten weeks.” - -“That’s tough. I’ve got just a haf hour.” - -“It was ten minutes last and five before,” laughed the intrigued -banker. - -“Well, let’s get down to bed rock. I can set you haf-a-dozen -questions, and we’ll fix it that way.” - -“Have you made a ‘strike’?” - -McLagan laughed. - -“No, siree! But _I’m_ going to set the questions to this -examination.” - -“I may sit.” - -The banker’s eyes were shining with the humour of the thing. But he -was wondering, too. He had never known McLagan to have more than -a passing interest in the trade he dealt in. And somehow, he now -seemed to be in deadly earnest for all his lightness. - -“Sure you may,” the oil man said. “And smoke, too, if you feel that -way. It’s good to smoke if you need to think.” - -Victor took his place at the desk on which McLagan was sitting and -pushed a box of cigars at his guest. He sat back in his chair while -the other lit up and regarded him thoughtfully. - -“Well?” he demanded, with his hands clasped across his rotund body. -“Get busy with those questions.” - -“There’s more than one colour to gold?” - -“Yes. Quite a number of shades in raw gold.” - -“Governed by the locality in which it’s found?” - -“Surely. The formations. Reef gold. Alluvial. The copperous -qualities of quartz. The climated conditions of the various -latitudes in which it is found. A whole heap of influences affect -the shades of colour.” - -McLagan nodded. - -“Now Alaskan gold?” - -“It varies the same as the rest.” - -“Could you tell Alaskan gold from tropical gold?” - -“It depends on circumstances. Generally, yes. I’ve got samples -here,” the banker went on quickly, pulling out a drawer beside him. - -He lifted out a leather case and flung it open. It held a number of -small glass bottles each containing a sample of yellow dust. Each -bottle was carefully labelled. - -“We keep these as a matter of interest. They’re small samples of -each different strike made in the neighbourhood with which we -trade. You see? Examine them. Compare them. There’s many differ -shades.” - -He sat back again while the oil man picked up each bottle in turn -and compared them one with the other, and the banker found it -profoundly interesting to note the intensity of scrutiny to which -the man whose interests had nothing to do with gold examined them. - -“Do you realise the varying shades?” - -McLagan was holding one bottle, searching its contents closely. - -“This is pale sort of stuff,” he said. - -The banker looked at the label. - -“Reef gold from the Ubishi Hills. It was a poor strike and petered -out. Crystal quartz. And too hard to work for the ordinary gold -man. It needed big capital.” - -McLagan nodded. - -“Hardly yellow at all,” he said. “Now this,” he went on, holding up -another bottle. “This has a richer colour.” - -“Sure. But look where it’s from. The red copperous gravel of Eighty -Mile Creek. I’d say, next to some of the big Australian finds, -that’s one of the handsomest colours known. Here’s another,” he -went on, thrusting another bottle into his visitor’s hand. “It’s -nigh as red. It’s like as two peas with the African stuff, and -some of the old Californian colour. It might even be from West -Australia. But it isn’t. No, it’s Alaskan. And it’s creek gold.” - -“Where from?” - -“I can’t rightly say--yet. Maybe we’ll learn in good time. We -generally do. You see, it’s a sample of the stuff brought in by -a boy who’s working along the Lias River territory. That boy I -told you of awhile back. The feller you beat over the head at the -Speedway the night of its festival. Pretty stuff.” - -McLagan was turning the bottle in his hand. He rolled its contents -over and over, intently examining its colour and the texture of its -grains. - -“It’s cleaner than most,” he said presently. “Looks like it was -washed by a pretty expert hand. It’s like none of the others. Not -even the Eighty Mile stuff. Eighty Mile--that’s on the Canadian -side.” - -“Yes.” Burns eased himself in his chair. “No. It’s not like any -of the other. It looks like tropical stuff, and if I didn’t know -better, I’d surely say it was.” - -McLagan set the bottle down and sat gazing at it. - -“What is there there? An ounce?” he asked, without raising his eyes. - -“Half, I’d guess.” - -“Can you sell me it?” - -Burns chuckled. - -“Why, I could, but----” - -“Will you?” - -McLagan was gazing squarely into the smiling round face before him. -The banker’s shrewd mind was thinking quickly. He shook his head. - -“No,” he said. “You can have that bottle, a present at my expense. -I’m glad when a man like you gets interested in our stuff. Some -day, maybe, you’ll quit oil for the other. But, say, won’t you tell -me about it? You’ve got me guessing.” - -“There just isn’t a thing to tell, Victor.” - -“Sure?” - -The banker’s eyes were looking squarely into the other’s. - -“Not--now.” - -“I see.” - -McLagan had removed himself from the desk. He still held the bottle -with its sample of gold-dust in his hand. - -Victor stood up and nodded comprehensively. - -“That’s all right, boy,” he said. “If it’s any use, keep that -stuff. I’m shipping a mighty big dope of it away by next mail. -You’d be astonished if you knew how much. Say, how’s that wreck -down your way making out? The folks are all guessing about it. A -lumber ship, ain’t it? Any news of the owners yet?” - -“Not yet,” McLagan replied. “Guess the seas’ll break her to pieces -in a while. Say, Victor, I’m mighty obliged for our talk--and -this.” He held up the bottle and then set it in an inner pocket. -Then he thrust out a hand in farewell. “Guess I won’t see you for -quite awhile. When I do I’ll have big news concerning oil for you. -Are you looking to get in?” - -“Always.” The banker gripped the outstretched hand. - -“Right. I’ll do the best I know for you when the time comes. -Thanks.” - -McLagan passed out on to the sidewalk again. Just for a moment he -stood deeply considering, then he turned away and moved off in the -direction where the best dwelling-houses stood something apart -from the collection of hovels which made up by far the greater -proportion of the city’s home residences. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - McLagan Achieves an End - - -Claire Carver was alone in the sun-parlour, which was one of the -many small comforts she had added to the square, frame building -which, since the bettering of her fortunes, had become her home. -She was occupying a large rocker-chair, engaged upon a task hardly -to be expected in a woman whose nights were spent at the gaming -tables of the Speedway, and whose skill, and nerve, and capacity -in holding her own against the vulture-like flotsam haunting that -gambling hell, was a by-word of the countryside. - -Her busy needle was plying swiftly and skilfully upon some intimate -silken garment, the contemplation of which gave her the deepest -sense of womanly satisfaction. A small table was near to her -hand littered with all the odds and ends which usually overflow -a woman’s work-basket. She was quite alone with her work and her -thoughts. She was even glad that her mother was somewhere in the -domestic quarters of the house engaged, as was her wont at all -times, upon matters relating to creature comfort. She knew that -the older woman had found solace in their new life and she was -glad. She had found something like happiness in the care of her one -remaining offspring who had become all in all to her since those -days of her earlier disaster. - -The afternoon was well advanced. The sun was pouring out of the -western sky, moving on with that speed which ever seems to -increase as the day progresses. It was hot but pleasant. The -day was quite windless, and the hum of mosquitoes and flies was -incessant beyond the netting covering to the range of open windows -with which the place was almost completely surrounded. - -After a while the girl looked up and her pretty blue eyes were -unsmiling. The satisfaction she had in her work found no reflection -in them. There was even a suggestion of unhappiness in the -preoccupation of the gaze she turned upon the scene beyond the -netted windows. - -Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps there was weariness of mind behind -her eyes. Her beauty was no less. There were no outward and visible -signs of wear for all the high pressure of the artificial sort of -life she lived. But the buoyancy, the intensity her wonderful eyes -usually displayed under the shaded lights of the Speedway’s poker -room were utterly lacking now. It almost suggested that the fierce -fires of the gambler spirit had already begun to burn the youth out -of her. - -The scene beyond the netted windows seemed to hold her. The city -lay there sprawling on the lake shore. A scattering of small -dwellings intervened between her and the main buildings. It was -squalid. It was as ugly as only a collection of primitive human -dwellings could make it. From where she sat she could see the -pretentious dome of Max’s Speedway, which was the medium of her -fortune. She could see a flash of the sunlit waters of the lake, -and then beyond, overshadowing all the puny human handiwork, rose -the dark outline of the splendid hills of her childhood. - -It was the latter that held her, and in a moment the precious -silken garment upon which she had spent more dollars than a year -ago she could have spent cents, was completely forgotten. - -Her thought had flung back to another life and its people; folk, -who, unlike herself, lived in the open and the daylight. She was -thinking of the rugged coast with its fiercely alluring bays, -its inlets and its upstanding headlands. She was thinking of the -rough, strong man who lived in a home like an eagle’s eyrie so that -he could gaze upon God’s good world and revel in those fierce, -bracing elements which so appealed to and matched his own nature. -She remembered that last recent meeting with him on the deck of -the wreck in the bay from which she had fled in utter and complete -panic. - -It was a moment not easily to be forgotten. She still shrank from -contemplating her own display of weakness, but it robbed her of -not one moment’s delight in the memory of the quiet nerve and calm -resolution with which Ivor McLagan had reassured and comforted her. -Then she remembered the time when he had deliberately picked her up -in his arms and helped her over the vessel’s side. He had done it -without a second thought, and as though he had been dealing with -some terrified child. And then she remembered his plain face as it -had smiled back into hers over the side of the vessel as returning -courage had once more restored her confidence. - -He was quite plain and generally unsmiling for all a certain humour -she sometimes saw lying behind his eyes. Then he was so harshly -rough--at times. It was not always so. And it was mostly manner. -Oh, she knew that, and she smiled softly to herself as she thought -of the fashion in which he had sought to drive her from the deck -of that vessel. She sighed. She liked him. She liked and trusted -him. Nobody could help liking him, she told herself. He was so -transparently honest and--and simple. Then she smiled again, almost -tenderly, as she reviewed those scenes in which he and she had been -the only actors. How many were they? How many times had he asked -her to----? - -Her eyes sobered and her thought passed swiftly to another man. -It was the dark Italian face of Max Lepende that shut out her -vision of the other. The thing she feared, the thing she had even -discussed with Ivor, was impending. Her woman’s instinct was deeply -perturbed as she thought of a little scene that had occurred -just as she was leaving the Speedway the night before. Max had -approached her as her game broke up. She had had an especial run -of good luck. He came to her smiling, elaborate, and impressive in -his manner. He had asked her permission to ride with her in her -automobile to her home. There was a bunch of “toughs” around, he -told her. He had had word of a possible hold-up. She must bank with -him for the night and he begged her to accept his escort. Then had -come the demonstration of the man’s purpose. In the automobile he -had produced a jewelled pendant of great value. He had craved her -acceptance of it with all the display which his extravagant manner -made so sickening to her. He had almost forced it upon her. But she -had refused, definitely, even coldly, and she had witnessed the -instant effect of her refusal upon him. - -The girl was more of a psychologist than perhaps she knew. She had -certainly learned to know something of the man who ruled over the -destinies of the Speedway. She had watched Max as he returned the -pendant to its case. Driving the automobile, with her eyes on the -disreputable road, she had still been aware of the sudden cold, -hard light that had replaced the smile in the man’s dark eyes, and -noted the almost vicious snap with which he closed the case over -the glittering jewels he had offered her. And in that moment she -had remembered her talk with Ivor on the subject of this man, and -was glad of it. It was good to think of Ivor McLagan, with his -plain strong face, at such a moment. And the more so when the car -had stopped at her home, and Max had alighted and was taking his -leave of her. What were his parting words? Oh, she remembered them. -They were not easily forgotten, and as much for their tone as their -text. He had spoken with the same old smile she knew by heart, -and which she knew to be as meaningless as all the rest of his -artificialities. - -“I guess the hold-up didn’t mature,” he had said. “I sort of felt -it wouldn’t, Claire, with me around. You see, the folks of this -city mostly have more sense than to get across me. The toughest of -them wouldn’t take a chance that way. And they’re surely wise. I’m -feeling sore, my dear, you couldn’t feel like handling that toy I -was hoping to pass you. Think it over. Don’t leave it the way it -is. Get a sleep on it and maybe, like that hold-up, you’ll think -better of it.” - -It was a threat and the girl knew it. It was that moment which -she had long since contemplated when she must choose between this -smooth, unscrupulous creature who had built his fortune upon the -human weakness of those about him, and abandoning the precincts of -the place which had represented salvation to her in her darkest -moments. Ivor was right. “You’re going to get it if you keep -on----” She remembered his words. They were right. She had known it -at the time he had uttered them. And, somehow she was glad and it -comforted her, that it was he who had uttered them, and begged her -to quit the game at the Speedway. Well---- - -She turned her head sharply. She heard voices talking beyond the -parlour doorway. They were her mother’s and another which she -recognised instantly. It was the voice of the man of whom she was -thinking. In a moment she had bundled the silken garment in her lap -out of sight. - - * * * * * - -There was no sign to indicate Claire’s mood of the moment before. -She was smiling up into McLagan’s face, and the man was telling her -without subterfuge the object of his visit. - -“You see, Claire,” he said, “I had to come along for two reasons. -One is, I’m going right up into the hills for a month or so and -won’t be along back in Beacon till summer’s nigh through and so I -won’t see you in quite awhile. And the other is----” He laughed in -his short, unmirthful fashion, “why--something else.” - -The mother had left him to make his way to the sun-parlour while -she returned to her interrupted labours. She was glad enough to -do so. There was never a moment in her simple life that she was -completely without hope of this man as a son-in-law. - -McLagan had sprawled his great body into a protesting cane-rocker. -The table, with its feminine litter intervened between him and the -woman who was the most precious thing in all the world to him. - -“Seeing there’s two reasons, I guess that’s so,” Claire said slily. -Then her smile lit anew. “But I’m real glad you came along now, -Ivor. I’d just have hated you going along up to the hills and being -away all that time without seeing me first.” Then she laughed -outright. “Say, what’ll your tame spook be doing with you away?” - -The man shook his head. - -“I don’t rightly know,” he said seriously. “Maybe the sea’ll -swallow him up. And I’d say it would be good that way.” Then a deep -light grew in his eyes. “But it’s real kind of you saying that, -Claire. I just had to come along, anyway.” - -The girl wanted to ask him why. There was an impulse, a quick, -hot impulse to challenge him, and somehow it was an impulse which -only a brief while ago would never have been stirring. But she -refrained. Instead she turned her eyes to the wide-open windows, -and gazed away at the hills of her childhood. - -“You see, I’ve got things to tell you--before I go. And they’re -important,” McLagan went on quietly. - -The girl’s gaze remained upon the hills so full of memory for her. -But suddenly her pulses had started to hammer in a fashion so -unruly that she was horrified lest the man might be aware of it. - -“You mean about that--wreck?” - -“Yes. About that--wreck.” - -Claire sighed. Her pulses had suddenly sobered. But the calm that -replaced her moment of emotion had no satisfaction in it. Now her -gaze came back to the man’s face. And the wide blue eyes were -striving for a smile of interest she did not feel. - -“Yes, tell me,” she said, with a pretence of eagerness. “It was -all very mystifying and horrible. I haven’t forgotten. I’d say it -isn’t easy to forget that sort of thing. My, I was scared.” - -McLagan began to grope in his pockets. - -“May I smoke?” He was holding up his cigar-case. - -“Surely,” the girl laughed. “Isn’t it queer? You haven’t always -asked that.” - -“No,” the man smiled back. He glanced about the handsome loggia -with its pretty comforts. “It’s queer the way we change with -circumstances.” - -“Yes. Smoke up. I like the rougher things best. Maybe I didn’t -always feel that way. I’ve seen so much of the smooth and shining -since I came to Max’s Speedway that I kind of like to think of the -rough granite I used to know back there in the hills.” - -McLagan glanced out of the window as he lit his long, lean cigar. - -“Yes,” he said. “It’s stood up to things since the world began. -Say, kid, I want you to hand me anything you can about--Jim. I -mean, I know the story you and your Mum handed me at the time. -I know all that, but---- Say, he’d made a real big strike in -Australia and was on his way back to home. Was he bringing his -stuff along? Or was it banked? What were the plans he’d made? I -sort of remember a long letter he’d sent. Did he hand your Mum -details?” - -Claire was startled. She sat up in her rocker and one beautifully -shaped hand was raised and passed across her smooth brow. Then it -rested for a moment upon her wealth of ruddy hair. - -“We--we don’t know a thing, Ivor,” she said in a low voice, as she -gazed earnestly into his face. “Not a thing but what you’ve heard -from us. He’d made a strike. I--I believe it was a wonderful -strike. His letter conveyed that. And he was on his way home on -the _Imperial_ with the result of it. But whether in dust or a -bank credit I can’t even guess. Then the ship sank, and he was -drowned----” - -McLagan shook his head. - -“Not drowned,” he said. - -For some moments there followed complete silence. - -“But the ship sank. They picked up the S O S. She’s never been -heard of since. It was in mid-ocean. And Jim--Jim has never been -heard of again.” - -The girl’s protest came with swift passionate intensity. - -“The ship didn’t sink. And Jim wasn’t--drowned.” - -McLagan spoke in that queer rough fashion he never failed to use in -moments of deep conviction. - -Claire stared at him with questioning eyes. A surge of emotion -was driving through her. There was such conviction in the man’s -tone and manner. Jim was not drowned. The _Imperial_ did not sink. -Suddenly she leant forward. - -“What do you mean, Ivor?” she urged in a tone almost as rough -as his. “Tell me. Tell me quick. I must know. Jim’s alive. The -_Imperial_----” - -McLagan shook his head. - -“I don’t think he’s alive. And the ship----” - -“You mean he’s dead--killed--maybe----” - -“Murdered for his stuff.” - -Again there fell a silence and the man watched the face of the girl -through the smoke of his cigar. Her breath was coming quickly, and -she was struggling for composure. At last she steadied herself. - -“Ivor, tell me. Oh, tell me all you know. Don’t keep me in -suspense. I know. I see. It’s--it’s something to do with that -wreck and--and the shadow----” She flung out one delicate finger, -pointing, “That figure. It--it--was--Jim’s--shadow. Oh!” - -The girl’s intuition had leapt. There was excitement, passion, -horror in that final ejaculation and the man saw that it was no -moment for delay. There was a dreadful look in the beautiful eyes -that were gazing wildly into his. He removed his cigar. - -“Get a grip on yourself, little girl,” he said quickly, and in -that tone of gentleness he only rarely used. “I’ll tell you what -I know. It’s not a deal. But it’s enough to say--to my mind--that -Jim was murdered. The wreck down on my coast is your Jim’s ship. -That I know beyond doubt. And that shadow--I don’t know how it -comes there, I don’t know the meaning of ghostly shadows, but I -guess I’ve convinced myself I’ve recognised in that shadow a crazy -sort of outline of your Jim. Jim was a mighty big man and he had -a walk I’d recognise dead easy. Do you remember, kid, that ghost, -or whatever it was, was moving. It was a queer figure of a man -walking--towards us. Do you remember? But of course you do. Do you -know I sort of recognised Jim’s walk in that thing’s movements?” -He shook his head with a puzzled, far-off look in his eyes. -“Guess, maybe, it’s fancy. Maybe I’m all wrong. But, anyway, the -notion’s back of my head. Jim died right there on that deck. He was -killed--murdered--_while he was walking aft_.” - -He went on at once as the girl remained silent. - -“Who killed him? And why?” He shrugged his great shoulders. “That’s -the thing I’m going to find out. Where’s the skipper and crew of -that ship? They quit her in fair weather. Why? Who changed her -name? Why? Why kill your brother? For his wad? Sure. Not for any -bank credit. Where’s his partner, that boy, Len Stern? He’s not -showed up.” - -Claire was listening to his every word with close attention. Such -was her intensity that her lips moved as though she were repeating -to herself the things he said. The instant he ceased speaking, -sharp and passionately came her challenge. - -“You’ve more than that to tell, Ivor!” she cried. “Tell it me. You -must. Oh, you don’t know all this means to me. You don’t know the -ugly thing you’ve raised up in me. Ivor--Ivor--! I think I could -kill the man who murdered our Jim with my own two hands. He was my -brother. He hadn’t a thought but for us. There’s not a thing in all -the world I wouldn’t do to--to hand those folks who murdered him -the justice they need. It just frightens me the way I feel. Tell -me.” - -“There isn’t a thing more to tell now, Claire. There surely isn’t. -I don’t know a thing yet but what I’ve told you. But I mean to -know.” - -“And then you’ll come to me--and tell me?” - -McLagan shook his head. - -“Ther’ll be no need.” The man sat forward in his chair, and -reaching out one hand it closed over the slim hand of the girl, -which, in her urgent emotion, had been laid upon her work-table. -His whole manner had softened from his threat against those he -was seeking. And, listening to him, the girl grew calm under the -influence of his gentle tone of supreme confidence. “Say, Claire, -I’ve asked for the right to fix things for you. I’ve asked, and -you’ve always refused. Well, I’m asking nothing now. I’m just -telling you. Jim was your brother. Well, I’m just taking to myself -the right to get after the folks who’ve killed him. You can’t stop -me. No one can. And when I’ve located ’em, when I’ve got ’em where -I need ’em, they’ll be dealt with, sure as God, in the fashion they -deserve. It’s my right which you can’t deny me. Jim was a friend -of mine and I love his sister better than life. No,” he went on, -in the same gentle tone, as the girl released her hand from his. -“I’m making no break. I’m not asking a thing. I’m just telling you -the straight fact, and assuring you of the thing my mind’s fixed -on. Maybe I’ve made you angry. I can’t help it. I don’t want to. -There’s not a thing farther from my mind. I want you to get the -fact I’m claiming a right the world, and you, can’t deny me. Now I -want you to try and forget all about it.” - -“How can I forget it all?” - -The girl shook her head. The trouble in her eyes was almost -painful. But through it all there was something gazing out upon -this big plain creature which anybody but he must have interpreted -without a second thought. - -“To you Jim has been dead nearly a year,” McLagan said. “It’s just -as it was. Only the circumstances are different--now.” - -“I didn’t mean that.” - -“What did you mean?” - -The man was startled. In an instant a flush dyed his -weather-stained cheek. Then it paled abruptly. He turned and flung -his cigar at an open window. It hit the netting and fell on the -floor. He sprang up and collected it again and turned to the girl -sitting with her face turned away so that he only beheld the charm -of its profile. - -“Claire?” - -“Yes, Ivor?” - -“Would it worry you if I made another bad break?” - -The girl shook her head. - -“I don’t think so, Ivor.” - -The man smoothed back his unruly hair. - -“Here, I want to get it clear. There’s just one sort of break I -feel like making.” - -His tone was rough and contained nothing of his real feelings. - -The girl inclined her head and her eyes came frankly to his face. -She read the doubt there. She read a whole lot more. - -“I only seem to remember one sort of break,” she said, with the -dawn of a smile that was irresistible. - -“Thank God!” - -In a moment all doubt had passed out of the man’s eyes. He was -smiling with all the transparent happiness of a schoolboy. He came -over to the girl’s chair, and, reaching down, took possession -of both her yielding hands. She stood up, tall and slight, and -infinitely beautiful in her pretty afternoon frock. - -“Now the right is doubly mine, little girl,” he said. “And, by God! -there’s no one on this darn old earth going to rob me of it. Mine, -eh? Mine at last!” And caught her up in his arms. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - McLagan Returns from the Hills - - -McLagan surveyed the litter strewn about the beach. It was a queer -collection. There were two upturned boats with their white seams -smeared and daubed heavily with tar. They were hardly recognisable -as the well-painted lifeboats that had once stood on the boat deck -of the wreck lying on the far shore of the bay. A wealth of ship’s -ropes sprawled upon the shingle. Ropes collected as a result of -sheer covetousness rather than from a point of view of utility. -Many of them were great hawsers and of no use whatsoever in the -sort of sailing that Sasa Minnik undertook. Then there were heavy -cable chains, and ship’s buckets. There was a great store of -tumbled ship’s canvas. There were pots and pans and tools of every -description. There were an array of lumber, too, and blankets, -and plates, and knives and forks and dishes. It was an amazing -collection of sheer loot which only the undisciplined mind of the -half-breed could have prompted. And it had been amassed in the two -months and more that McLagan had been away on his trip up into the -hills. - -For some moments the white man regarded the collection with -frowning eyes. Then his gaze came back to the sturdy figure of his -servant whose dark features were screwed up into that which the -other interpreted as a grin of sublime predatory satisfaction. His -own eyes were deadly serious for all the smile lurking behind them. - -“Sasa,” he said quietly, “you always were a rogue and a thief and -a liar, but I never guessed you were a bigger rogue than coward. -The temptation of all this loot was too much even for your scare, -eh? You’ve been aboard that wreck, and you’ve looted it from end to -end. I guess I ought to beat you. I surely ought. But I’m not going -to. No. It kind of seems to me your low-down thieving nature’s -knocked something that’s even worse out of you--your rotten -scare of that ship. And that’s surely to the good. For me you -can keep your junk. But I don’t know what’ll happen when the big -Commissioner knows the thief you are. Maybe he’ll have you hanged -by your neck. You helped save my life when that guy wanted it bad. -But I don’t see how I’m going to butt in when the big Commissioner -gets busy on you.” - -The half-breed was undisturbed by the threat. The creases on his -ugly face only deepened and he shook his head. - -“The big man, Commissioner, not say nothing, boss,” he said. “He -come by ship. I tak him by ’em. Oh, yes. An’ I say him: ‘Dis junk. -It not nothing bimeby. The sea all have ’em. Why not Sasa have -’em?’ An’ him big man say: ‘Sasa have him all much plenty what he -darn please.’ So I tak ’em all dis thing much. An’ bimeby plenty -much more. Maybe bimeby I mak ’em good trade. Oh, yes.” - -“I see. Boss Goodchurch has been around?” - -“Sure, boss. He come with him mans two. Him look an’ look. Him see -all thing plenty, but not the devil spirit. Oh, no.” The man’s eyes -widened at the mere memory of the terrible shadow he still feared -so dreadfully. “Him no sun when big man come. Him not see. No. Then -Sasa think big much. Sasa say: ‘No sun, no devil spirit.’ It good. -Sasa go by ship when no sun. He wait. The sun him go down in sea. -It good. Bimeby Sasa get all thing that way. Yes.” - -McLagan laughed, and the half-breed grinned back at him. - -“You’re all sorts of a scoundrel, anyway, Sasa.” - -“Sasa much wise man.” - -The man’s final retort was quite unanswerable, and the white man -left it at that. - -He glanced out over the grey, cold-looking waters. The whole bay -was more than usually desolate and bleak now that the height of -summer had spent itself. The fall lay ahead. It was already in -the atmosphere. That swiftly passing fall, when days shorten -mercilessly and the nights grow in length with the coming of the -fierce season when the interminable northern light makes life a -burden hard to bear. His absence of ten weeks was a slice out of -the northern summer that left little enough of a season in which -the heart of man can rejoice. - -He had completed his work--that urgent work which meant so much -to his Corporation, and to himself, and those who shared in his -labours. But he knew that the importance of it by no means ended -there. In the end it would mean the complete establishment of the -whole region, and the well-being of those adventurers who had made -it their hunting ground. It had been ten weeks of enthralling -labour crowned by a success of which even he had hardly dared to -dream. All he had suspected, hoped for, all the astute Peter Loby -had assured him of, had been proved beyond any element of doubt. -The greatest coal and oil belt the world had ever known had been -definitely discovered. - -It ran right back from within sixty miles of the coast sheer -through the hill country across into Canadian territory. And beyond -that it was almost impossible to say how much it occupied of that -chaotic region. The work had been hard. There had been times when -breaking trail by river and portage through well-nigh unexplored -regions was almost fierce. But nothing had deterred, nothing had -deflected his purpose. His investigation had been as complete as -the time permitted. And now he had returned to his home on the bay -with a rough draft map sufficiently detailed for the purposes of -obtaining at Washington and Ottawa the coveted concessions. - -But his return had been an even greater triumph than that. After -all, the work of survey had been something prospective. It was a -wide searching forward for the future. It was something appealing -to his engineering mind, and would doubtless appeal to the men of -finance supporting him. But it would mean infinitely less to those -folk in Beacon who were yearning for the immediate. The appeal of -the immediate was awaiting his return to camp. - -The great news reached him on the river fully three days east -of his oil camp. It came by a special river man who had been -despatched to locate his outfit. The man had been sent with an -urgent recall. For the lesser men in the camp, in the absence -of their chiefs, found themselves incapable of dealing with the -amazing situation that had arisen. A gusher had broken out at -“Number eight” drill. It was a tremendous gusher at a drilling -that had given no sign of the oil they were about to strike. It -had come in a flood that looked like thousands of barrels a day, a -stream for which their preparations were wholly inadequate. So the -urgency of the despatch. - -That was more than a week ago now. They had speeded home in a -delirium of anticipation. And even their anticipation failed to -approach the reality. The thing was infinitely greater than the -fancy of the messenger had painted it, and the difficulties of its -control were immense. But their presence was a tremendous spur, and -the genius of Loby did the rest. At length order was achieved out -of chaos, and all chance of permanent disaster was averted. - -Now McLagan was on his way to Beacon with his amazing news. All -sorts of urgent work lay before him. But on one thing he was fully -determined. Whoever else must wait, Claire should be the first -person to learn of the triumph in which his work of this drab grey -coast was about to terminate. - -His mood was a happy one in which to greet the henchman who served -him so faithfully. Little wonder then there was a smile behind the -eyes witnessing the half-breed’s demonstration of human cupidity. -Even he found it difficult to administer the necessary chiding. In -a few hours’ time he would be in Beacon with his sensational news -that would send the stocks of his Corporation soaring sky high. -He would be gazing into wonderful eyes which had been one long -tantalizing dream to him during the week of his labours. He would -be holding Claire’s fair slim body in a tight embrace, and telling -her of the great things Fortune had cast for them. It was all so -very, very good to contemplate. - -It was really all too good to permit of the obtrusion of lesser -things. But McLagan refused to yield to his natural excitement. -There were other things which must not be ignored. And the sense -of their importance was the more deeply impressed upon him as he -contemplated Sasa Mannik with his collection on the beach, and the -desperate shape which had befallen the pitiful wreck lying at the -far side of the bay. - -Even from the distance the inroads of the storming tides were -discernible. The battering of the vessel’s hull was pathetic. -There were added gashes in the poor thing’s sides where her lumber -cargo somehow contrived to protrude. There was no longer a stitch -of canvas upon her yards to scare the sea-fowl with its whipping -in the chill wintry breeze blowing in off the ocean. Whether or -not this was due to Sasa’s depredations it was impossible to tell. -It might be. All her gear was limply adrift, and her yards were -lying sadly. She was leaning at a perilous angle, and the tides had -driven her farther up on to the rocks. One real great storm and -anything might happen to her. - -McLagan turned again to his henchman. - -“Well? What you been doing besides loading down the beach with all -this junk?” - -“I fish by the Lias.” - -The half-breed had lowered his tone significantly. And McLagan -sought to penetrate the close mask of immobility which seemed to -have settled upon the man’s features. - -The white man permitted a shadowy smile. - -“Did you make a swell catch?” - -“Maybe, yes. Maybe, no.” Sasa shrugged. “I mak big look for the man -who mak shoot you all up. I think big. Plenty big. I say, this man. -Maybe I find him. Yes. Boss all say plenty Sasa big coward. Him -frightened of fool jack-rabbit. I mak find this man. Then I show -him. I kill him all up dead.” - -McLagan laughed. - -“But you didn’t find him,” he said slily. - -Sasa shook his black head. - -“No,” he said simply. “So he live. But I find some thing. Yes. I -mak find cave. Oh, yes. It camp for man. I know him. It all mak -clean not so as an Eskimo camp.” - -He chuckled quietly. “Him all swep clean. So. An’ so.” He took -his cap from his mane of hair and a sweeping gesture illustrated -his words. “Maybe him camp this man. Oh, yes.” He returned his -head-gear to its place. “I watch him. Long time. Yes. No. He not -come. An’ bimeby I go. Yes.” - -“That was the ‘some thing’?” - -“Sure. An’--another some thing.” - -“Ah.” McLagan’s tone was interested but he glanced away seawards. -Then, quite abruptly, he indicated the house on the cliff. “We’ll -get right back to home,” he said. “You can hand me your yarn as we -go. You’ll have to get food right away. I’m beating into Beacon as -soon as I’ve eaten. You’ll need to stop around this bay till I’m -through an’ get back. Guess, since the Commissioner doesn’t kick, -you can go right on collecting your junk till the beach is like a -ship’s store. I don’t care a curse what you do so you don’t quit -it. See? The fish can wait.” - - * * * * * - -McLagan’s journey into Beacon was made at his usual reckless speed. -But unlike his usual habit he did not drive straight to the Plaza -Hotel. It might have been expected that bearing such news as he -was conveying to the city he would have sought out the one place -whence its circulation would have been the most rapid. Then there -was Claire. A wild desire was urging him to go straight to the -square frame-built home that had now become almost the whole focus -of his life. But he resisted it. For once in his life he entered -the city almost secretly. His speed had been furious, and his -ponies were well nigh tuckered out, as, in the wintry cool of the -evening he drew up outside a remote livery barn that stood on the -farthest outskirts of the city. - -The man’s plans were clearly designed. There was no hesitation. -There was no deviation from the line he had marked out for himself. -It was dark when he turned his spent team over to the proprietor -of the barn. He gave strict and minute instructions for the care -of the weary beasts. Then he set out on foot, and the darkness -swallowed him up. - - * * * * * - -It would have been difficult to associate shadows with Claire’s -smiling blue eyes, raised as they were so happily to the rugged -face of Ivor McLagan. His embrace showed no signs of yielding. It -was an embrace that expressed all the pent feeling of those weeks -of absence which haunting memory had so desperately prolonged. Yet -only a moment before his coming a deep depression had reigned where -now there were only happy smiles. So it had been for much of the -time of his absence. - -The girl gently withdrew herself from his arms. It was as though -the riot of her own feelings was such as to demand restraint. She -laughed happily. And she strove to hold a torrent of questions in -check. - -“Why, Ivor,” she cried almost reproachfully, “I hadn’t a notion you -were within miles of the city. When I heard your dear old voice -laughing and jollying Mum in the hall-way, I could have shouted for -joy. I surely could. When did you get through? When did you get in?” - -She moved to a big rocker chair and pulled it forward. She led him -towards it and McLagan dropped his big body into it with a content -that was shining in every line of his plain face. Then she drew up -her own chair near to him. - -“Why, last evening.” - -“Last evening?” - -McLagan nodded, and his smile deepened at the girl’s tone of -reproach. He spread out his hands in a gesture that was meant to -disarm. - -“It had to be that way, kid,” he said. “It just had to be. I could -have beat it right along to here. But if I had I’d never have quit -to fix all the stuff that helped to bring me along back here to -you. Say, I hadn’t a minute till now that I haven’t been on the -dead run. And when I’ve told you you’ll be glad. I wasn’t getting -around here till I could sit and bask right along in the only smile -that makes a feller’s life worth while.” - -He eased himself in his chair. Then he reached out and possessed -himself of the arm of the girl’s chair. His great hand closed -over it, and, with consummate ease, he drew it up to his. They -were facing each other, and so close that the polished arms of -the chairs touched side by side. He glanced quickly round the -sun-parlour. The door into the hall-way had been discreetly closed -by the mother, whose fondest hopes had at last been realised. She -had beaten a retreat to the domestic quarters which conveniently -claimed her. - -The place still contrived to trap all the sunlight of the late -summer day. The full heat of the season had long since passed. The -wide open windows were no longer netted, for the not infrequent -night frosts had done much to banish the torment of flies and -mosquitoes. - -Claire’s reproach had vanished. She was content. - -“Tell me,” she said eagerly. “I’m just crazy for all -that’s--happened. It’s been so long, Ivor.” She laughed a little -self-consciously. “Oh dear, you know I just hated the weeks till -they’d passed.” - -“They didn’t worry you worse than me,” the man returned. “And yet, -I don’t know. Maybe they did. You see, you hadn’t the thing I had -to--say, kid.” He sat up in his chair. He leant forward. Reaching -out he took possession of the slim hands lying in her lap, those -hands he had so often marvelled over in their deft manipulation -of the cards in the Speedway’s poker room. “I’ve hit the biggest -thing this world can show a feller in the work that’s mine. Gee!” -he breathed deeply, while his eyes narrowed as they gazed into the -beautiful eager face before him. “I’m through with it all. I’m -through--almost--with Beacon. We’re going to get right out. You and -me and your Mum. We’re going where we can live in sunshine all the -year round, where there’s no skitters and blizzards, and no muck. -Do you get me, little girl? It’s right up to you to hand the word. -We’re going to get married, you and me, just as soon as you say -it. And for the sake of all that’s merciful, let it be before the -winter closes down.” - -Claire laughed happily. - -“I guess you’ve fallen plumb off the main trail!” she cried -delightedly. “You--you--great big, queer old thing. Now, you sit -right back in that chair. My hands are good an’ comfortable in -my lap. You’ve got to sit around the same as if I was your most -important director, and, as my official mining engineer, hand me -your report so I can pass it on to the shareholders and keep them -good--tempered. Now begin.” - -McLagan laughed. It was the laugh of a man whose delight was sheer -obedience to a woman’s will. He obeyed her literally. He released -her hands reluctantly enough and sat back. Then his smile faded out -and Claire fancied she detected weariness in his serious eyes. - -“It’s easy making that report to you. You won’t need the maps, and -those figures a real director needs. Here it is, kid. We’ve hit a -belt of territory with a world’s coal and oil supply in it. We’re -in first and we’ll have the concession before a news sheet can grab -a detail. That’s that. Coal? There’s hundreds of miles of mountains -of it within a hundred miles of the coast. Say, in two years’ time, -there’ll be a railroad from here to our territory, and from here to -the coast where the mail boat only stands off at present. In a few -years there’ll be a city twice Beacon’s size right down there on -the coast where now ther’s only a fool sort of landing and a bunch -of longshore guys. But that isn’t all, kid. No. That’s all to come. -The real thing, the big thing that’ll set Beacon whooping crazy is -right there at our borings. ‘No. 8’ sprang a gusher on us. They’re -capturing thousands of barrels of the stuff. It’s the biggest oil -flood I’ve seen in fifteen years of a life mussed up in oil. Do you -get it?” - -The girl nodded. A light of real excitement was shining in her eyes -and her oval cheeks were flushed to something of the hue of her -beautiful hair. She breathed deeply. - -“Yes, I think I understand. Surely I do,” she cried, and her hands -clasped each other tightly. “It’s the big thing of your life, Ivor. -It’s your triumph. It’s all you’ve been patiently working for. I -know. We’ve often talked of it. Work. Always work. Disappointment. -Always disappointment. And then--oh, yes, I know. And Beacon. -That city that’s always been in your mind. That ‘muck-hole,’ as -you’ve always called it. In one bound you--you will have lifted it -right up to a swell prosperity where there won’t be any need for -the conditions you’ve always hated to see lying around. It’s your -complete triumph. Your big thing.” - -“It should be.” The man laughed without mirth. - -“Should be? It is.” - -The girl’s enthusiasm was met with a shake of the head. - -“I thought that way, little girl. I guess the notion set me nigh -crazy. The sort of junk I handed up to the gods of fortune would -have set you laffing if you’d seen into my head when I knew about -the thing we’d hit. That was at first. Then I came along down to -home and stood up on that hill and took a peek below. There was -the wreck. It’s the wreck of the ship that was bringing your Jim -home. And then I guess the gods for fortune must have got worried. -I hadn’t a notion of handing ’em up any more junk. The whole darn -thing left me cold. I told myself right there ther’s bigger things -in life than simple success. Much bigger! And amongst ’em, and -maybe biggest of ’em all is the woman who reckons to move along -down the trail of life with you, and all the things that go to -make up her life. Her sufferings are yours, her joys and sorrows, -and--and--no, little kid, the sight of that wreck got me right -away. And I knew that the other didn’t matter. I wasn’t through -with my work. I’d still got it to do. And so I came along. And -that’s why I didn’t get around, for all I was crazy to, until now.” - -The girl’s eyes had grown very tender as she listened to the queer -rough tones of this man as he unconsciously laid bare his soul to -her. There was no smiling response. Only a nod. But it told McLagan -all he wanted to know. She, too, was caught again in the terrible -tragedy that had robbed her of a brother. - -“You’re the first to hear these things,” he went on quietly. “Not -a soul else in Beacon knows a thing. Not even Victor, at the Bank. -No, I kept it for you. And you’re going to keep it close till I -say. I’ve been on the dead run. I’ve been so busy ... but, there, -little girl, there’s things I can tell you and things I can’t. -Maybe there’s some things you’ll never know. It don’t matter. The -thing I want to hand you right away is we’ve had word from Len -Stern. Goodchurch sent out word about that ship. He asked about -it. And the authority told him she was supposed lost in mid-ocean. -That was that. We knew. We’d got that. But we were playing big. I -guessed our only chance of things was a hope of the message getting -to Len Stern, if he was alive. It did. The news sheets took up our -inquiry and it found him in Perth, Western Australia. He cabled -Goodchurch he was sailing just after I’d set out for the hills. Two -weeks back Goodchurch got word from Seattle. The boy would be along -up right away. We figure he’ll be at the coast to-morrow and I’m -going right down to meet him. I want his story bad. I want it. And -when I got that, maybe----” - -He broke off, and a deep, almost savagely brooding light was -shining in his contemplative eyes as he surveyed the table that -still contained the litter of the needlework with which Claire -passed so much of her leisure. - -“Won’t you tell me, Ivor? Can’t you?” The girl had reached out, -and, for a moment, one of her hands rested on his, supported on the -arm of his chair. - -McLagan shook his head and the girl’s hand was withdrawn. - -“Leave all this to me, Claire,” he said with something of his old -brusqueness. “I’m right or I’m wrong. If I’m right----” - -Again he broke off. And Claire saw the muscles of his clean-shaven -jaws constrict. Somehow the sight left her with no desire to press -him further. - -“No, my dear,” he went on, with added gentleness, “you carry right -on. This thing’ll be through in a few weeks now, one way or the -other. All my own work is fixed. When the other’s cleared up, then -ther’s only to close up my shanty at the coast and come right along -in to wait for my folks--my directors. After that, we’ll beat it -from Beacon. And my work at Washington and Ottawa ’ll help to hand -us quite a swell honeymoon. Does that fix you? Will you----” - -The girl nodded, and the man leant back again with an air of great -content. - -“That’s fixed sure,” he said. “You’ll just carry right on at your -beloved Speedway.” - -The girl shook her head. - -“The time’s come for me to quit,” she said quietly. - -Claire was smiling, but somehow her smile was unconvincing. McLagan -was sitting bolt upright. His eyes had suddenly narrowed. - -“Why?” - -It was a throw-back to all that was roughest in him. Again the girl -shook her head. - -“Why?” - -The man’s tone was unchanged. It was compelling. For another -moment Claire hesitated. She remembered the fashion in which he -had hurled himself to her defence before, and the thought of the -thing he might do caused her hesitation. It was the simple truth, -or complete denial. The latter was impossible. She laughed a little -mirthlessly. - -“It’s the thing we once talked of,” she said. - -“You mean--Max?” - -Claire nodded. - -“What is it? Tell me?” - -“It was the night before--before I saw you last.” - -McLagan nodded. His eyes were almost savage. - -“He told me there was word of a hold-up for my automobile. He -offered to accompany me. He assured me no ‘hold-up’ would happen -with him there. It didn’t. In the automobile he offered me -jewellery. I refused it. Then he said something. Do you want what -he said?” - -“Every word.” There was a grim clipping to the man’s words. - -Accustomed as Claire was to fend for herself; accustomed as she was -to think and act without reference to anything but her own judgment -and inclination, there was something that excited and thrilled her -in the simple act of yielding to this man’s will. It was something -so new--something which, for all her independence, appealed to the -woman in her. He was so strong. He was so ruthlessly rough. But for -all her delight in him a queer apprehension lay back in her mind. - -“It was when he left me at the door here,” she said slowly. “What -was it? Yes, I remember.” She laughed. “It isn’t easy to forget. -‘I guess the hold-up didn’t mature. I sort of felt it wouldn’t, -Claire, with me around. You see, the folk of this city have more -sense than to get across me. The toughest of them wouldn’t take -a chance that way. And they’re surely wise. I’m feeling sore, my -dear, you couldn’t feel like handling that toy I was hoping to pass -you. Think it over. Don’t leave it the way it is. Get a sleep on it -and maybe, like the hold-up, you’ll think better of it.’” - -“It was a threat?” - -The set of the man’s face was a match for his tone. There was -anger, hot anger in the eyes which Nature had designed so admirably -for frowning. The girl nodded. - -“Oh, yes. And I remembered our talk. And I knew it was quitting -time. I thought and thought. Oh, I thought so hard. I didn’t -want to quit. I wanted to--to fight it out. You know, Ivor, I’m -foolish that way. I’d got all the money I needed, but it was the -thought of quitting because of--because I’m a woman and he’s a -man. I didn’t quit. No, I went on. But I refused his jewellery. I -refused his every advance. And then I realised. Things seemed to -change somehow, I can’t tell you how. The rest of the women acted -differently. The servants in the place. Oh, the boys didn’t. And -then one day Jubilee forgot to say fool stuff. He didn’t say much, -but it was characteristic. He said, ‘The Queen is dead. Long live -the Republic.’ I turned on him at once. I said, ‘You mean she’s -deposed.’ His face was dead serious for once. He said: ‘Same thing -or worse. They’ve a way of beheading deposed monarchs.’ Then his -queer eyes followed Max as he moved about the dance-room for a -while, and then he looked round on me. He said, ‘Say, Claire, why -not quit with the boodle? It makes a revolution sick to death -when anyone gets away with the stuff they reckon to handle for -themselves.’ I guess I managed to laugh, but there wasn’t a laugh -back of my mind. I thought of you, Ivor. And--two days later I got -a queer note. Here it is. You can read it.” - -She took a folded paper from the bosom of her frock and passed it -to the man whose curious silence and seeming rigidity while she -told her story set a feeling of apprehension stirring in the girl. -McLagan took the paper and unfolded it. And his unsmiling eyes -perused its contents: - - You don’t need to worry. The Light of the Aurora is shining, and - by its light all things are seen, all things are known. - - FOR THE CHIEF LIGHT OF THE AURORA, - A Lesser Light. - -McLagan passed back the paper without a sign, without a word. And -the girl went on. - -“You know that note’s given me a notion, Ivor. Oh, I haven’t -worried since I got that. And not a thing has happened. I haven’t -even seen Max. But I’ve seen the boys one way and another. Those -boys who’ve never failed to be good to me. They’re just the same. -But to my mind there’s just one feller could have worded that note -that way. It’s Jub--” - -McLagan stirred. - -“Leave it at that, Claire,” he broke in quickly. “It don’t matter -who wrote it. But I’m kind of glad for that note, seeing I was -away. But I’m right here now and you belong to me.” He stood up. -He moved to an open window. For some moments he stood there with -his back turned silently gazing out on the distant dome of the -Speedway. - -Claire watched him. His square shoulders seemed to fill up the -whole of the window opening. He was so big and strong, and---- - -“Ivor!” - -Her voice was low but urgent. The man turned after a moment and -Claire drew a sharp breath. His face was almost livid with a -consuming rage. He came back to her and stood before her chair. - -“I’m going to settle with Max,” he said, through lips that scarcely -moved. “No,” he denied, as Claire was about to protest. “It’s up -to me,” he went on harshly. “That dirty Dago swine threatened you -and would have carried out his threat if those Aurora boys hadn’t -jumped in. Don’t you see? I do. Max would have put a bunch of -sharps on to you. He’d have got at you by every trick of his dirty -Dago mind until he’d got you skinned of your last dollar and were -ready to squeal for mercy. Then, utterly helpless, he’d---- By God! -he’s going to pay. He’s going to pay me. He’s fat and rich out of -the weaknesses of the poor folk of this city, is he? We’ll see. -We’ll----” - -“No, no, Ivor!” Claire sprang from her chair. Her hands were held -out in appeal. The terrible purpose shining in the man’s eyes -frightened her. “Don’t do a thing. My dear, my dear, there’s been -no harm done. Think of it. Thanks to those folk of the Aurora Clan, -I’ve a complete laugh on him. I’ve a fortune, almost, in Victor’s -bank. What does it matter? Sure it doesn’t, and then--and then in -the fall we’ll be married and away from Beacon. No, no, Ivor, -don’t look that way! Don’t act that way. You scare me. Besides, -he’s powerful. He can buy up the toughs of this place. You might -get---- No, boy, I can’t spare you now. I can’t! I surely won’t! -Ivor, promise me.” - -The girl’s appeal was not without effect. The man’s ferocity seemed -to ease. And she almost fancied a smile was somewhere back of his -eyes. He shook his head. - -“Max will have to pay--me,” he said grimly. “You don’t need to -worry for me, Claire. Max can do nothing to hurt--me.” - -“But he can. He will. He----” - -The girl’s protest died weakly away. She caught her breath. A flash -of thought swept through her mind as she gazed into the stern, -strong face she had learned at last to love so deeply. - -Then the silence was broken. And it was she who was speaking again. - -“Ivor,” she said, in low, gentle tones, but in a manner which -plainly displayed her resolve. “If anything happens to Max through -what I’ve told you, I’ll--I’ll never forgive you. I know what I’m -saying--I’m saying it for you. Do you understand, dear? My love for -you is so big that I won’t have you fall for a personal animosity. -No, no! I won’t stand for it. I want you to remember, too, that but -for Max and his Speedway I’d still be doing our rags of laundry -down on Lively Creek. Remember that. I’ve beaten the game and I’m -going to quit.” - -The man raised a hand and passed it over his hair. - -“You mean all that, Claire?” he asked. - -The girl gazed squarely up into his hot eyes. - -“I surely do, dear. There will be no----” - -“Don’t say it, little girl.” The man’s smile had broken out at -last. “I know. There’ll be no marrying me in the fall. But there -will.” He reached out and caught her in his arms. “There will be, -my dear, because Max can go clear for me. I’ll not do a thing -since you ask it, since you order it. No, little girl, don’t look -questions at me, an’ don’t ask ’em. I can see them back of your -dandy eyes. I just love you to death, and I want you to feel the -game of life as I see it needs to be a straight one. I’m quitting -now. I’ve still got things to do. To-morrow I’m going to pick up -Len at the coast. He and I’ll have big work for maybe a week. After -that I’m through, and I’ll bring him right along to tell you of -your Jim. So long, little Claire. I guess that note’ll still stand -good. You’ll be safe till I get along back.” - - * * * * * - -The daylight was passing as McLagan left Claire’s home. He hurried -away down the unmade road leading back into the eastern purlieus -of the city. He came abreast of the Speedway which had so many -turbulent reminders for him. But he passed it by, and thrust from -him the leaping anger the sight of it inspired. He crossed over -to the Plaza Hotel where he ate a hurried meal. Then, later, he -passed again out into the night and his way lay westwards where the -moonlight waters of the lake shone still and cold. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - The Last of the Moving Shadow - - -McLagan was nursing his team. For once his driving speed was -moderated. But then he knew the call he had yet to make upon his -ponies. They had already made the journey from Beacon to the -coastal harbour, which, one day, in his dreams, he visualized as a -flourishing seaport, the rail base of a fresh route to the great -interior radiating about Beacon Glory. Miles away to the West -lay the port of Seward where the Government railroad, cutting in -to the heart of Alaska, began its hopelessly unprofitable career -towards Fairbanks. But no thought of such a failure attached to the -railroad in his mind. Oil and coal would preclude all possibility -of that. Furthermore the vast capital of his Corporation lay behind -him. And lack of capital was the thing which had so far made a -failure of the Alaskan peninsula which had at one time been known -as “Seward’s Folly.” - -Now he was leaving the coast behind again, and beside him, on the -spring seat of his buckboard, was the bronzed creature he had come -in search of. The man’s baggage was enduring the violent joltings -of the trail on the rack behind them as the two men talked of the -thing which had at last brought them together again. - -“It sort of seems like yesterday I was in Beacon,” Len Stern said -after awhile, gazing out over the broken hill country through -which they were driving. “Say, I mind the landmarks as if I’d never -quit. You know, for all it’s a tough proposition it’s my home -country in a way. I don’t mean I was born here. No! I’d hate to -think that. But--Gee! I was glad quitting Perth. Man, I’ve had heat -enough to make a feller need blankets in hell.” - -There was a smile in the dark eyes of the man who had journeyed -thousands of miles to answer the call which the other had sent out -on the sound waves. Perhaps his answer had been the more ready for -the fact of those memories stirring now. - -McLagan shook up his ponies. - -“Well, we could do with some of it around this territory in winter, -Len. But it’s a queer sort of ‘come-back’ for you. Maybe it’s -tough. I don’t know how you’re fixed. We haven’t had a deal of time -to talk that sort of stuff. But I fetched you along, and I want -to say right here, if it makes things better for you, you’re my -guest all the way from Perth to here and back again, if you want -to go. I want to tell you I’ve hit a trail that’s likely going to -set your eyes wide, and make you guess you’re dreaming. But you -won’t be dreaming. No. You’ll be wide awake looking on some of the -worst dirt lying back of human nature. I’m taking you right out now -to get a look at the _Imperial_, the ship your poor dead partner -sailed for home in, and never reached. She blew in on this coast -without a soul on board, and with her name changed. And with---- -But we’ll leave it that way till you’ve set your two eyes on to -her. And meanwhile you can hand me some stuff I’m yearning to hear -about. After we’re through with this trip there’ll be some more for -us to do. But that can wait. Then I’ll run you right into Beacon -where maybe you’ll be glad to hand the story of things to a lone -mother, and the sister who’s still mourning a dead brother.” - -The dark face of the man from Australia was turned on his -companion. McLagan had always been a dominant personality to him -in the old days. It was the same still. His eyes were questioning, -but he remained silent. Now that he knew this old friend was at the -other end of the thing that had called him back to Alaska he was -content to await developments. And McLagan went on in that direct -fashion which was so characteristic of him. - -“Before I get your yarn I fancy handing you mine. You see, the -obligation’s all on me. I’m marrying Jim’s sister this fall, and -maybe that’s partly where I come in on your play. But it isn’t -all. No. This thing had got me before I knew about that. Jim was -always a friend of mine, as you know, and when I learned his ship -had gone down, and he’d been drowned it hit me for myself as well -as for Claire and his mother. Then when this ship blew in, and I -located that it was the _Imperial_, and she hadn’t gone down in -mid-ocean, it took me guessing hard. Now the thing I want of you is -identification. It was you who chartered the vessel, I guess, and -you’ll know it again. And maybe you’ll know the skipper again--if -you were to see him. That’s what I want of you. I’m reckoning Jim -was aboard that ship with a big wad of dust. I’m reckoning the -skipper feller knew about the dust and yearned for it so that -murder looked good to him.” - -Len Stern’s eyes were on the sturdy backs of the ponies. They were -hard, relentless, as they contemplated the sweating brown coats -where the trail dust lay caked upon them. - -“He sailed with more that haf a million dollars of dust,” he -said quickly. “And the plan was he’d trade it where he could, -touching in at ports where best it could be done, without too many -questions. Julian Caspar was the shipmaster and owner, and he stood -on a swell commission. He surely knew of the stuff.” - -McLagan nodded, and drew his team down to a walk as they mounted a -sharp incline towards a wide, windswept plateau. - -“So, feeling that way, murder might well look good to him?” he said. - -“Yes. Feeling that way. And Jim not guessing.” - -“What like was this boy, Caspar?” - -“All sorts of a hard seaman.” - -Len sniffed at the fresh fall breeze which seemed so good to him, -as the buckboard cleared the incline on to the plateau. An immense -view opened out. It was a broad, treeless expanse with a wide front -of purple hills in the distance. - -“Say,” he went on after a moment, “I made the deal with him. I -collected him in Perth. And I’d say he was a boy to fix himself -right on to a man’s memory. He was quite a chunk of a man, broad, -and strong and medium in height. He was clean-shaven and rough. But -the thing standing out in my mind was his eyes----” - -“Ah!” - -Len looked round sharply. - -“Have you seen ’em?” he asked. - -“Maybe.” McLagan nodded. “Blue. Pale, queer blue, like the eyes of -some sort of dead fish.” - -“That’s the boy. Ther’ ain’t two pairs of eyes like his in the -world. You surely have seen ’em.” - -“Yep. I guess I must have seen ’em.” - -McLagan whipped up his ponies and set out across the plateau at a -steady gait. - -“Now, Len,” he went on, “we got twenty good miles to make before we -reach my shanty. And we can do a heap of talk between this and that -lay out. It don’t seem to me that we can do better than hand each -other our two yarns. Maybe you’ll be glad to hand me all you can of -the things that happened after you quit here with Jim, till you got -along now. Then I’ll hand you the whole story I know. But before -you begin I want to say one thing. It’s this. That half a million -of dust, or the bulk of it, is coming right back to you as the one -partner left. It’s lying now where no harm’s likely to come to it. -Jim’s gone. There’s no guess to that. So the stuff’s yours. And -that’s just between you and me. You understand? Claire don’t need -any. Nor Jim’s mother. Those folks are my care. Now you can start -right in with your talk.” - - * * * * * - -The two men climbed out of the lazaret. They had explored the wreck -from end to end. Now they passed out of the alleyway under the -break of the vessel’s poop, and came to the main hatch. McLagan -seated himself upon it and beckoned his companion to a seat beside -him. Curiously enough the seat he invited Len Stern to was the -exact spot where once Sasa Mannik had seated himself, and from -which he had ultimately fled in terror. - -Len sprawled himself upon the hatch which was lying over at the -sharp angle of the vessel’s perilous list. And his attitude left -him in full view of the litter of the deck which had resulted from -the half-breed’s raids upon the vessel’s gear. - -There was a tremendous change for the worse in the wreck. More -than two months of every condition of weather had made desperate -inroads. The vessel’s whole position had been detrimentally -shifted. The seas, playing on the broken hull at high tide, had -wrought havoc, and she looked to be only hanging together awaiting -the final belabourings which would ultimately complete the work -of her destruction. Every removable article of her gear that had -appealed to the predatory instincts of Sasa Mannik had been carried -away. And she looked now just what she was, a poor tattered thing -awaiting her dismal end. - -McLagan was scarcely concerned for the change in her. There was -no sentiment about him in the matter of this ugly relic of a bad -story. He would be glad enough to see the last of her--now. She had -lasted sufficiently long for him to complete the work he had set -his hand to. No. The oil man was concerned for other things. And -now, as he sat beside his companion on the hatch, his searching -gaze was turned skywards. - -At the moment no sun was visible. But then the sky was full of -loose cloud that came and passed under a high top wind. Just now a -heavy cloud had obscured the sun. It would pass. It was passing. -And then-- - -“It’s all like yesterday to me,” Len Stern said, as he gazed out -over the litter. “You see, Mac,” he went on, with a comprehensive -movement of the arm, “I lived with all this days coming up the -coast from Perth. This is Caspar’s ship all right, all right. It -was more than half crewed by Chinks. I wonder what’s become of ’em. -There were two officers, and a third that was a promoted seaman. -I doubt any of ’em having officers’ tickets. I’m surely wondering -about them. Say, in that cabin there was only a meal for one.” - -His dark face frowned in concentrated thought. After a moment he -went on again. - -“Those two empty chests in the lazaret are the chests our bags -of dust were stowed in. Jim and I, and Caspar stowed ’em there -ourselves. Ther’ wasn’t a soul else wise to them. No. That was our -play. We couldn’t afford to take chances with a crew of Chinks. I -wonder. But the motor launches are gone. Both of ’em. They cost me -a pile in Perth. They were sea-going craft for Jim and Caspar to -use in making their trade. You see, they could be run without any -of the crew. We meant leaving those darn toughs without a guess.” - -“I see.” McLagan’s eyes were full of thought as they watched the -slowly passing cloud. “You had two launches? I’d wondered. You see -the lifeboats had been left intact. I didn’t guess there was a -second.” - -“You located one?” - -Len’s question came alertly. - -“Yes. Where were they stowed?” - -“On the poop-deck. They were kept aft for convenience and safety.” - -“I see.” - -Len stirred and sat up. - -“Tell me, Mac. You reckon sure Caspar murdered Jim?” - -“Sure.” - -“What about the--crew?” - -McLagan shrugged. - -“We’re going to get that--later. I’d say anything might have -happened them. Maybe they were reckoned in his murder schedule. -Maybe they were glad to get away easy in the second launch. But -we’ll locate all that--later.” - -There was a curious grimness in McLagan’s emphasis on his final -word. And he glanced quickly up at the sadly drooping yards as they -creaked under a puff of stirring wind. The cloud bank had nearly -passed, and the prevailing gloom was steadily lightening. - -“I don’t just get how you located he’d murdered Jim,” Len went on -curiously. “Was it sort of circumstances? He knew of the gold. -You’ve seen Caspar and know the sort of tough he is. You’ve located -the gold. Maybe there’s more back of your mind than you’ve told.” - -McLagan shook his head. Then he flung out a hand pointing down -the deck. The sun had broken out, and the wreck was bathed in its -generous light. - -“No, boy,” he said. “Look right down the deck there. You’re asking -the way I know Jim was murdered by Caspar. It’s there for you to -see, and I was waiting on it. Am I crazy? Are we all crazy? Is that -real or imagination? What is it, anyway? There’s Jim, right there. -That queer fool shadow that’s trying its best to walk along towards -us and don’t ever get nearer. That’s Jim. I’ve seen him before, -and I wanted you to see him only I wasn’t sure the sun would shine -right. You see that poor darn thing only haunts this deck when the -sun shines. See, boy. You can see it? Eh? It’s a queer shadow. -It’s the outline of a big man as plain as the eye can see. And it -throws another shadow right on the deck. Am I wrong? No. I’m not -wrong. Could you mistake that big, tall body and gait, you, who’ve -worked alongside Jim Carver? No. Jim was done right up on that -spot. Maybe folks ’ud guess it’s a crazy notion. But it’s so. I’m -dead sure. And now you’ve seen it you’ll be dead sure, too. Say, -get a good look and we’ll get back up to my shanty and eat. And -tomorrow we’re beating it right up into the hills where--Come on, -boy.” - -But Len Stern was in no hurry to quit. His dark eyes were held -fascinated by the queer shadow. Could he see it? Of course he -could; it was there plain enough for anybody to see. There was no -question in his mind. The thing was what McLagan had said it was. -There could be no mistaking it. He was without any superstitious -qualm. There was wonder, amazement in his eyes, but none of the -panic which the vision had inspired in others. So he sat there -fascinated. That was all. And McLagan was forced to urge him again. - - * * * * * - -It was a little backwater hidden in a rift in the granite hills. -Its mouth opening on to the waters of the Lias River was a ten -foot split in the sheer face of bald rock. But inside it was quite -different. Within a few yards of the absurd opening it widened -abruptly, with sloping, funnel-like sides that were graciously -clad by a wealth of spruce growing up the hillsides, and staunchly -protected from the devastating winds above. It was a remote, stuffy -spot, humid and dank, and a tangle of undergrowth profusely crowded -the water’s edge. - -How far the widening stream ran back would have been difficult to -determine. Maybe it was one of the many little hill streams which -went to feed the great river at the time when the Spring warmth -transformed the winter snows. Again it might easily have been one -of those tiny recesses which have no other meaning than the impulse -of Nature in the remote years of the world’s birth. Almost on the -instant of entry upon the widening water the ultimate was obscured -by the jutting of a hill slope. The course of the water swung away -round a sharp bend, lost amidst the flourishing vegetation that -looked to make its navigation impossible. - -Cy Liskard was standing on the bank at the water’s edge. It was at -a place where the undergrowth had been laboriously cleared. The -ground was a-litter with fresh stumps where the cut had been made, -and young shoots of new growth were already seeking to repair the -human damage inflicted. - -His boat was lying in the water at his feet. It was moored fast to -a tree stump. It was laden with his outfit for a prolonged journey. -But the man was gazing about him with a queer look in his pale -blue eyes. It was a look of puzzlement, of incredulous and angry -surprise. It was the look of a man whose mind has become well-nigh -paralysed by the realisation of a disaster of appalling nature. - -He gazed out over the water searching stupidly in the depths of -the crowding vegetation. His gaze wandered to the outline of the -jutting hill which hid the beyond. It turned back to the opening on -to the river in the same hopeless fashion. Then it came again to -the narrow landing upon which he was standing. - -At last he bestirred himself. He moved back to higher ground and -sat down on a boulder. And his eyes were turned upon the soft soil -in which his own feet had made such deep impressions. He followed -his own footprints to where he had first stepped ashore from his -boat, and quickly realised that there were other footprints. Many -others. A perfect maze of them. - -He drew a deep breath. It was the first sign he had given beyond -the curious expression of his usually expressionless eyes. He was -staring at a deeply driven stake within a yard of the water’s -edge. A hemp rope was lashed about it. It was securely knotted in -a fashion he knew by heart. But the rope had been severed, and its -end lay close by on the ground. The thing that it had held had -gone. Vanished. And he knew now that others had found this remote -spot, others had ventured up that narrow rift in the rocks. Others -had located the hiding place which had served him for so long. -Who? Who were those others? And the mind behind his queer eyes was -searching the possibilities of the thing that had happened. - -He remained seated for minutes that were rapidly prolonged. It was -more than half an hour before he again bestirred himself. And in -that half hour he had searched every avenue of explanation that -presented itself to him. - -He came down to the water’s edge again. He deliberately cast off -the moorings of his canoe and took his place at the paddle. Then he -headed the sturdy vessel inland and vanished round the bend. - - * * * * * - -The day was well advanced when Cy Liskard reappeared on the highway -of the Lias, and turned the nose of his vessel towards the sea. -For an hour he paddled feverishly at a speed that flung even the -ebbing tide high against the bows of his little craft. - -His destination was definite in his mind. It was a picture that -now loomed full of foreboding since the thing he had discovered in -his long concealed hiding place. He came to the rockbound landing -he knew by heart. He swung his boat out. Then with all the power -of his body he struggled with the tide race. Slowly, foot by foot, -he gained way. The sturdy vessel nosed into the stream making -tremendous leeway. But finally his efforts were rewarded. He drove -up to the landing and leapt ashore. - - * * * * * - -The man had vanished within the narrow entrance to the cavern that -lay back in the granite wall of the cliffs. His boat was moored -fore and aft to the familiar boulders. The tide race held the -moorings taut and wearing upon the harsh surface of the stones. But -the little vessel was secure. Soon the last of the ebb would have -spent itself, and the period of dead water would relieve the strain. - -It was a silent world which the presence of the boat made no -impression upon. The air was alive with circling sea-fowl -whose mournful note only served to increase the sense of utter -loneliness. Grey and bleak the wide expanse of the river mouth -looked to be the very gate of Desolation. - -An hour had passed since Cy Liskard’s landing. And in that time -the sky had changed its aspect from the brilliant light of early -fall to the grey overcast which the coming flood was bringing up -with it. A ruffle of wind stirred. It came chill and keen off the -far ocean, and a few driven raindrops splashed on the bosom of the -waters. It was a passing phase. It was that queer atmospheric -effort which so much suggests that in every changing of her mood -Nature knows the pangs of labour. - -Of a sudden the man re-appeared. He came hastily. He came almost as -though he were reeling under a physical shock. His soulless eyes -were strangely alight. They were frigidly ablaze with a light that -transformed them into a furious expression of the mind behind them. -His weather-stained face was almost ghastly in its sickly hue. The -lines about his mouth were grimly drawn. He was breathing hard, -and the great hands that swung at his sides were clenched with the -force of a man about to strike. - -At the cavern entrance he paused with an abruptness that was almost -a lurch. He turned and gazed into the shadowed vault behind him. -Then, of a sudden, he raised this clenched fists above his head -in a terrible gesture of impotent threat. Then they came slowly, -slowly to his sides again. And in a moment he started towards his -boat. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - Julian Caspar at Bay - - -Cy Liskard was squatting on his rolled blankets. The interior -of his log shanty was disordered. For all the man’s physical -roughness, for all the conditions of the life he lived, his hut on -the hills above the Lias River had always been something scrupulous -in its neatness. Now its interior was completely dishevelled. It -was an atmosphere associated with final departure, with absolute -quittance. - -But it was something more. It was as if the man had searched it -completely with a view to the destruction of everything that could -leave a clue to the identity of its occupant. There was a pile of -stuff lying upon the hard-beaten earth floor awaiting destruction, -and outside the door a large fire was doing its share in the work -of concealment. Then, too, down on the creek below there was a -great smouldering heap which represented the complete destruction -of the elaborate sluice box and the general gear of the gold -worker’s craft that could not easily be otherwise removed. - -The man had done his work systematically and without apparent -haste. And now he sat on his blankets gazing out through the open -doorway on the devouring flames of his fire. There was the pile on -the floor yet to be consumed. There was the removal of his blankets -and kit. Then there was the shanty itself to be disposed of. After -that----? - -The man’s dead eyes were more than usually expressionless for -all the teeming thought of his brain. He was lost in one of those -fierce trains of thought which leave the body completely relaxed, -inert. - -He had returned from the river mouth at a speed that rarely drove -him. Apprehension had pursued him every mile of the way. But it was -not physical fear. No. It was something deeper, more abiding than -that. He was beset with concern for an invisible, intangible threat -that seemed to be enveloping him. A threat that was clear enough in -its work of despoliation without a sign of how or whence it came. -Fury was driving him hard. Fury, and that other thing that left him -groping for the thing he must do. - -Now as he sat waiting for the fire outside to do its work, he was -contemplating the courses that were open to him. And his mind and -brutish nature, being what they were, looked first and foremost for -some method of retaliation upon an unseen, unknown, but not wholly -unguessed agency that was operating for his hurt. - -No. It was not unguessed. Two agencies sprang to his mind. There -was the memory of those “fool” figures in their hooded white -cloaks who had surrounded him while a rawhide rope dangled before -his eyes. For all he derided their methods they were not easily -forgotten. Then there was that other. The man he had sought to -kill, and who, through his friends, had contrived to outwit him. -A queer desperation was driving. He knew he must act quickly, at -once. But even the feeling of desperation and the uncertainty of -the thing about him could not rob him of his lust for vengeance. -His lust to kill. - -His plans had been urgently completed. He knew he must quit his -mountain retreat. He must defy everything and reach Beacon with -all speed. His credit was lying at Victor Burns’ bank. That was -his, which he believed no power could rob him of. He must collect -it at once. It was all that had been left to him. And with that in -his possession he would be free to devote himself to the vengeance -which looked a thousand times more desirable to him now. - -He rose from his seat and replenished the fire outside with the -collected heap in the shack. It was the last. He had destroyed the -last of his makeshift furnishings, and only his camp outfit and his -treasured weapons were left to encumber his journey. And now he sat -again, having closed the door to defend himself against the fierce -heat and the smoke of his fire. - -Yes. Beacon must be his first objective. It would be easy enough. -At the bank he was just an ordinary customer. There was, there -could be no doubt about his credit there. He was wholly unknown -except as a gold man from the hills. There was nothing against him -except for the sentence of that absurd bunch who called themselves -the Aurora Clan. They were powerless to interfere---- He stirred -uneasily. - -No. He would give them no chance. He would give no one any chance. -He would descend upon the bank at the busiest time of the day, and -be gone with his cash before a soul was wise to his presence in the -city. Then---- - -He dismissed Beacon from his mind and his thought was caught and -held where a wrecked ship that was lying on the rocks at the mouth -of the Alsek River. And curiously enough the mental vision of it -robbed him of something of the even train of his urgent thought. A -queer feeling took hold of him in the pit of the stomach. It came -of a sudden, and he stirred uneasily, and strove to moisten his -lips with a tongue that had somehow become almost dry. - -The stare of his dead eyes displayed nothing of his emotion. They -looked and looked squarely at the lateral logs of the wall in front -of him. Even the flutter of the torn cotton which covered the -window directly above where he was gazing drew not a vestige of -his attention. And it was not until the loose cotton ripped with a -screaming tear that his gaze came back to the things about him. He -looked up with a start to find himself gazing into the ominous ring -of the muzzle of a heavy gun. It was thrust through the aperture of -the windows where the cotton had been torn away. - -“Sit right there, Julian Caspar. Don’t move a little bit. Not a -finger, boy, or you’re as dead as Jim Carver you murdered for his -gold.” - -It was spoken quietly, almost gently, in a voice whose tones -startled the man on his blankets and left him utterly unmoving. His -queer eyes were fixed on the dark face peering in at him through -the aperture of the window from behind the threatening gun. - -But the whole position underwent a change on the instant. The door -was flung open and Ivor McLagan thrust his way in. - -“Up with those hands, Caspar!” he cried roughly. And his own -levelled gun enforced the sharp order. “Right up--this time. That’s -better. You didn’t do it right at the Speedway. You’re learning -manners. No. Keep ’em up. Len Stern’s here and is yearning to sift -his hands through your pockets. Get busy, Len. I’ll watch his -monkey tricks.” - -The man on the blankets gave no sign, and his eyes helped the -illusion of submission. His hands were thrust above his head while -he watched the man he hated most in the world. But Ivor bulked -large and fiercely threatening behind the deadly automatic he was -gripping. And the other had reason enough to know there was no -play-game where McLagan was concerned. - -In less than a minute the work was completed. Len Stern, relieved -of his hold-up through the window, came to his task on the run. The -man was deprived of his gun and a pocket full of cartridge clips. -The rifle leaning against the wall was unloaded and put out of -harm’s way. And furthermore, a long, razor-like sheath knife was -transferred to the keeping of the man from Australia. - -“That all, Len?” McLagan spoke in the harsh tone of a man without -mercy. “We’re taking no chances with the feller who’s done up a -ship’s company. Is he harmless?” - -“As a babe.” - -Len Stern left the man and moved clear. Then he waited, leaning -with his elbow propped on the window framing while McLagan lowered -his threatening weapon. - -The engineer’s quick eyes took in the details of the dishevelled -interior. - -“Making a quick getaway, Caspar, eh?” he snapped sharply. “Making -a break for the open where the thing lying back of you’s not going -to come again.” He shook his head. “You can’t escape that, boy, -not as long as you live. And when you’re dead, I guess you’ll get -its consequences. Say, a feller can’t commit cold-blooded murder -without it leaving a hell of a stain, if it’s only on the brutal -mind that designed it. Can you guess why we’re here? Can you guess -why Len Stern’s come all along from Perth in Australia? Sure you -can. But I tell you, in case you don’t guess right. Len Stern’s got -along to make sure you swing by your darn neck for murdering his -partner, and goodness knows how many more. You can drop your hands.” - -The man lowered his arms and it was noticeable that his fists -were tightly clenched. His eyes displayed nothing but cold -contemplation as they looked back into McLagan’s face. Those -looking on, observing his every movement with the closest scrutiny, -were not without a feeling of appreciation for the sheer nerve he -was displaying. But they were neither of them deceived. A storm -lay behind those cold eyes. It was raging, consuming. And it was -expressed in the two fiercely clenched fists. - -The man shook his head. - -“You’re wrong,” he said calmly, with a shrug. “You’re dead wrong. -I’m not worried a thing with any memory of murder. I don’t have to -be. I don’t know this feller you call Len Stern. And as for his -partner I can’t guess the thing you’re talking. I’m a gold man -scratching over the dirt of this creek. And my name’s Liskard--Cy -Liskard. You’ve a hold-up on me for, I suppose, the stuff you -reckon to get out of me. You’ll get not an ounce. I’m quitting for -the reason the show don’t pay. Well?” - -It was consummately done. It was too well done. McLagan laughed -coldly. - -“We’ll cut all that right out,” he said. He dropped back to the -door framing and leant his big body against it, but his gun was -in his hand ready for instant use. “This isn’t any old game of -bluff. It’s just cold business that’s going through as we fixed -it. You can keep that junk for the law courts where you’ll stand -up to answer for your play. For the moment the things concerning -us are toting you right in to Beacon, and handing you over to Alan -Goodchurch. Then you’ll be passed on to Fairbanks. I’m not wise -if they use an electric chair there or hang a boy like you right -out of hand. It don’t signify, anyway. They don’t treat murder -easy in Fairbanks, which makes me feel good passing you along in -that direction. Your ponies are fixed for your journey. You’ve -set things that way, and I’m obliged. We’ll be able to travel the -quicker. You can get up off those blankets. You’re going to start -right away. I can’t give you even blanket room on the journey. You -see, we’re going to make Beacon quick.” - -But the man who had been called Julian Caspar made no attempt -to obey. He stirred where he sat, but that was all. McLagan was -watching. He was watching with every faculty alert. He was looking -to read behind that baffling mask which was his victim’s greatest -asset. - -It was that slight shift of position that betrayed. It was an -unconscious movement impelled by some inner qualm, a qualm similar -to that which had assailed him when he had thought of the wreck at -the mouth of the Alsek River. And a feeling of satisfaction warmed -McLagan as he waited for the reply he saw coming. - -The man spoke harshly, but without any sign of the fury that was -driving him. He had himself under a control that rarely enough gave -way, and was strongest in emergency. - -“You’re talking a whole lot, McLagan,” he said, “but you’re not -talking the way of a feller who’s dead sure of the thing he’s -putting on the other feller.” He shook his head. “Try again. Maybe -that way you’ll make me feel like the boy you’re reckoning to make -me believe I am. A hold-up’s generally got more behind it than -seems. You see you’re not a sheriff, or a law officer. You’re just -an oil man. I haven’t seen a sign of any warrant for my arrest. Do -you get me?” - -McLagan smiled at the shrewd retort. He was more than prepared -for it. He signed to Len Stern, while his gun was raised ever so -slightly covering his man. - -“That’s all right, Caspar,” he said. “I’m not worrying for details. -You can think the thing you please. We won’t waste time in -discussion. Just fix those bracelets right on his wrists, Len, and -then go fix his ponies ready for the start. No, Caspar. Don’t move. -Not a move. As sure as God I’ll fix you right here. And I’ll fix -you better than the mess you made of things down at my home place. -I told you then you’ll hang, and that’s sure why I’m here now. -That’s it, Len,” he went on, as the irons were clipped on the man’s -wrists. “Now go and see to his plugs while I look to him.” - -The two men remained watching each other in silence after Len Stern -had passed out of the shack. It seemed as if a tremendous silent -conflict of will was raging. The hard face of Julian Caspar was -apparently unyielding under the hate that no power of his seemed -able to abate. The eyes of the other were harshly compelling, and -kept the queer dead eyes of his victim unblinkingly observing him. -McLagan’s decision was clear in his mind. It was impossible to -judge of the thing passing in the mind of the other as he sat with -his shackled hands resting on his drawn-up knees. - -At last the prisoner shook his head. - -“You’re needing something, McLagan,” he said, his face slightly -relaxing. “Maybe I can guess the thing it is. Well, if you’re ready -to hand out the price I’ll sell what you need.” - -McLagan drew a deep breath. Quite suddenly a curious feeling of -admiration stirred within him. The man’s words and manner inspired -him with a sense of his own inferiority. His shrewdness and nerve -amazed him. He felt he had been read like an open book. He failed -utterly to realise that this man was fighting for something he -treasured above all else--his life. And knew full well that it was -forfeit unless his wit should adequately serve him. - -He nodded. - -“I surely do,” he said quietly. “And when a murderer is captured, -and the irons are fixed right, there’s only one price he can ask. -That’s freedom.” - -“That’s so. Well?” - -The relaxing was gone from the man’s face. McLagan read the anxiety -lying behind that final interrogation. - -“I let you go once before, Caspar,” he went on coldly. “I told you -then you’d hang, you were born to hang. That’s why I let you go. -I’m still sure you’ll hang. That’s why I’m ready to let you loose -on this hill country again. But if you want me to do that, why, -you’ve got to hand me the story of your ship the _Imperial_ from A -to Z. There’s no lies’ll serve you. Len Stern and I know enough to -check you up all the time. You can only get away on the truth. In -return we’ll release you now, right here. There’s the hill country -back of here, and the Canadian border beyond. It’s a dog’s chance. -You’re tough, and maybe you can get through. I don’t know and don’t -care. It’s a chance of a respite before that hanging which is -coming your way.” - -McLagan ceased speaking and the sound of Len Stern passing outside -came in the silence that followed. Then Caspar cleared a throat -that was dry with fierce anxiety. And suspicion lurked behind his -expressionless eyes. - -“Why d’you need that story? What’s the dirty game behind it? When -a feller like you gets his hands on a man he reckons to have done -murder, why, for a story, is he ready to hand him a getaway?” He -shook his head. “The price is right, McLagan. But ther’s a snag -somewhere. It looks like your case is bad. It looks like you’re -maybe a bad payer. It looks like ther’s things to you you ain’t -yearning to have around in the light of open court.” - -Again he shook his head. - -But the challenge left McLagan quite unruffled. His smile was -derisive as his answer came on the instant. - -“That’s all right, Caspar,” he said. “It can look just as it -pleases you to make it look. I don’t care a cent. The only thing -is Len’s coming right back. I can hear him. And so can you. The -ponies, I guess, are fixed. Well, we’re starting for Beacon right -away, or we aren’t. You can please your darn self. The price will -be paid or not, as you choose. But you’ve only five seconds to -choose in.” - -Caspar stirred. - -“You swear to get out an’ leave me free?” - -“On those terms, yes.” - -“Then you can have the yarn.” - -“The simple facts?” - -“Yes--curse you!” - -The malevolent fury in the man’s final curse was the epitome of all -his pent feeling. McLagan was his one object of insane hate. And he -was driven to bend before his will. He knew the desperate nature of -the thing he was doing. He knew the risk of it all. The evidence he -was about to put into his hated enemy’s hand. But he knew, being -the man he was, and with shackles on his wrists, that it was his -only chance. So he yielded. But his yielding had only come with -his recognition that the shackles holding him were the official -shackles of the United States Government, and must clearly have -been put into the hands of these men for their present purpose. - - * * * * * - -Julian Caspar was still sitting on his piled blankets. McLagan was -still leaning against the doorway with his gun in evidence. Len -Stern was propped, as before, where the cotton hung loose from -the window framing. The monotonous tones of the prisoner’s voice -broke up the stillness of the atmosphere of the place. He had been -talking for some time. He was not looking at his captors. His dead -eyes were on the log wall in front of him. And his gaze suggested -a mind reviewing in sequence a series of pictures which gave him -not a moment of mental unease. He was transferring his stock at a -price. And only was it the payment of the price for which he was -concerned. - -“It was too easy,” he was saying, with a sound that was perhaps a -mirthless imitation of a laugh. “It’s queer ther’s such darn fools -running around loose. That boy, Carver, and Stern, here, surely -needed wet-nurses before they set out to handle a bunch of dust the -way they thought. Why should I stand around on a lousy commission -with the stuff lying safe under my hatches, and with only a bum -crew of Chinks, an’ a few poor whites to deal with.” He shook his -head. “Not on your life. I’d have stood for equal share. I’d have -let that boy live for some other guy to do up later. But he guessed -to hand me commission. Me, who was the only thing that could help -him handle his stuff right. No. My mind was fixed the moment Stern -an’ me signed our charter. There was haf a million of stuff to -trade, and I guessed I knew who would do the trading.” - -He paused and shifted his position. His audience remained unmoving -but watchful. - -“I got him in the doldrums south of the line,” he went on, after -a moment. “It didn’t need argument how best I could fix him. He -was soft in his foolishness. It was in the night. There wasn’t -any darn moon, and a thin cloud hid up the stars. There wasn’t a -breath of wind, an’ it was as hot as hell. I guessed a walk along -the deck would be better than blankets on a night like that, and -he guessed that way, too. Then I’d got another thought back of my -head. You see, I knew the monkey tricks of the sailorman, whether -Chink or white. In the doldrums, without a breeze, you can never -keep a watch on deck out of their blankets at night. The midnight -watch came on deck an’ the others went to quarters. Then us two -folks started pacing the main deck for cool. You see, the moment -the watch had changed they’d oozed off for’ard and rolled into -their blankets, and we were left to the main deck where even the -man at the wheel couldn’t guess the thing happening. There was -only the officer of the watch. I waited for him. He went below to -get a drink, I guess. That was my time. That boy and me were away -up near the winch. I jerked that long knife of mine in through the -neck of his thick peacoat. It went deep and far, and he dropped -in my arms without a sound. It’s the Indian trick of skewering a -man’s heart, and comes easy with practice. I heaved him to the rail -and dropped him over, and the thing was done without a mess, and -in a few seconds. Then I waited for the officer. I treated him as -he came out from the cabin, and got rid of him, too. It was not -because he knew a thing. But I looked to make an atmosphere for -those who were to learn things later. Then I dealt with the boy at -the wheel, and left the ship with a loose helm. After that I went -below and waited. The thing I guessed happened. The ship yawed and -was set flat aback. And in awhile I was shouted for by one of the -watch. I cleared from my bunk and raised hell till he’d told me -the thing that had happened. It was a play game to me. It was an -elegant show. I mustered the watches, and looked for the absentees. -I located the first officer was missing. Then I got wise that -Carver, too, was nowhere around. Then I raised every sort of hell a -feller born to the sea knows about. And in the end had the second -officer log a scrap. A ‘hold-up’ by one of the Chink crew--identity -unguessed. And it worked smooth and easy, as I knew it would when -dealing with a bunch of sailor toughs without sense between ’em the -size of a buck louse. Maybe it was--too easy.” - -There was a moment of reflective silence before the man spoke -again. McLagan made no attempt to urge him. A queer nauseation -affected him deeply as he watched the man, who, now that he had -embarked upon his story, seemed rather to enjoy dwelling on the -hideous incidents of it. Len Stern was less calm. All the youth -in him was aflame. The cold satisfaction of Caspar in telling of -the slaughter of his partner drove him almost beyond his powers of -restraint. - -“The game was only at its start,” Caspar went on at last. “I’d -got it clear cut in my mind. We were coming up through the big -islands, and at first I thought of running for the China coast. -But it didn’t take long to show me it was liable to be a bad move -with twelve Chinks aboard out of a crew of eighteen. I changed plan -right away. I’d run for Alaska where gold is found. I’d deal with -the crew one way or another, and abandon ship, and run the gold -inland by motor launch where its presence wouldn’t set a flutter -stirring. From the start luck ran with me, but it was only later I -was to learn how well it was running.” - -“My next move was obvious to a feller looking to lose himself -and his bunch,” he continued, with his queer eyes lighting -unwholesomely. “I was my own wireless man. It was mostly a hobby -with me, and I’d set it up myself. I got busy and sent out a -distress signal. I sent it out telling the darn fools who picked -it up I was foundering a thousand miles from where I happened to -be sailing. I kept sending it to make sure, and I guess it didn’t -let me down. As a result my craft was fathoms deep in the South -Pacific. That left me free with leisure to fix the crew when, and -the way, I wanted ’em.” - -He drew a deep breath and once he raised his eyes derisively to -the frowning dark face of Len Stern. Then he went on at once. - -“I wanted that crew for awhile. We’d a mighty big piece of sailing -to do before I put the rest of my plan into operation. It’s queer, -now I think of it, how my luck stood by. We steered E.N.E. after -we’d cleared the islands. And it came on to blow hard. But it was -a fair breeze, dead on our quarter, and I carried on every stitch -of canvas we could spread. There were times when those darn Chinks -groused. They came aft an’ once looked ugly. But I didn’t let go. -No. I needed ’em yet. The only feller I didn’t need was the second -officer. Well, I took council with the Chink steward I carried. He -was a boy who knew me good, and who’d worked for me since ever I’d -held a master’s ticket. He was handy. I guess he was quicker with a -knife than any yeller mongrel I’ve ever seen. Well, it was blowing -hard and a dead black night, and when morning came and the wind -eased there was a dead officer overboard and only the boy who acted -as third and me to run the ship. And so we came along up towards -the fifties, where we ran into elegant fair weather like spring, -for all it was dead winter. I guess the Pacific’s well named. - -“Then the thing that made me feel real good--at first--happened. -It happened at change of watch midday. The bunch were waiting -amidships to take over, standing around smoking and chewing like -the lousy crowd they were. The sun was beating down fine on the -litter of lumber stacked on the deck. I was on the poop deck -watching those boys and guessing about things. And in the midst of -it I saw them boys take a hunch to themselves peeking down the -deck. I looked too. An’ then--Say, you’ve seen it, McLagan. Yes. -It was there. Right at the spot where I jerked my knife under his -collarbone. It was there just as crazy a thing as I ever see. But -it was there, and stayed there, just as long as the sun shone. I -wanted to laff. Then I didn’t. Then I thought hard an’ waited, and -pretended I hadn’t seen. - -“It was two days later the play began,” he went on, his manner -becoming harsher. “They came aft. The whole darn bunch. An’ I kind -of knew the thing coming. I was ready for ’em. I saw my whole play -in a jump. That queer thing had been there each day, an’ all the -time the sun shone. Oh, it made me sick, their fool slobber. But I -listened. You see, we were near to the coast, and the weather was -elegant for my plans. So I listened. The darn ship was haunted. -That was their stuff. They were plumb scared, the whole bunch, -except three cold-blooded Chinks who’d the nerve of the whole -flock. I listened and I agreed. I told ’em I’d seen it too, and was -just as badly scared as they were. But I wasn’t a darn fool and -wasn’t yearning for an open boat for the sake of a crazy shadow. -Then I pretended savage and told ’em to get right back to their -sennit an’ holy-stone, or I’d dose their darn guts with lead. It -acted the way I wanted. They tried to rush me. I had Jim Shan, the -steward, with me. A sign from him, and the other three Chinks lent -a hand. They turned on the bunch. And I unloosed. There was a tough -scrap, but we beat ’em back. When they were rightly cowed I handed -’em the thing I’d do. They could have one of the launches. It was -a hundred miles to Seattle. They could have the vittles and get. -They went. And the darn third officer went with ’em. And next day -it blew a howling winter gale. I guess they’d as much chance as -cordite in hell. I was left with four Chinks which included Jim -Shan. - -“We had a mighty tough time for two days. But we were quit of that -shadow. There were four of us to handle wheel and sail, and one was -a cook. But the boys had shortened down before they went and we -had to chance the rest. Anyway we got through. And after that the -weather set dead fair and we crawled up the coast. But the shadow -came again and somehow it worried me. Then I played my last trump. -I told Jim Shan the story of the gold, and promised him equal -shares with his friends if we got it through to the coast. Say, -those boys. Ever see a Chink with the yearning for gold looking out -of his queer, snake eyes? It’s not good to look at. - -“Do you need more?” Julian Caspar shook his head as his queer -eyes searched the implacable face of McLagan. “But of course you -do. You’re the sort to want every ounce of your pound. Well, you -can have it. I’m looking for that dog’s chance for more than one -reason.” - -He passed his manacled hands up to his shock of hair, and tried to -run them back over it. Then they dropped again to his lap. - -“The rest was easy--in a way. I set right in to work to change the -vessel’s name, and it took me guessing hard. I had to think like -hell not to leave a clue. Those boys helped me, and Jim Shan was -the neatest hand with paint and a brush I ever located. He did it -all right. And the vessel was sort of reborn the _Limpet_, an’ the -name amused me. But it was the waiting around and watching those -Chinks. Say, ever waited around with a bunch more used to knives -than Bibles? Gee! Then there was that cursed shadow. Say, I’ve -got nerve. But there’s things to break the best nerve if you only -locate ’em. It was that shadow. There wasn’t a day I didn’t sit at -that cabin table, with the alleyway facing me, that I couldn’t see -that shadow traipsing--traipsing--Psha! I could have shut the door. -I could have sat elsewhere. But someway I hadn’t the grit to do it. -No, I had to keep an eye on that shadow all the time--and on those -Chinks.” - -“Well, it don’t signify now. I’d got it all fixed ready. We were -making our getaway that night. Then I was eating my food. I’d been -sitting watching the crazy antics of the shadow in the sun, and -sudden I got sick in the pit of the stomach. I quit. I quit right -there and hailed the Chinks. Well, those boys lasted long enough to -crowd on every stitch of canvas. They lasted long enough to launch -the motor with the gold and vittles stowed. They lasted long enough -to clear the vessel’s side and head for the coast. Then they died -quick. All four got lead poisoning, and I dropped ’em over the -side. It was them or me, and I knew it. I wasn’t yearning. So I -pumped ’em plumb up to the plimsol full of lead, and set ’em where -their knives couldn’t reach me. Then----” - -“You ran for the mouth of the Lias,” McLagan broke in. “You ran in -and cached your stuff in a cave you didn’t reckon folks ’ud locate. -And stowed your launch where you didn’t see anything but sea-fowl -nosing.” - -“You swine!” - -McLagan nodded. - -“That’s all right,” he said, straightening himself up. “Don’t -worry for compliments. That’s not in the story. Yes. I’ve got -your gold. There’ll be embargo on your credit at Victor Burns’ -Bank. And the launch is away up on the Alsek River where its use -in my oil workings’ll keep it in shape. But you’ve got your dog’s -chance. I promised that, and you’re going to get it. It’s a hell -of a poor-bred dog’s chance. Loose those irons, Len. I’ll hold him -covered so there’s no monkeying. He reckons he’d like to translate -his opinion of me into something more active. But he won’t. Loose -him----” - -“But--Say, you’re not going----?” - -Len Stern, with his whole mind and body seething with the horror of -the thing he had listened to, stared at the engineer incredulously. - -“Loose him? What----?” - -McLagan nodded. - -“Yes. Loose him, boy. I promised him that. I promised him a run for -it. It was the price of his yarn. Leave it that way, boy. Loose -him, and let’s get out into God’s pure air. This place is foul with -the stench of his rotten soul.” - - * * * * * - -They were out in the open where the air was pure, and the full -daylight was pleasant to contemplate after the contaminated -atmosphere of Julian Caspar’s quarters. The latter was somewhere -behind them, free to undertake anything his evil mind prompted. But -McLagan felt no concern as they moved down the slope to the mouth -of the Creek debouching on the broad waters of the Lias River. It -was left to the more hot-headed Len Stern to concern himself. - -“I don’t get it, McLagan,” he said urgently. “You’ve let that -rotten murderer free for the sake of his darn story. You’ve let -him free after murdering poor Jim. Claire’s brother! The brother of -the gal you’re to marry this fall! It’s wrong. It’s crazy. He----” - -He broke off to gaze back up the hill at the shack that was still -in full view. - -“I can’t stand for it, Mac!” he went on hotly, a moment later. “We -came here that that boy should swing for the thing he’s done. You -said that. You----” - -“He will swing, Len. He’ll swing within twenty-four hours.” - -McLagan’s tone was cold. His manner was inflexible. And somehow the -other remained silent. - -They rounded a broad bluff of woodland that mounted the hillside, -and all view of Caspar’s hut was obscured. Now the great waters of -the Lias came into view. Its wide valley opened out in a splendid -picture of forest, and hill, and the smiling sheen of the river’s -waters. - -“You beat me, Mac,” Len went on, in a tone of puzzlement. All his -protest had died out of his manner. “How? He’ll hang in twenty-four -hours? Will you tell me?” - -McLagan’s pace increased. He was gazing away down at the great -river. And suddenly a hot light filled his eyes, and left them -frowning. - -“Len, boy, cut it all out!” he cried irritably. “What sort of -white-livered bunch of craziness do you take me for? What have I -been working for these weeks, an’ months, but to hand that boy his -med’cine? Say, if you’d been here months back and seen that poor -mother woman’s grief, that poor girl’s grief, you’d have known -some of the thing I feel. Those two gentle souls are mine. One of -’em’s going to be my wife, to live with me through the years of our -lives. That boy’s going to die the only right way for a feller of -his sort. He’s going to hang--just as sure as God.” - -He laughed mirthlessly. - -“I can’t bring that poor feller Jim back alive,” he went on. “But I -can see that feller hangs. Why, I owe it him anyway for myself. If -he lived he’d get me one way or another. No. He’s going to swing, -as I say.” - -The landing on the river was in full view when Len put his sharp -question. Sasa Mannik was down there with his canoe waiting -watchfully his boss’s return. - -McLagan turned. His face was unsmiling. - -“That’s not for you--yet. Someday you may learn things. Meanwhile -get a holt on this. You’ve my word of honour as a man the thing’s -as I say.” - -Stern nodded. - -“That surely goes, Mac,” he said. “But tell me. You see, you’ve -got me badly guessing. Why for did you send me out of that shack -to--fix his ponies? We’re on the river. We’re travelling by water.” - -McLagan laughed. - -“That’s easy, boy. The talk of ponies was bluff. I didn’t have a -notion of running that feller into Beacon. Not a notion from the -start. You see, I didn’t let you know the thing in my mind because -of the questions I didn’t feel like answering. No. I left you -thinking he was passing right into Beacon. I sent you out to fix -his ponies because I had to make a talk. And I didn’t want a chance -of you getting hot with the things I said and queering the game. _I -had to get that boy’s yarn._ You see, the thing I reckoned to fix -was justice, not revenge. Well, it would have been justice handing -him over to Goodchurch. But I didn’t fancy that. The law’s queer -and slow. It would have been a worry to Jim’s mother, to Claire. -To all of us. It would have stirred up memories for those women -folk, and would have hurt ’em. So I looked for better, quicker, -surer means. But I’ve a queer sort of conscience that wouldn’t be -satisfied with circumstantial evidence. I had to hear of the thing -he’d done out of his own mouth. So I offered him a run for freedom -to hand me his yarn. It was wiser than it looked. You see, I knew -the man. He knew the thing he’d done. And he guessed what it would -mean going on to Fairbanks. Given a run, he’s confident of making -his getaway. His life’s more precious to him than the chance he -takes handing out his story. I felt that--knowing him. My promise -to him was a run for freedom, and he guessed it was good enough. -You see, he didn’t know the thing I know. Now the thing’s sheer -justice. He’s condemned himself. And the thought of his hanging -leaves me without a qualm or--scruple. Let’s leave it that way, -boy. I’ve given my word to you. Now we’re going to make my home -place to hand over your gold to you, and to close up my shanty. -Then for Beacon.” - -“Shall I learn for sure--when it’s done?” - -McLagan smiled gently as they paced down the hill. He understood -the other’s feelings. He realised how hard, without further -explanation, it must be for this man, who had been absent so long -from the country, to accept his assurance. So he laid a reassuring -hand upon his arm. - -“Yes, Len. And,” he added, “believe me, his hanging’s as inevitable -as that the sun’ll rise to-morrow.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - The Quitting - - -“Are you satisfied, Len? Does it make you feel good?” - -McLagan was observing the dark, mobile features of the younger -man. They were alight with the look he knew so well. It was the -expression he had seen time and again in those men of Beacon whose -whole horizon was bounded by gold and all it meant in their lives. -It was a similar expression to that which had played in Len Stern’s -features at that time when his strong fingers had raked through the -heaping gold dust spread out before him at the far-off camp on the -Australian coast. - -McLagan was more than interested. For the man was gazing upon the -goodly pile of smallish canvas bags lying on the earthen floor -against the log wall of the hut overlooking the mouth of the Alsek -River. At that moment humanity was uppermost in the engineer. A -goodly satisfaction was stirring in his heart. And his manner had -lost much of that roughness which was so characteristic of him. - -Len nodded, his eyes remaining fascinated by the thing they were -gazing upon. - -“That don’t begin to say the thing I feel,” he said awkwardly. -He raised a strong, sunburnt hand and passed it back over his -forehead. Then he laughed. It was a short, jerky laugh that was an -expression of some feeling he had no words for. “Do you know how a -shipwrecked feller ’ud feel when his feet find solid earth again?” -He shook his head. “That’s how those darn bags of dust make me -feel. That, an’ something else. Yes, I feel I want to say all sorts -of stuff how I think of you. But I can’t.” - -McLagan brushed aside the man’s desire to express his gratitude. - -“But you weren’t--shipwrecked?” he said quickly. - -The other’s reply came with a laugh. - -“It cost me all but my last thousand dollars to answer that message -you sent out, and--get around.” - -“But you were on a big strike? You and poor Jim?” - -“Sure. The biggest in the world--on a fever-racked coast that I -don’t guess I’ll ever get near to again. The fever got me. I only -got away by the scruff of my neck. And the stuff I took out did -little more than satisfy the dope merchants of Perth who did their -best for me. I guess I was shipwrecked both ways. Physical and -financial. Man, you’ve done an almighty glad thing.” - -McLagan sat himself on the cabin trunk just behind him, and Len -Stern flung himself into the chair which usually stood against the -table where McLagan was accustomed to work. The small wood stove, -radiating a pleasant warmth in the chill of the late summer air, -stood between them. And Len Stern mechanically held out the palms -of his hands to it. - -There was physical weariness in him. It was the same with the -hard-driving engineer. The voiceless waste of desolate muskeg with -its surface of shaking tundra lay far behind them now. So with -the wearisome portage to the Alsek River meandering through its -coal-laden, oil-soaked territory of hills. The gateway to the -ocean had been reached and passed only that morning. And now they -had gained the shelter of McLagan’s home overlooking the bay, ready -for the last stage of that effort which had been crowded into days -that should have been weeks. - -It had all been a whirlwind rush from the moment of Stern’s landing -until this return to McLagan’s home. Stern was the least weary of -the two. But then he and Sasa Mannik had had the blessed break of -a day’s complete rest up at McLagan’s oil camp, while the engineer -endured an added gruelling in the work that was his. He had spent -the time with Peter Loby in completing preparations for the time -when the men of finance behind him should arrive to set the seal of -their approval upon his achievements. It had meant a swift change -of effort for him from that which had been an expression of a man’s -deepest emotions to the sheerly mental aspect of those affairs -which represented the material side of his life. - -They had eaten the midday meal with which Sasa Mannik’s indifferent -skill had provided them. And the whole place was a-litter with -books, charts, papers, and clothing, hopelessly mixed up with the -utensils of the meal of which they had just partaken. They were in -the midst of the preparations for McLagan’s final quittance, which -was to take place that day. It was a portentous operation regarded -without optimism by the engineer. And Len Stern, while ready and -willing, found himself of little service. - -McLagan lit one of his long, lean cigars, glad enough to abandon -his labours for a few minutes. Stern lit and drearily sucked his -charred old briar. The contemplation of those bags of gold dust, -that never in his most fantastic dreams had he hoped to see again, -had warmed his heart and eased the strain he had laboured under. - -It was all very amazing, and McLagan himself was the most amazing -thing of it all. It was all mystifying, too. And as he sat -luxuriating in the reek of his pipe the man from Australia found -himself marvelling at the mystery in the midst of which he had -found himself so suddenly plunged. - -He knew now that McLagan had been responsible for the message -Goodchurch had sent out. Even its enticing wording. At the time he -had read it in the local news sheet in Perth he had not seriously -considered it beyond the reply he must make. Then had come his -arrival at the coast on the tubby mail boat on its way to Seward. -Then his meeting with McLagan, and his instant whirling off on -a breathless rush that was only just about to terminate. He had -been asked very little and told less. McLagan had relied on visual -rather than verbal demonstration. He had seen the _Imperial_ again -after believing the vessel to be fathoms deep at the bottom of the -ocean. He had gazed upon some weird, supernatural demonstration -upon her deck. He had been hurried off to help in the capture of -the man who had murdered his partner, and robbed them of the fruits -of their labours. The capture had been achieved and a confession -extracted. Then he had been called upon to agree to the murderer’s -release. True, he had the assurance of McLagan that the murderer -would not, could not escape. But---- - -And now he was sitting in McLagan’s home gazing on the wealth -of gold dust that he and poor Jim Carver had washed out on the -fever-laden coast of Australia. It had come back to him. And -McLagan was the man who had recovered it. How? How? How had it all -been achieved? How had McLagan discovered in the _Limpet_ of Boston -the foul tragedy of his friend’s death, and recovered for him the -gold that had been stolen? The mystery of it all; McLagan’s refusal -to enlighten him; these things were utterly confounding. In his -own phraseology he felt the whole thing was just “one darn mystery -after another” and he wanted to fling up his hands in complete -helplessness. - -But there was no outward expression of these feelings. He sat -gladly regarding that small, comforting pile of wealth which -McLagan had told him was his. - -“I’m glad you’ve told me that, Len.” McLagan’s smile was almost -gentle. “We haven’t told much, have we?” - -“No. And sometimes I feel it ’ud be good to tell--things.” - -Len Stern’s eyes came back from the pile of gold. It almost seemed -as though McLagan had broached something of a deeper interest for -him. - -“Maybe it would. Well, ther’s Claire and her mother’ll be -yearning.” McLagan laughed. “And I’ll be there, too.” - -“Which is just another way of saying you haven’t a thing you’re -going to tell.” - -Len grinned into the other’s face and shook some juice out of his -pipe stem on to the stove. - -“It doesn’t mean just that, boy,” McLagan said. - -“No?” - -Len waited. Then he went on. - -“See, McLagan, you’ve done a swell thing. Sure I don’t want to say -a thing to hurt. You’ve left me guessing, an’ I’m content to go -right on guessing if it suits you. You see, I’m just thankful. But -maybe you won’t mind saying ‘Why,’ if you object to ‘How.’ The only -thing that finds me worrying is leaving that swine Caspar free.” - -McLagan removed the cigar from his strong mouth. He rolled it -between his fingers which seemed to crush it unnecessarily. He -shook his head. - -“I’m not yearning to tell ‘why’ any more than ‘how,’” he said, -with a return to his rougher manner. “It wouldn’t hurt a thing -telling it, except for the laugh it’s liable to raise. You see, -boy, I’ve a head full of notions. Some of ’em some folks might -reckon sort of crazy. But they aren’t. They’re just a throw back -to something that’s in us all. The only thing is I’ve given way to -’em, and they’ve got so that I have to hand ’em best. One time I -felt the only thing in life was to make good. I’m older since then. -I still guess that making good needs to be done, but I get tired -beating the other feller. It kind of seems waste of effort, unless -the other feller needs beating. I’m glad for poor old Jim, who’s -Claire’s brother, to be able to hand you back his dough. Then it’ll -make things better for you. You two boys were swell triers taking -a Chink yarn for gospel. Good luck, boy, anyway. Handle that stuff -right when you get it into Beacon.” - -“I’ll do the best I know, Mac. Say--That oil play of yours? It -looks like beating every other feller. It’s big. It’s big for -Beacon, an’ the folks around.” - -McLagan’s smile deepened. - -“Sure,” he said simply. “It means so much I can’t just see it all. -This’ll be a swell country after awhile. It’ll get oil-crazy when I -let my story go.” - -“They don’t know yet?” - -McLagan shook his head. - -“They will when I get in this time. And I want it that way. You -know this country’s got right into my guts. I want to set the -decent citizens lying around it whooping with the things that make -life easy, and pass ’em a time that won’t leave ’em yearning to -muss themselves with the dirt lying back of human nature. What’ll -you do? Quit for the sun places?” He glanced down at the gold bags -significantly. “With that bunch a wise guy don’t need to worry -beyond this coast.” - -“That’s so.” - -Len was thoughtfully regarding his treasure. He looked up with a -grin. - -“Maybe I’ll do what I know to get into your proposition.” - -McLagan laughed. - -“You’ll need to do it on the jump. In a month ther’ won’t be -money enough in the world to buy our stock. You haven’t seen a -circumstance of what’s to come later. Gee! I must get on with all -this truck.” - -McLagan rose with a sigh of real weariness. He flung open the trunk -on which he had been sitting, and passed over to a pile of folded -suits. He stood for a moment contemplating them. They were clothes -he had never worn since he came to the coast. He picked some of -them up, and came back to the trunk. Len rose to aid him. He moved -over to pass him the rest of the piled clothes. He picked up some -of them, and revealed a folded white garment underneath. It caught -and held his attention. It was voluminous. And, at first glance, -appeared to be some sort of bath robe, or dressing gown. But the -top fold of it had three cut holes in it, which looked like the eye -and mouth holes of a mask. - -McLagan came to his side and Len heard a deep-throated chuckle. - -“Guessing, boy?” the engineer said quietly. Then he added: “I’d -forgot that, sure.” - -Then he reached down and picked it up. He let it drop to its full -length, and held it out by its arms. Len deposited his garments and -gazed at it, grinning. - -“Some suit,” he said. - -McLagan nodded. - -“Sure,” he said. And surveyed the conical, visored hood hanging -down, and the many rust stains that besmirched its otherwise -immaculate surface. - -Then he, very deliberately, refolded it and looked squarely into -his companion’s eyes. - -“Makes you want to laff, Len, eh?” he said. “Don’t you do it, boy. -Ther’s no feller needs to laff who sees that.” - -Then his own eyes became less serious, and a twinkle of humour -looked out of them. - -“It’s just one of my notions. I designed it myself. And I keep it -by me to remind me. I guess it won’t mean a thing to you, ever. -Maybe it’ll just add another guess to the things worrying you now. -Set it down a bath gown which you wear when you’re either clean or -want to be clean. But it’s another meaning, another significance. -It’s a symbol. That darn white gown tells me every time I look at -it that human nature can’t ever be run right by academic theory -or sentimental slobber. The feller that guesses to persuade human -nature by argument is only one degree better than the boy in the -bughouse. The notion that human nature is predominantly good is -plumb busted. It hands me a story of the unutterable weakness of -the modern methods by which human nature is trying to govern -itself, and warns me that the only thing to bring about better -conditions is to scare it plumb to death first, and beat it over -the head with a club after. I didn’t mean you to see that thing, -boy. But you have seen it and I don’t figure it matters any--now. -Still if you reckon you’re obliged to me, why, just forget you’ve -seen it. Let’s pack up all this darn junk. Gee! Ther’s a hell of a -lot of it.” - - * * * * * - -Departure from the bay was delayed longer than McLagan had -designed. It was delayed until the following morning by reason of -one of those fierce, late-summer storms of tornado-like force, -which at times descended upon the tattered coast. - -It started with a rush of wind sweeping down off the hills. It -came with the force of a hurricane, and set the hut creaking and -groaning under its spasmodic pressure. For half an hour it battled -furiously, shrieking, howling, and crashing its way through forest, -and valley, and over hill-top. And then, as suddenly as it had -leapt, it abated into an ominous calm. - -The respite was illusive. It was sufficiently long for the men in -the hut to interpret the conditions. The sudden darkening of the -whole of the western sky was sufficiently indicative. Then the -real storm broke. It broke in from the ocean with the rising tide, -driving in direct opposition to the land wind. An electric storm, -it came with sub-tropical intensity, and a fury of wind. The play -of lightning was blinding; the thunderous detonations were merged -into an incessant roar; and the suddenly opened heavens poured a -deluge of rain upon a darkened world. - -The storm raged for hours. It raged far into the night. And deep -under the fury of it all the voice of the sea came up from below -like an angry roar of a monster lashed and goaded to savage anger. -It boomed, it thundered, its echoes playing from cliff to cliff, -magnified and terrifying. - -Clad in an oilskin, at the height of the storm, McLagan sought -the open. He stood out on the plateau, and instantly his great -body seemed to become the centre of elemental attack. But he gave -no heed. He forced his way in the blinding rain as near to the -precipitous edge of the cliff as he dared approach it. Then he -stood there swaying to the buffets of the storm while he strove to -penetrate the grey pall with which the rain enveloped the world -below him. It was useless. And so, at last, he returned to shelter, -and the exercise of such patience as he could command. - -Dawn saw a complete reversal, a complete transformation. A keen -crisp northwest wind had set in, and the furies of the night had -been wholly swept away. The sun rose glorious in a cloud-flecked -sky, and the world of the coast was as nearly smiling as Nature -ever permitted. - -But the smile of Nature meant nothing to the men who, ready to set -out on their run into Beacon, stood gazing down upon the bay. The -wreck of the _Imperial_ was gone. Completely, utterly vanished. A -few baulks of timber had been flung high up on the rocks at the -foot of the southern cliff, but of the wreck, in its familiar -form, not a sign was to be discovered. The ebb of the tide was at -its lowest. The rocks on which she had lain were bare. The vessel -had gone as she had come, on the race of the tide. But with the -difference that her shattered hull had been carried off piecemeal -by the victorious adversary she had defied so long. - -McLagan was the first to turn away. Sasa Mannik was standing by the -ponies hitched to the laden buckboard. He moved over to him and in -silence climbed into the driving seat of the ramshackle vehicle. -Then he called to Len Stern, who was still gazing down upon the -cemetery of that poor restless shadow of the man who had been his -friend and partner. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - The Passing of the “Chief-Light” - - -Rebecca Carver was primly seated at one end of a well-upholstered -couch. Her slight form was very erect, very much supported in -garments that seemed somehow strange to it. Her dark eyes were -steadily fixed upon the work in her hands, and the expression of -them was carefully concealed. Her greying hair was neatly dressed -for the occasion, and she looked to be holding herself schooled for -the moment, and the unaccustomed surroundings in which she found -herself. - -It was a seat she rarely enough occupied. But then the parlour -of her frame home had no appeal for her. She somehow felt she -belonged to other spheres, to another life than that to which the -adventurous genius of her daughter Claire had so suddenly elevated -her. Still, she did her best staunchly enough for all there were -times when she wondered, times when she had been almost terrified -at the thought of the crash in their fortunes which must inevitably -come. But perhaps the greatest strain of all was her thought for -Claire herself, her dread for her moral undoing. Hers was the -mother’s lot when the reins pass from her hands, and advancing -years bring the slow decay of her authority. - -Her black silk gown left her feeling wholly self-conscious. -Never in her hard-lived life had she possessed anything quite so -splendid. And somehow the rustle of it was pleasant to her simple -mind, and she hoped fervently that a prolonged sitting would not -completely “muss” it. A silk workbag was beside her on the couch, -and her hard-worn hands were busily plying knitting-needles whose -homely click afforded her no small measure of encouragement. - -Len Stern was talking from a highly polished chair opposite her. -He had been talking for some time, and seemed to be addressing her -particularly. The play of his dark eyes was vividly expressive of -the thrilling details of the long story he had had to tell to the -mother of his dead friend, while the two others in the room seemed, -for the time being, to have no claim upon him. - -Ivor McLagan was standing at a window with his back turned, -labouring under a feeling that his presence was something of an -intrusion upon that which should have been sacred to the bereaved -mother. But he knew he must be there for clear and definite -reasons, and so he persisted. Claire was near to him. There could -be no question of her greed for the story she was listening to. Her -blue eyes were wide with almost painful interest. Her hands, those -slender hands which were the admiration of all at the Speedway, -were tightly clasped in her lap. She was leaning forward eagerly, -and hanging intently upon every word the man uttered. - -Len Stern had told all the story of the gold discovery, and of the -drear life of that fever-ridden coast. He had told of his desperate -journey to secure a man and a ship to serve their purpose. He had -told of the great day when the shipment was made, and he bade -farewell to the loyal creature, who was thrilling with the thought -of all that their wealth would mean to his women-folk at home, and -had reached the point of his narrative where he was standing on the -beach watching the breaking out of the vessel’s sails as she put to -sea. - -“It was a great day, ma’am,” he said, with a smile that was deeply -reminiscent. “You just can’t think the greatness of it. That boy, -he was good grit. Gold? Yes, he wanted that gold, his share. But it -was only for the folks at home. The mother and the sister he’d left -behind. His whole thought, ma’am, all the time was for you.” - -The mother sniffed violently, and a work-worn hand brushed aside a -tear that blurred the stitches of her knitting. The next moment the -click of her needles came more rapidly. - -“I got back to work--alone,” Len went on. Then he drew a deep sigh -which ended in an expletive. “Gee! How I worked.” He laughed. “It’s -queer how hard a boy can work when he’s alone, an’ trying to keep -from going crazy. That’s how it was with me. Why, I must have got -out an’ washed a million dollars of stuff before it happened. Gold? -Why, the whole of that river bed was gold from end to end. There’s -the gold of the world there, an’ one day some bunch’ll get around -and clear out the fever, and just snow the world’s market right -under with the stuff. But it wasn’t for me--or Jim. That fever hit -me within two weeks of Jim’s quitting. It came slow, it made me -sick, and I was wise to it. You see, the Chink had told us. Well, -it didn’t take me two jumps to reckon the thing I must do. I knew -I must get out right away. I must beat it in that shell of a smack -of ours down the coast to Perth, the same as I’d done before. I’d -just have to get there and wait around for Jim to get back. It was -a big chance, I was getting sicker every hour. But I had to take -it. So I loaded all the dust I could take, cached the rest, stowed -my kit, and--drove out to sea.” - -He drew a deep breath as the memory of things stirred him. -McLagan had turned regarding him. Even Claire, who had sat almost -immovable, stirred restlessly. Then he went on to the accompaniment -of the click of the mother’s needles. - -“Maybe it saved me. I don’t know. Y’see, the sea air’s clean, and -likely it helped. Anyway I was full of fever and pains, and wanted -to lie around all the while, but I didn’t. I had to make the course -I knew, and the will of it all drove me. I can’t reckon even now -how long it was, or how I ever reached Perth right. But I reached -it in the end after storm, and calm, and sickness. But I’d lost a -big bunch of my stuff. You see, I had to fight myself as well as -the weather. I was swamped out and nearly plumb wrecked a dozen -times. When I did get in I was nigher dead than alive, and they set -me right into hospital. - -“It was tough. And before they were through with me it had cost -me most of my stuff. Still I wasn’t worried with that, there was -plenty more, and, when Jim came back and I was feeling good, why, -it would be easy. Quite easy for all I was scared to death of that -coast.” - -He passed a hand back over his dark hair. - -“But time went on an’ I never heard a word. And then--and then came -word of--Jim’s ship. It set me nigh crazy. I waited, and thought, -and worried. I never got another word. Then I thought to send you -folks word. Then I was scared to do it. Ma’am, you don’t know the -way I felt. Jim gone----” - -“Drowned. Drowned right in mid-ocean.” - -McLagan’s voice broke in harshly, and Len glanced round quickly. -Claire, too, turned. She looked up, a sharp question in her eyes. - -McLagan nodded. - -“It hit you, Len boy, to know Jim was--drowned. It hit us folks, -too.” - -Len turned again to the mother who was gazing at him from behind a -mist of tears. - -“Say, ma’am, it hit us all bad, to know Jim was drowned with the -sinking of that ship in mid-ocean. It hurts me now to think of it. -An’ God knows the way it must hurt you folks. But I didn’t get -along to stir up bad memories. I came to tell Jim’s mother of the -wonderful boy Jim was, and make her feel pride in his grit, an’ -honesty, and--and the hell of a fine partner he was to me. He was -plumb gold all through. Bright shining gold. He’d got just one -notion in the world, ma’am. It was for his mother and his sister. -After them came his partner. You know, ma’am, someways I feel, and -I’d be glad to know you feel it, too, Jim came by his death doing -one great big act. He’d sweated and laboured, and he was carrying -home all the fruit of the love of his big heart to his--mother. -Does it make you feel good? Yes, sure it does. I can see----” - -The mother had flung her knitting aside. Her work-worn hands were -thrust up covering her tear-streaming eyes. She sprang to her feet -and stood sobbing for a moment. Then Claire came to her side, and -with one warm arm flung about the older woman’s shaking shoulders, -she led her from the room. - - * * * * * - -Claire and McLagan were walking down the dusty, unpaved road in -the direction of the city’s main highway. Len Stern had already -departed to transact his business at Victor Burns’ bank. The mother -had gone back to the work that always claimed her, comforted far -more than she knew by the revelation of the staunch devotion of her -dead son. - -Once clear of the house Claire raised her wide questioning eyes to -the face of the man beside her. - -“Why did you jump in while Len was talking?” she asked abruptly. -“Why did you remind him that Jim was--drowned?” - -McLagan’s reply came on the instant. - -“Because he wasn’t drowned, and--Len knows it.” - -“Murdered?” - -“Sure.” - -“Then why not say it? Why----” - -“Say, Claire,” McLagan broke in with that roughness she knew so -well, “do you think I’d brought Len along to tell your Mum that Jim -was foully murdered and robbed? No. I know it. You know it. We’re -young and strong, and it’s not going to hurt us, seeing poor Jim -is dead anyway. But she’s his mother. Think, my dear, just think. -Len and I fixed it up to say that. I jumped, scared he might blurt -out the truth. Jim’s mother is some one we both love. Right deep in -her heart now is the swell thought of all that boy was trying to -do for her. He died doing it. To her there’s no picture of a foul -murder with the murderer standing over him and robbing him. Don’t -you see? Sure you do. For all her tears I guess we’ve left Jim’s -mother a mighty happy woman. An’ she’ll never be told the thing -that really happened.” - -The girl made no reply. Somehow the man’s harshly spoken rebuke -thrilled her as no word of his had ever thrilled her before. Her -love for him rose to something like worship as she regarded his -plain face and thought of the world of kindly sympathy lying behind -it. Her next words were almost humble. - -“And the murderer?” - -“Is dead. Hanged by the neck, and--dead.” - -The intensity, the biting ruthlessness of the man’s tone, was in -flat contradiction of his recent mood. - -“Then what you thought--what you hoped of Len’s coming--proved out?” - -“Surely.” - -“Does Len know? Did he--help?” - -“Len has my assurance. That’s all.” - -“Will I ever know the whole thing--you know?” - -McLagan smiled upon the dingy habitations about him. - -“Maybe some day,” he said. “But--not right now. It’s a bad story.” - -They had turned out of the side road, and on to the sidewalk of the -main thoroughfare. It was still within the business hours of the -place, and as Claire gazed about her a certain unusual movement was -observable among the people. She drew a deep sigh. - -“Sometimes I think it awful in me,” she said, a little desperately. -“He’s dead. Hanged. The man who murdered Jim. I’m--glad. Yes,” she -went on a little defiantly, “I’m glad. And Jim’s gold?” - -“Recovered--most of it. And passed to the feller it rightly -belongs. Len Stern. That boy needs it. You don’t, Claire. Your -mother don’t. You’re both--my affair.” - -“Yes. We don’t need it--anyway.” - -McLagan smiled at the little touch of independence in the girl’s -words. - -They were approaching the Plaza with its balcony and its loungers. -He could see the face of Jubilee Hurst leaning out gazing in their -direction. And he knew the thing that was coming. - -Jubilee’s challenge came on the instant of their approach. It came -full of all that irresponsible lightness which masked the real -seriousness of the man. - -“Ho, Mac!” he cried. “Is it true? Is it real, or have I got a bad -nightmare? I’ve turned over a couple of times but it’s still the -same. I can’t get away from the messy sight of crude oil streaming -all through the streets of Beacon. Is it true? Or are you yearning -to see us poor folk plumb bug?” - -Claire and McLagan smiled up into eager face. They realised the -presence of the others on the veranda. There was Abe Cranfield. -And Burt Riddell was gloomily inquiring as he leant over the rail -beside his partner. - -“It’s all true.” - -It was Claire who replied. She nodded laughingly. And in her eyes -was a gladness that illuminated her whole countenance. Then she -indicated the man beside her. - -“You see, Ivor’s got the close habit, and I guess it isn’t easy for -him to say ‘yes.’ Maybe now I’ve saved you getting bug he can hand -you the rest.” - -McLagan nodded. - -“I guessed you’d be wise in a half-hour. That’s why I chose Doc -Finch to hand out the news. He’s better than a hundred telephones. -Yes, boy, it’s all true. There’s oil enough to float a ship. Get -in, if you’ve two cents to buy with. Maybe there’s weeks of grace -while my folks play the market. So get in, or our stocks’ll jump -sky high. You’ll find it more profitable than a hand at Claire’s -table.” - -Jubilee eyed the girl. He realised the wonderful light shining in -her pretty eyes. But it was the sad voice of Burt Riddell that -answered him. - -“Maybe it’s more profitable. But me for the hand at Claire’s table. -Say, you ain’t going to rob us of that?” - -McLagan laughed outright. - -“When it comes to guessing I’d say you’ve Jubilee beat a mile.” - -“What d’you mean?” Jubilee looked from one to the other and -grinned. “Burt got me beat guessing?” He shook his head. “Not on -your life, Mac. I didn’t have to guess. I--knew. Say, it beats -hell. My best to you both, Claire. The Speedway’ll be hell without -you, but--Gee, I must go count my cents. It don’t seem right, -buying oil with ’em when I’m yearning to hand you a swell bouquet. -Say, look down the sidewalk. See the folks? Doc’s sure been busy. -Well, so long. Will you be around at the Speedway to-night? -‘_Bon_,’ as we used to say in France,” he cried, as the engineer -nodded. “It’ll beat Max’s festival to the bone. Come on, Burt. -Let’s get a look at our cents and see how best we can roll Victor -to help things out.” - -Claire and McLagan passed on, and the sight of the engineer caused -a commotion and excitement that had been unknown in Beacon since -the early days of the boom. It was as McLagan had said it would be. -The town was already oil-crazy. The man’s progress was something -in the nature of a triumphal procession. There were smiles, and -greeting, and handshakes, almost every step of the way, till -McLagan felt something like serious regret that he had utilised the -rotund doctor as a medium for disseminating his news. - -As they came to the bank, McLagan’s patience had well-nigh -exhausted itself. - -“We’ll get right inside for shelter, kid,” he said in desperation. -“This popularity makes me sick. This darn handwagging with folks I -don’t know from a bunch of fence posts couldn’t be worse if I was -President of the United States. Say----” - -He laughed as he discovered that Victor Burns was standing in the -doorway of the bank obviously waiting for him to come up. - - * * * * * - -They were safe for the moment in Victor’s private office. The -banker was sitting behind his desk while Claire was occupying the -most comfortable chair the place afforded. McLagan was propped on -the corner of the desk listening to the thing the banker had to -tell. - -“I’m glad for you, McLagan,” he said. “I’m glad for Beacon. And -it didn’t take me two seconds to guess my own feelings the moment -Doc blew in and handed me his story of an oil flood that nearly -wrecked your camp. I’ve a private bunch of dollars that’s going to -be changed into your Corporation’s stock right away. Yes, boy, I’m -glad, but I’m worried.” - -“How?” - -“How?” The banker looked from one to the other. Then he raised a -clenched fist and brought it heavily down on his desk. A frown of -unusual ill-temper had suddenly depressed his pleasant face. “It’s -this boy, Cy Liskard, a customer of mine, you’ll remember him. It’s -that guy with the gold I showed you awhile back. The feller that -you spread out on the Speedway floor on the night of the festival. -They’ve hanged him, they’ve hanged him clean out of hand. It’s -these boys, the Aurora bunch. And they ticketed him with their -fancy label with the signature of the Chief Light.” - -He snorted as he sat gazing into McLagan’s face. Claire sat up in -her chair, a startled look in her eyes as she watched the unsmiling -face of the man she loved. - -“That don’t seem a thing to worry for,” McLagan said coldly. “Where -did they hang him? What for?” - -“Where? What for?” The banker shook his head. “They hanged him -right here just beyond the town limits on the lakeside. What for? I -haven’t a notion, unless it was a hold-up for his stuff. Here, you -don’t get me----” - -“It hasn’t been their way to hold a boy up for his stuff,” McLagan -broke in quickly. “Was he coming in with a bunch of dust?” - -The banker shook his head. He spread out a pair of helpless hands. - -“I can’t say a thing,” he declared peevishly. “Here, I’ll tell -you. Goodchurch came along this morning; he jumped in on me and I -asked him things; he said he was guessing as badly as I was. One -of his men come in and brought him word a feller was hanging under -the spread of a Western Cedar, and was labelled by this precious -bunch. Looked like he’d been hanging there days. He sent out to -investigate and found it was this boy from the Lias, who’s been -toting dust in since last fall. He asked me what I knew, and I told -him of his credit here. He’s set a government ‘hold-up’ on it, and -went off cursing these Aurora folk in a way I’d hate to repeat -before a lady. I’m sick, I’m good an’ sick. I’m not worried for the -boy. He was a sure tough, and I’d say he’s the sort to be a deal -safer off the earth. But it’s the trade. It’s the stuff. He was -reckoning to bring more along. Say, Mac, does it look good to you? -I’ve heard you say you’d a hunch for these boys, setting out to -clean things up. Well? Is this cleaning up? Or is it the thing I’ve -been scared of right along--a hold-up?” - -McLagan shook his head. His face was mask-like in its seriousness. -Claire, watching him, felt at that moment she would have given much -to read the thing passing behind it. - -“You can’t rightly tell, Victor,” he said. “But I wouldn’t reckon -that way without knowing more. There was sure something queer about -that boy. And he was a tough, anyway.” Then he smiled, “It’s queer, -here I bring you word of such wealth coming to Beacon as no gold -can ever hand it. I’m showing you how to get in and help yourself, -yet you’re worried for a bunch of dust that won’t be a circumstance -in Beacon when we open out.” - -He turned to the girl, who was regarding him so earnestly. - -“You know, kid,” he said, “these men who handle gold can’t see a -thing but gold. They just love it to death.” - -He turned again to the banker. - -“I wouldn’t worry with the Aurora bunch, Victor,” he said. “The -oil boom coming is going to clean up most things. Maybe they’ll -go along with the rest. You see, when the government realises the -thing Beacon can hand them there’ll be no room for white shirts and -hanging bees.” - - * * * * * - -Outside the bank the girl made no further effort to restrain the -questions that were flooding her mind. - -“Tell me, Ivor,” she cried, the moment they reached the sidewalk -again. “This man? This Cy Liskard? Oh, I remember him. I’m never -likely to forget him, and the way you smashed him that night for -his insult to me. Who is he? Why did they hang him? I’ve got to -know things now. Is he----?” - -“The man who killed your brother Jim. The man who murdered and -robbed him. Julian Caspar, the man who was trading Jim’s gold into -that bank.” - -Claire drew a deep breath. They had turned into one of the almost -undefined side roads, which was little better than a track, in -order to avoid the crowd on the main street. They were making their -way in the direction of the girl’s home again. McLagan observed her -closely. Then a half smile lit his eyes. - -“It’s time you knew things,” he said. Then he asked gently, almost -anxiously: “What does that just mean, kid? Are you worried?” - -Claire looked up. Her gaze was full of trust, full of confidence, -full of pride in the big creature who had laboured so hard to -capture her heart. She shook her head. - -“No, dear, I’m not worried--now,” she said. Then a smile full of -radiant love replaced the seriousness in her eyes. “Like you, I’ve -a hunch for those white-robed folk. I sort of feel there’s no harm -in them for those running straight. There’s no ‘hold-up’ in them. -But I’m wondering. When your folk have got along, and you go down -country----” - -“We go down country,” the man corrected. - -“When we go down country, how’ll they get on without their--Chief -Light?” - -McLagan threw back his head in a great, unrestrained laugh. He -suddenly took possession of the girl’s arm, and patted the hand -that, for the moment, rested in his. - -“Guess they’ll need to elect a--new one,” he said. - -“Jubilee?” - -The girl’s eyes were shining with the delight it gave her to show -this great creature how deeply she had penetrated his secret. - -“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know, and--Psha! So long as I’ve got -you, kid, I don’t care a darn.” - - - THE END - - * * * * * - - Transcriber’s Notes - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been maintained, i.e.: - up-standing/upstanding, get-away/get away, etc. - - Page 28, Period added after “ordinary sort of engineer”. - Page 142, Period added after “faithful servant, too”. - Page 298, “Casper” changed to “Caspar”. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Saint of the Speedway, by Ridgwell Cullum - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SAINT OF THE SPEEDWAY *** - -***** This file should be named 62533-0.txt or 62533-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/5/3/62533/ - -Produced by ellinora, Susan Carr and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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- padding-top: .7em; - padding-bottom: .5em; - text-align: center; -} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote { - background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size: 90%; - padding: 0.5em; - margin-top: 5em; - margin-bottom: 5em; -} - -.transnote p {text-indent: 0em;} - - </style> - - </head> - -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Saint of the Speedway, by Ridgwell Cullum - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Saint of the Speedway - -Author: Ridgwell Cullum - -Release Date: July 1, 2020 [EBook #62533] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SAINT OF THE SPEEDWAY *** - - - - -Produced by ellinora, Susan Carr and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 684px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="684" height="1000" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h1 class="u">The Saint of the Speedway</h1> - -<p class="pfs120">Ridgwell Cullum</p> - -<hr class="chap p10" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p class="pfs240">The Saint<br /> -of<br /> -The Speedway</p> - -<p class="pfs120 p2">by</p> -<p class="pfs180">Ridgwell Cullum</p> - -<p class="pfs135 p10">McClelland and Stewart</p> -<p class="pfs135">Publishers : : Toronto</p> - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<p class="pfs135 p10">Copyright, 1924,</p> -<p class="pfs135">By George H. Doran Company</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60px;"> -<img src="images/logo.jpg" width="60" height="60" alt="Colophon" title="Colophon" /> -</div> - -<p class="pfs90 p10">The Saint of the Speedway</p> - -<p class="pfs90">—B—</p> - -<p class="pfs90">Printed in the United States of America</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2>Foreword</h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">If the reader will cast a thought back to the -classic sea mystery of the <i>Marie Celeste</i>, it will -be clear how much this book owes its inception to -the extraordinary derelict, the mystery of which -remains unsolved to this day. But the author disclaims -any attempt in the following pages to offer a -solution of the mystery and has only used certain -of the features surrounding the condition of the -<i>Marie Celeste</i> at the time she was found abandoned -in mid-ocean for the purposes of his story-narrative.</p> - -<hr class="chap p10" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>Contents</h2> - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" summary="Contents"> -<tr><td class="tdr fs60">CHAPTER</td><td class="tdl"></td><td class="tdr fs60">PAGE</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">I</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">The Adventurers</a></td><td class="tdr">11</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">II</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">The Headland</a></td><td class="tdr">23</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">III</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">In Beacon Glory</a></td><td class="tdr">40</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">IV</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">The Great Disaster</a></td><td class="tdr">55</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">V</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Eight Months Later—On the Lias River</a></td><td class="tdr">68</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">VI</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">A Bunch of Humanity</a></td><td class="tdr">82</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">VII</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">The Speedway</a></td><td class="tdr">94</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">VIII</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">The Man from Lias River</a></td><td class="tdr">104</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">IX</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">The Aurora Clan</a></td><td class="tdr">121</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">X</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">The Haunt of the Clansmen</a></td><td class="tdr">134</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XI</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">The Wreck at the River Mouth</a></td><td class="tdr">142</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XII</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">The <i>Limpet</i> of Boston</a></td><td class="tdr">156</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XIII</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">The “Come-back”</a></td><td class="tdr">169</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XIV</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">In the Sunshine</a></td><td class="tdr">179</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XV</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">The Man from the Hills</a></td><td class="tdr">196</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XVI</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">The Lazaret</a></td><td class="tdr">209</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XVII</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Links in a Chain</a></td><td class="tdr">225</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">McLagan Achieves an End</a></td><td class="tdr">243</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XIX</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">McLagan Returns from the Hills</a></td><td class="tdr">256</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XX</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">The Last of the Moving Shadow</a></td><td class="tdr">276</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XXI</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Julian Caspar at Bay</a></td><td class="tdr">289</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XXII</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">The Quitting</a></td><td class="tdr">311</td></tr> -<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII</td><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">The Passing of the “Chief-Light”</a></td><td class="tdr">322</td></tr> -</table></div> - -<hr class="chap p10" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p class="pfs240 p6">The Saint of the Speedway</p> - -<h2 class="no-brk"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Adventurers</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">IT was a time of tense emotion. Each was a-surge -with an almost uncontrollable excitement as the two -men moved up the whole length of the riffled sluice. -Neither uttered one single word. But they moved -slowly on either side of the long, primitive, box-like -construction, keeping pace, each with the other, as -though in a mutual desire that such fortune as was -theirs should be witnessed together, as though neither -had courage to face alone the possibilities of this their -first serious “washing.”</p> - -<p>At each riffle the men paused. The more emotional -of the two, Len Stern, thrust out a hand and stirred -the deposit lying there. And at each stirring the same -result was revealed. The riffles were filled with deposit. -On the top was a spread of lighter soil, with -here and there a dull yellow protrusion thrusting above -it. But under this lay a solid thickness of pure alluvial -gold in dust and smaller nuggets. From the top -end of the sluice-box to the mouth which disgorged -the red soil upon the miniature mountain of tailings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> -below it, it was the same. There was not one single -riffle that was not laden to its capacity with the precious -metal.</p> - -<p>They came to a halt at the head of the box. Len -Stern stood for a moment gazing down its narrow -channel. But Jim Carver was disinclined for any -dreaming. Stolid, practical, for all the emotion of -those amazing moments, he climbed up the light trestle -work and shut off the water stream which had -supplied the washing. Then he dropped again to the -ground and waited.</p> - -<p>The stream of water fell away, and instantly the -torrid heat of the sun began to dry up the woodwork. -And as his gaze passed down over the succession of -riffles the unshining yellow of their precious burden -suggested a golden pathway the whole length of the -sluice.</p> - -<p>“It makes you feel good, Len,” he said quietly, for -all the burning excitement in his big blue eyes.</p> - -<p>The other nodded as though the thing he were contemplating -had left him speechless.</p> - -<p>Jim Carver eyed him shrewdly. Then he glanced -up at the blazing tropical sky. He gazed down at the -slow-moving river, meandering on between jungle-grown -banks on its way to the bay, less than five miles -distant. Finally he bestirred himself.</p> - -<p>“We best clean this wash up, Len,” he said. “We -best clean it up an’ take it right back to camp. It’s -feed time.”</p> - -<p>He started to work at the top riffle, and Len Stern -came back to realities.</p> - -<p>“Sure,” he agreed. And at once joined in the work. -“Say, Jim, do you get it?” he cried, glancing quickly -at the mountain of pay dirt they had spent months<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> -in accumulating, standing ready for washing. “We -guessed to wash a ton. Maybe it was, more or less. -Ther’s not ounces in these riffles—no, ther’s—ther’s -pounds!”</p> - -<p>Jim nodded as he laboured.</p> - -<p>“It’s the biggest ‘strike’ ever made in the world,” he -admitted in a tone that might well have been taken for -one of grudging.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was the northwest coast of Australia, the coast of -that almost unexplored region which is one of the few -remote territories of the world still retaining its fabulous -atmosphere of romance.</p> - -<p>It was on the shores of a wide, shallow bay where a -small river abruptly opened out its land arms in welcome -to the tropical ocean. Sun-scorched, fleshy vegetation -grew densely almost to the water’s edge, keeping -dank and fever-laden the suffocating atmosphere -within its widespread bosom. Yet only was it this -merciful shade that made life endurable to sensitive -human creatures.</p> - -<p>The sun was at its zenith, a furious disc of molten -heat in a brazen sky. The sea at the river mouth lay -dead flat under its burning rays, except for the ripple -where some huge submarine creature disturbed its -surface. Not a breath of air was stirring to relieve -the suffocating atmosphere.</p> - -<p>The two men were lounging in the shade of the -wattle walls of their reed-thatched shelter. It was -built amidst a cluster of dense-growing trees, and the -site looked out over the brilliant bay. They had long -since eaten, and were now awaiting the cooling of the -day before returning to their labours.</p> - -<p>They were youthful adventurers, foreigners to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> -country in which they found themselves. They were -northerners, far-northerners, from the great snow-crowned -hills of Alaska. They had set out on their -adventure as a result of listening to the flimsiest, most -fanciful yarn that ever a half-vagrant Chinaman had -dispensed out of the remote cells of his drug-laden -imagination. And as a result, that day, after two-and-a-half -years of marooning on a coast peopled only -by none too friendly blacks, and in the heart of a -jungle alive with every bug and beast and reptile of -a pestilential nature, they had, at long last, proved -beyond every question of doubt that Charlie Wun Lee -had, for once in his life, fallen a victim to sheer -veracity.</p> - -<p>For all its usually incredible source, the story, which -had set these men wandering in the world’s remote -places, had had a curious ring of reality in it. Charlie -Wun Lee was a queer, reasonably honest, far-travelled -old Chinaman who dispensed ham and eggs to belated -travellers in a squalid frame house in their home town -of Beacon Glory, hidden away in the hill country of -Alaska. And his story had been inspired by sheer -friendliness for two men who found themselves in a -position where the outlook for livelihood was completely -threatening.</p> - -<p>He had told them he knew where there was more -gold than the world had ever seen before, and both -being gold men their appetites had been at once -whetted.</p> - -<p>Briefly, his story was that he had been shipwrecked -when he was cook on an Australian coasting vessel. -The ship went to pieces, but he and six others reached -land after terrible privations. All they knew about -their whereabouts was that it was the coast of Australia<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> -somewhere on the northwest of the continent. -It was a country of unbearable heat and fever-haunted -jungle. They were marooned on this coast for more -than a year, keeping body and soul together with such -food as they could collect from the sea and the forest. -Fortunately, they had little need for clothing, for they -discovered not a living soul, and no indication, even, of -the blacks whom they knew peopled these regions of -the country. But during that long, desperate year one -by one his white companions had died off, victims of -a subtle jungle fever that killed them slowly and painfully, -until only he and one other were left alive. This -stealing death frightened him. The dank jungle became -a place of dread. So he and his last remaining -companion took to the river and sought to reach the -hills out of which it sprang.</p> - -<p>But they never reached the hills. No. The river -claimed them. They forgot their fears. They forgot -even their contemplated destination. In his own -graphic fashion he told them the river was alive with -gold. Gold looked up at them out of the pay dirt -which composed its bed throughout its whole course. -Oh, yes. They tried it out with such means as they -had to their hands. But they only collected nuggets -of reasonable size and troubled nothing with “dust.” -They collected a large quantity and secreted them, and -it was this store that ultimately started him on the way -to the prosperity he now enjoyed.</p> - -<p>After this he endeavoured to study the coast line -with a view to making a chart at such time as he might -be rescued, for he had never given up the hope that -they would ultimately be rescued. And sure enough -they were. A storm-driven coasting vessel ran into the -mouth of the river for shelter.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> - -<p>They were taken on board and clothed. But they -kept their secret of the gold, determined, should opportunity -ever offer, to come again and work it. On -the plea of desiring to know the position of the territory -which had been so disastrous to them, the skipper -of the boat was induced to give them the exact bearings -of the river mouth, and later, Charlie Wun Lee -inscribed it on his rough chart which he produced in -corroboration of his story. He also produced for his -audience a couple of nuggets of gold which he declared -he had kept as a souvenir ever since.</p> - -<p>But he shook his head sadly over them when he told -how opportunity never came of returning to collect the -gold awaiting him. His companion died on the way -to Sydney, a victim of the jungle fever, the germs of -which had contrived to impregnate him. And he—well, -other things came his way and he did not fancy -facing the hateful coast alone. Besides, he did very -well with the laundry he started in Sydney until he -got burnt out, and finally migrated to Alaska. No, he -assured them, he would rather dispense ham and eggs -at two dollars a time in Beacon Glory than go back -for that gold. Besides, his little gambling parlour at -the back of his restaurant was not so bad a gold -mine.</p> - -<p>Well, anyhow, there it was. It was true what he had -told them. Every word of it. And if they liked they -could have the chart as a present. And when they -came back with all the gold they needed, if the jungle -fever didn’t get hold of them and they felt like making -him a present in return, well, he would very gladly -receive it. But, whether they chose to go after it or -not, he wanted them to know that the thing he had -told them was no fairy story, but the real truth, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> -was a wholly inadequate illustration of the reality of -wealth he had seen there.</p> - -<p>Now they knew the real extent of the debt they owed -to the friendly little dispenser of ham and eggs. But -they also knew now, after the fierce excitement of -witnessing the result of the first real washing had subsided, -the immensities of the proposition confronting -them. As yet neither had uttered a word of doubt or -anxiety. But the thought of the potentialities of the -situation was looming heavily.</p> - -<p>Jim Carver’s blue eyes were turned upon the sunlit -bay. He was deeply engrossed, not in the wonders of -the tropical scene set out before him, but in a train of -teeming thought. His pipe was his only real comfort -on this intolerable coast, and he was enjoying it to the -uttermost at the moment. Len Stern’s dark eyes were -upon the small mountain of raw gold heaped on an -outspread flour sack on the sun-baked ground in front -of him, which represented the result of their first -“clean-up.” Whatever worries lay back of his mind -his mercurial temperament refused to be robbed of one -moment of the delight which this tangible result of -their labours afforded.</p> - -<p>“Man, I feel I just want to holler!” he cried in a -sudden outburst, breaking up the silence which was so -much their habit. “Say, I just can’t get a grip on the -nature of a boy who sits around doping out ham an’ -eggs with the knowledge of a thing like this back of -his mind. He’s all sorts of a sheer damn fool——”</p> - -<p>“Is he?”</p> - -<p>Jim had removed his pipe. He had turned his big, -thoughtful eyes on the man contemplating the heaped -treasure. Len was gazing at him, his smile of delight -completely passed from his dark face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> - -<p>They were both big creatures. Broad, and enormously -muscular, a picture of virile capacity and latent -human energy. Jim’s eyes were frankly wide and blue -as the distant sea, set in a face whose skin lent itself to -a deep, florid sunburn. Len was dark-eyed and dark-skinned. -He was burned to the mahogany of a nigger. -Both were clad in barely sufficient clothing to -meet the demands of decency.</p> - -<p>For a moment Len stared at his companion. Then -his smile slowly returned.</p> - -<p>“Say, Jim, boy, ain’t ther’ a darn thing in all this -to set you crazy to shout?” He shook his head. “It’s -no sort of use. Your head’s always ready to shelter -every old bogey it can collect. Two an’ a bit years of -hell! That’s what it’s been. The folks guessed we -were bug. The yarn of a ham-slingin’ Chink. A river -of gold! An’ I guess we came nigh breakin’ our folks -for outfit. Well, it’s ours. All of it. An’ I guess we -can pay our folk a hundred times over. It’s a strike -to unship the world’s financial balance. Psha! It’s -so big——”</p> - -<p>“That’s the trouble, Len. It’s too big.”</p> - -<p>Len flung his head back in a boisterous laugh.</p> - -<p>“Too big?” he cried scornfully. “It just couldn’t -be!”</p> - -<p>“It could. It is.”</p> - -<p>Jim’s unyielding tone promptly brought the other to -seriousness.</p> - -<p>“How?” he asked soberly. “Maybe I’ve got some -of your notion. But let’s talk it out.”</p> - -<p>Jim knocked out his pipe and refilled it. He lit it -thoughtfully. Then he turned smilingly to his friend.</p> - -<p>“Say, I’m as crazy for this thing as you, boy,” he -said in his quiet way. “But I don’t figger to let it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> -snow my senses under. You’re right. It’s been two -years an’ more of hell gettin’ it, and we want it all, after -that. But I seem to see something of what was back -of Charlie’s mind quittin’ the game an’ never returning -to it. Get a look down there.” He pointed at a rough -sheltered landing with a tubby, cutter-rigged fishing -smack lying moored there. “That’s our link with the -world outside. An’ we got to get out not pounds, but -tons of metal if I’m a judge. We got to market it -an’ keep it quiet, or we’ll have the Australian Government -jumping in on us, to say nothing of all the rest -of the world.” He shook his head. “How’s it to be -done? It can’t.”</p> - -<p>“But it can. It must!”</p> - -<p>Len’s whole manner had undergone a complete transformation. -All the excited delight had passed out of -his eyes. They had suddenly become hard, and shrewd, -and full of keen resolution. The thought of failure -with the prize in their hands had stirred him to a feeling -like that of a mother who sees her offspring about -to be snatched from her arms. He was ready to fight -with the last breath of life for this thing he so dearly -coveted.</p> - -<p>“Here, you can’t tell me a thing I haven’t thought, -Jim,” he cried. “All this stuff’s been in my brain tank -ever since we bought that barge of ours down in -Perth. I’d got it all then. An’ I planned it all before -we beat it up the coast in that old coaster, with our -craft on a tow-line. You’re right. It’s got to be a secret. -If we shout we’ll lose half the game. Maybe -we’ll lose it all. We’re not going to shout. No. I -best tell you, an’ we’ll sort out the metal from the tailings. -You’ve a cautious head and a clear brain. -Maybe you’ll see any weak spot lying around.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> - -<p>Jim nodded in ready agreement. He had achieved -his purpose. Len was down to hard facts.</p> - -<p>“This is the thing I got planned,” Len went on, -dipping his hands into the pile of gold and letting it -sift back between his hard-worn fingers. “We’ve got -to get a third feller into our game—on commission. -We got to think wide and act wide. We got to play -a red-hot game, an’ play it good. Ther’s got to be no -weakening, an’ if any feller we work with plays the -skunk he’s got to get his med’cine short. You get -that?”</p> - -<p>Jim made no reply, but the look in his eyes was sufficient.</p> - -<p>“Well, here it is,” Len went on quickly. “If we dope -this stuff out free we’ll break the market, and set every -news-sheet shouting from one end of the world to the -other. And the folks’ll jump in an’ shut us down. -We’re sort of in the position of the feller who can -transmute base metal. No. When we’ve a big enough -bunch of stuff out I’m going to take a big trip down -to Perth. I’m going to get a guy with a tramp ship, -a Windjammer for preference. I’m going to fix up -with him; he’ll get a handsome commission on our -trade of gold, and I’m going to bring him along up -and have him stand off down the coast a few miles, -an’ then, with this old barge of ours, I’ll come along -and pick up all we got, an’ haul it back aboard of his -ship. Then you’re going right along with him and the -stuff, and you’re going to travel from port to port and -dispose of it for credit at such banks as will trade in -smallish parcels. And meanwhile, I’ll stop right here -on this coast an’ get stuff out ready for when you come -back. Then I’ll take a trip, an’ you’ll stop around. An’ -when we’ve sold all we need we’ll—quit. It’s the only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> -way, Jim. We got to play the smugglin’ game, an’ play -it good. We got to take chances. Mighty big chances! -I got to trust you, an’ you got to trust me, an’ we got -to trust that skipper by makin’ it worth his while an’ -keeping a gun pushed ready. Ther’s got to be no -weakening. It’s the only way I can see to put our -play through. Otherwise, our gold ain’t worth hell -room to us. Do you see it? Are you on? I want -you to make that first trip because you got folks needing -you worse than any one needs me. That’s one -reason. The other is I want you to feel I’m putting -right into your hands my share, and I’m not worrying -a thing because that’s so. See? We know each other. -We’re on the square. An’ the thing I want from you -is to keep the commission guy on the same angle. -Well?”</p> - -<p>“It’s the sort o’ thing I had in mind, Len, only I -hadn’t got it clear like you.”</p> - -<p>Jim knocked out his pipe and stood up stretching -himself, while he gazed out over the flat calm of the -bay.</p> - -<p>“It goes. Sure it does,” he said readily. “An’ I’m -glad for that thought that made you have me make the -first trip. It’s kind of generous, Len. But it’s like -you. Gee, I’m sick of this coast! Say, can you beat -it? Here we are, two fellers takin’ every chance in -life to make an honest grub stake out of no-man’s -land, and to do that we got to hunt our holes like -gophers, lest folks get wise to us an’ snatch it from us. -It sort of makes you wonder. But you know, Len, -this river’s too rich. I sort of feel that. I kind of feel -the thing’s not goin’ to be as easy as you make it seem. -But we’re goin’ to see it through to the end. An’ God -help the feller that starts in to rob us! Yes, it’s a kind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> -thought of yours, sending me on the first trip. I got -a mother an’ a dandy sister who’ll likely bless you for -this. I guess they’re hard put all right, and the -thought’s had me worried for months. Say——”</p> - -<p>He turned towards the river and glanced up at the -sky. Len laughed.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, Jim. I’m ready all the time,” he -said. “It ain’t work gettin’ back on the river. It’s -play. Come on. We’re going to get out half a ton of -stuff,” he laughed, as he sprang to his feet. “Then -I’ll make Perth, an’ buy up that tramp skipper.”</p> - -<p>He moved off beside his partner, leaving his golden -pile just where it lay. And together they passed out of -the shelter of the trees.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Headland</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">THE woman was standing in the doorway of her -log-built home. She was gazing out over the -waters of the creek below her which flowed gently on -to the distant Alsek River. A mood of quiet contemplative -happiness was shining in her dark eyes. It -was the mother soul in her that was stirred to a deep -sense of happy satisfaction.</p> - -<p>Rebecca Carver was a smallish, sturdy, vigorous -creature something past the middle of life. She had -lived hardly enough in the harsh Alaskan territory that -had bred her and had always remained her home. And -even now, with advancing years, and a body sometimes -only barely equal to the onslaught of its pitiless climate, -she had not even a momentary desire to leave it.</p> - -<p>But then she had not lived unhappily. The years of -her wifehood had been passed in the exciting, many-coloured, -chequered life which ever falls to the lot of -those who devote themselves to the crazy uncertainties -of the quest of gold. No. Her life had never been -monotonous. And besides the excitement of it all she -had had her son, and daughter, and her man, and these -alone would have been sufficient to keep an atmosphere -of smiling contentment in her woman’s heart.</p> - -<p>Now, however, her man had long since gone. Her -son was far away, fending for them and himself as -best he might. She only had her daughter remaining -with her, but the girl was the pride and joy of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> -loyal heart; a blue-eyed, beautiful creature who never -failed to remind her, to her contented satisfaction, of -the cheerful, reckless, gambling husband who had been -her strong support in the hard years of their life together.</p> - -<p>Circumstances were hard-pressing with her now. -They had pressed heavily ever since the death of her -husband. The future was full enough of threat to -depress the stoutest heart. But, for the moment, she -was not concerned with these things. It was the -thought of her boy, her first-born, that filled her -yearning soul with happiness. Only that morning her -daughter had brought her out a letter from Beacon -Glory. It was a letter at long last from Jim. And the -tidings it yielded were of the best.</p> - -<p>The day was utterly grey with the herald of coming -winter. There had been no sun to relieve the dark-hued -forests on the hills which rose up on every side -about her. The blistering summer heat had long since -reduced all vegetation to the russet hues of fall, and -even the great forests of jack-pine had lost something -of the intensity of their evergreen hues. Somewhere -behind her, hidden by a rampart of iron-bound coast, -lay the open seas of the North Pacific. For the rest, -to the North, and East, and South, lay the tattered -world of broken foothills which were the fringe of -the greater hills beyond. She knew it all by heart, this -world of southern Alaska which had always been her -home, and for all the overwhelming nature of it, for -all the threat of the heavy grey sky, she feared nothing -it could show her. And now, perhaps, less than ever.</p> - -<p>She abruptly withdrew her gaze from the tumultuous -scene of it all. She dived into the capacious pocket of -her rough skirt. When her hand was withdrawn it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> -grasping the neatly folded pages of a letter in a big, -scrawling handwriting. She unfolded them and became -deeply absorbed. She almost knew the contents -of the letter by heart, but somehow she felt she could -never read it often enough.</p> - -<p>The letter was vaguely headed “Australia.” It was -without date, but this she had ascertained from its -postmark, as she had also ascertained that it had been -mailed in a city she had barely cognisance of, called -“Perth.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="noindent"> -<span class="smcap">Dearest Mother</span>:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent">We’ve made good. We’ve made so good I can’t begin to -tell you about it.</p></div> - -<p>Just for a moment a deep sigh of happiness escaped -the mother’s lips, and something like tears of emotion -half-filled her eyes. She brushed them aside promptly, -however, and continued her reading.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="noindent">I don’t know the date so I can’t hand it to you. I can’t -hand you our whereabouts either, but for different reasons. -What I can tell you is I’m setting right out for home as soon -as Len gets along back, which’ll maybe in six weeks. He’s -taking this letter with him, an’ will mail it, which’ll maybe in -two or three weeks’ time. I’ll be setting out in a windjammer -called the <i>Imperial</i> of Bristol. When you read the -name you’ll wonder to see it in Len’s handwriting, but you -see he’s taking the letter, and we don’t know the name of the -ship till he gets to his destination and charters it, see? So -he’ll have to fill the name in. This’ll all seem kind of mysterious -to you, but it don’t matter. The thing is, I’m coming -right along home to you, an’ll reach you in about six months’ -time, with enough stuff so you’ll never have to worry a thing -again ever.</p></div> - -<p>The letter went on for several pages, filled to the brim -with that kindly, intimate talk which never fails to stir<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> -the depths of a mother’s heart. And so Rebecca -Carver read it all once again, revelling in the delight -with which the words of her boy filled her.</p> - -<p>Jim had made good! Jim was returning home! He -was crazy to be with her and his sister Claire again. -Oh, it was good, so good! The woman’s brown eyes -were raised smiling whimsically at the sudden thought -which her mood had inspired. Why, it was all so -good that she would almost joyfully accept whatever -offer Bad Booker might make for their last block of -real estate in the city of Beacon Glory, which now -represented their entire resources for the coming winter. -Yes, never in her life had she been so thrilled. -Never!</p> - -<p>She remembered earlier thrills. She remembered -those hard times when they had been well-nigh confronted -with starvation. She remembered how her -husband, that headlong gambler, had set out to the -gaming tables of Beacon Glory with their last remaining -dollars in his pocket. And she had sat at home -with her half-fed children awaiting his return. Then -the joy of his return with pockets bulging—yes, those -had been great moments. But then he was a skilful -gambler and rarely failed. This—this was something -on a different plane. Something——</p> - -<p>Her contemplative gaze had discovered movement -on the hillside across the water. It was a horse-drawn -vehicle moving rapidly, descending the precipitate slope -diagonally at the break of the forest which gave way -to the bald, wind-swept crest above. Its course would -bring it down to the far side of the ford of the river -directly opposite where she was standing.</p> - -<p>Her smile deepened. It needed no second thought -to tell her whose vehicle it was. Ivor McLagan, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> -oil man from the Alsek River, was on his way into -Beacon Glory, which lay ten miles or so to the northeast -of her home.</p> - -<p>She awaited his arrival. He was a welcome enough -visitor at all times. And he never failed to call in on -his way, and leave her any newspapers he might chance -to have. He was wealthy, and a man everybody esteemed. -She had sometimes hoped—— But she knew -that could never be. Claire was a girl of strong decision -for all she was only twenty-one. She had already -definitely refused to marry him. She liked him -well enough. They all liked him. Especially had Jim -liked him, but it was her woman’s understanding of the -position that made her fear that Claire’s frank regard -would never deepen to anything warmer.</p> - -<p>The buckboard seemed to be almost falling down -the precipitous slope under the man’s reckless handling. -It was literally plunging headlong, but she understood—she -knew. It was McLagan’s way with his -Alaskan bronchos. There would be no disaster. And -as she watched his progress she wanted to laugh, for -such was the lightness of her mood.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The buckboard rattled, and shook, and jolted as it -bustled down the hillside over a broken almost undefined -trail. Its surefooted, well-fed team was utterly -untiring. The shaggy creatures made no mistakes. -Tough, hardy, they were bred to just such work as this, -and they were in the hands of a super-teamster. So -the creek came up to them with a rush and they plunged -belly deep into the chill water of the ford. Then, moments -later, they were reined in sharply at the door of -the man’s familiar stopping place.</p> - -<p>“Say, ma’am, this country’s one hell of a proposition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> -for a quiet, decent, comfort-loving, ordinary sort of -<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note—Period added after 'ordinary sort of engineer'">engineer</ins>.”</p> - -<p>The man’s greeting was full of cheer, and his smiling -eyes conveyed a quiet sense of dry humour. Ivor -McLagan had no claims to good looks, and his manner -ordinarily was sufficiently brusque to border on rudeness, -but in this woman’s presence he had a way of displaying -a side to his character that those who met him -in business, those of his own sex, were never admitted -to. No, McLagan had nothing in face or feature to -thrill any woman’s artist soul, but what he lacked in -that direction he made up in another. As he turned -his buckboard wheels and leapt to the ground, he towered -over the little woman in the doorway a figure of -magnificent manhood.</p> - -<p>Rebecca’s eyes smiled up at him responsively.</p> - -<p>“It surely is, Ivor. But I don’t mind a thing. Jim’s -coming right back to me. He’s made good, he and -Len, an’ he’s coming home with stuff so we’ll never -need to worry ever again.”</p> - -<p>It was out. The mother had to tell her glorious -news on the instant. And to this old friend of her -Jim’s of all men.</p> - -<p>Ivor nodded. Then came the quiet, conventional -reply, “You don’t say?”</p> - -<p>The woman’s excitement rose. “But I surely do,” -she cried, holding up the bundled pages of her letter. -“It’s all right here. This is mail I got from him this -morning. Claire brought it out from Beacon, bless -her! My, I—I sort of feel just anyhow. Ever feel -that way? Ever feel you wanted to dance around an’ -shout? Say—but come right in an’ get some coffee. -It’s on the stove. I—I’m forgettin’ everything.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> - -<p>Ivor shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you worry, ma’am,” he said in a tone of sympathy -one would never have associated with him. -“Just get busy an’—shout. But tell me first, when’s -Jim getting along?”</p> - -<p>“Guess he’s right on the way now.” The woman’s -eyes were alight, then a shadow crept into them. “He -won’t be along for six months from the start. Maybe -that’ll be three months an’ more from the coming of -this letter.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it would be about that.”</p> - -<p>The man’s eyes were serious as he regarded the letter -bunched in Rebecca’s hand. Then he looked up and -was smiling again.</p> - -<p>“I’m just so glad for you, ma’am, I can’t say,” he -said cordially. “Jim’s a great boy. He’s got elegant grit, -too. He’s out for you an’ Claire all the time, and I’ll -be real glad to have him around again for—for all -your sakes. How does Claire feel? But there, I guess -she’s crazy glad. Where is she?”</p> - -<p>He craned, peering into the doorway expectantly. -But the mother shook her head.</p> - -<p>“She’s not inside,” she declared. “Glad? Why, it -don’t say a thing, Ivor. You know her. She and -Jim are kind of all in all to themselves. She went sort -of white as a corpse when she read that letter. She -didn’t say much, but if you’d seen her eyes! My! -You can guess wher’ she is now. Ther’s only one -place for Claire when Jim’s on the water sailin’ home. -It’s right up on the headland back of here,” she jerked -her greying head towards the back of the house. -“She’s right up there where she can see the sea. An’ -I guess she’s dreaming fool dreams of his home-coming.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, I guess it’s kind of wonderful for you both,” -Ivor said kindly.</p> - -<p>“Wonderful? Sure it is. Ther’s another thing. -We been kind of in bad shape an’ were selling out our -last block in Beacon that my man left to us. Oh, I’m -not really thinkin’ of the stuff he’s bringing. No,” -Rebecca went on, as though she feared the man might -think that sheer selfishness was the substance of her -delight. “But it helps. And Claire’s been a heap worried -dealing with Bad Booker, but it don’t matter a -thing now. We’ll take what he offers an’ be thankful.”</p> - -<p>Ivor had turned to his horses. He unloosed the -halter shank of the nearside beast and secured it to the -tying ring on the log wall of the house, then he drew -out a bundle of well-read newspapers and held them -out to Rebecca.</p> - -<p>“Here, take these,” he said in his quick, rough way. -“I’ll leave my plugs right here. They’ll be glad to -stand. I’m just going up to get a word with Claire. -I’ll bring her right along down.”</p> - -<p>The mother took the papers and threw them on to -the table in the room behind her. Somehow her usual -interest in them was overwhelmed.</p> - -<p>“Thanks, Ivor,” she said. “You never seem to forget -us. I’ll sure be real glad to have you bring Claire -down with you. She’s crazy glad, sure—we both are, -but it don’t seem time to me to be dreaming around on -any old hill-tops. I’ll set coffee an’ a bite to eat against -you get back.”</p> - -<p>She watched him hurry away, this great creature all -height, and muscle, and plainness of feature. She -realised his eagerness, and again there arose in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> -mother heart that hope which her better sense sought -to deny her.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The girl was gazing out upon the distant sea. The -iron-bound coast that lay immediately below her made -no claim upon her, for all the wild beauty, the cruel -austerity with which its ages-long battle with the -merciless waters of a storm-swept ocean had endowed -it. Neither had the panorama of tumultuous hills -which rose about her, nor the distant snowy crests of -the northern reaches of the Rocky Mountains any appeal. -She only had eyes for the grey, far-off horizon -where sky and sea met. She was searching for some -sign of a sail, which, in fancy, she might translate into -the wings of the vessel bringing home a beloved brother -and—fortune.</p> - -<p>She was beautifully tall and slim, for all her somewhat -rough clothing which had little more than -warmth and utility to recommend it. It was the best -that the joint efforts of her mother and herself had -been able to contrive out of their limited resources, -and the girl was not given to grumbling. No, she -was accustomed to hardships, and self-denial came easy -to her. She was too strong and resolute, she was too -frankly generous to harbour any petty resentment -against her lot.</p> - -<p>In twenty-one years she had grown to superb womanhood, -healthy in mind, healthy in a wonderful degree -in body. Her father had seen something of her splendid -development before he died, but it was left to her -mother to witness the final reality of it. To the latter -her child was the most beautiful creature in all the -world. Her wide blue eyes, and her wealth of flaming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> -red hair, her shapely body, so tall, and vigorous, -and straight; then her sun-tanned, rounded cheeks, -and her well-chiselled nose, and broad, even brows; -were they not all something of a reflection of the early -youth of the man who had given her her own life’s -happiness? Time and again her mother had rejoiced -that she had had her christened with so choice a name -as “St. Claire.” True, the “Saint” had been permitted -to fall into disuse. But it still belonged to her, and -nothing could rob her of it. And the mother only -regretted that the girl herself refused to permit its -revival.</p> - -<p>Just now the girl had given herself up to idle moments -of delicious dreaming. And why not? Difficulties -and troubles had beset them for so long; oh, -yes. She had no scruple in admitting the bald, hard -truth. Not alone was her joy at the prospect of Jim’s -return. He was returning with some sort of fortune, -for them as well as himself.</p> - -<p>It would mean so much to them. Her mother would -know ease and peace of mind after all her heroic struggles -with adversity. Jim would be freed from his -great responsibility for their care. And she—she—well, -there were so many great and wonderful things -in the world she wanted to do and see.</p> - -<p>And dreaming of all that this splendid return meant -to them her mind went back to the interview she had -had only that morning in Beacon Glory with the man -everybody called “Bad” Booker, the chief real estate -man in the city.</p> - -<p>Her journey into town had been inspired by their -necessity. Her mother still owned a small block of -property in Beacon Glory, the last remaining asset left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> -to her by her gambler husband. It was mortgaged to -Booker, himself, but only lightly, and she had visited -him to endeavour to sell it right out. Without Booker’s -help they possessed less than twenty dollars with which -to face the winter, and await Jim’s return. She took -no account of the played-out gold claim on the creek -below her. That had ceased to yield a pennyweight -of gold more than two years back, a fact which had -been the inspiration of her brother’s going.</p> - -<p>She remembered Booker’s smiling fat face and bald -head as she offered him her proposition. He always -smiled, and it was a hateful, greasy, fixed sort of smile. -She believed he was a Jew. But Jew or Gentile, he was -a merciless money-spinner, ready to rob the world of -its last dollar.</p> - -<p>Her anger surged even now with her thought of the -man. He had offered to take the block off her mother’s -hands for two thousand dollars cash. It was the limit -to which he would go. It was mortgaged for two -thousand dollars to him. It was in the very centre of -Beacon Glory, next to the Speedway Dance Hall. And -even though the city was dead flat as a reaction from -its early boom, the property was worth not a cent less -than ten thousand dollars. It was maddening. It was -a sheer “hold-up.” But she knew they were helpless -in the man’s hands. Oh, if they could only tide over -until Jim got back!</p> - -<p>She had told her mother not a word of the man’s -offer yet. Somehow she felt she had not the courage -to tell her. Yet she would have to do so, and, worst -of all, she knew they would have to accept the man’s -offer or starve.</p> - -<p>Well, she would have one slight consolation. Once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> -the deed was signed, and the money was in her hands, -she would tell “Bad” Booker all that was in her mind. -She——</p> - -<p>The sound of a footstep behind her broke up the -half-fierce, almost tearful train of her thought. She -turned sharply to discover Ivor McLagan breathing -heavily after his climb.</p> - -<p>“Say, Claire,” he cried, while he spread out his hands -deprecatingly, and his smallish eyes twinkled humorously, -“why in the name of everything holy make this -darn country worse than it is? Why you need to climb -a mile high to enjoy the thought of your Jim, boy, coming -along, I just can’t see. I surely can’t!” Then -he glanced quickly out to sea and took a deep breath. -“My, but this is a swell spot!” he added soberly.</p> - -<p>The girl’s bad time had passed. Her smile came on -the instant.</p> - -<p>“That’s quite a contradiction,” she said slily.</p> - -<p>“Sure. Well, we’ll cut the first part right out.” -McLagan’s twinkling gaze came back to the girl’s face, -and he drank in the fresh beauty of it. “I couldn’t -pass along into that nightmare city of ours without -speaking my piece of gladness for your news. It’s -bully! It certainly is. The boy’s made good. An’ for -you folks, I guess, only just in time.”</p> - -<p>The girl nodded as she looked up into the man’s -plain face, and a flash of thoughtful regret for its -plainness broke in on all the rest that preoccupied her.</p> - -<p>“I doubt if it’s even that, Ivor,” she said, a little -desperately.</p> - -<p>“How?”</p> - -<p>The man’s interrogation was a return to his roughness -of manner.</p> - -<p>“Why, Bad Booker’s got us right in his clutches, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> -we can’t even wriggle. He reckons to hand Mum two -thousand on top of his two thousand mortgage for -a block of stuff you could market free for ten thousand. -It’s his two thousand or—or starve.”</p> - -<p>The girl finished up with a smile that failed to hide -her feelings, and McLagan’s eyes hardened.</p> - -<p>“The man’s a swine,” he said, and his voice grated -harshly.</p> - -<p>“That don’t help.”</p> - -<p>“No. Don’t accept, Claire. Don’t you sell.”</p> - -<p>“But we’ve got to eat.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, an’ you’re going to. Here.” Just for a -second the man hesitated, and shifted his gaze from -the beautiful urgent face that never more deeply appealed -to him than now. Then it came back on the -instant. “It’s no use,” he cried, and his tone was -rough. “You’re not going to starve. You and your -mother can have all the cash you need till Jim comes, -and—and I want nothing in return. Do you get my -meaning, Claire? If you take money on loan from -me till Jim gets home you’ll never have need to worry. -You can just shut it right out of your head and forget -it—till Jim comes home. I mean that just plain an’ -straight. And there isn’t a thing behind it.”</p> - -<p>They stood eye to eye while the girl swiftly read the -sheer honesty lying behind the man’s eyes. Then she -shook her head.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, “I’m going to sell. I’m going to sell, -and I’ll just wait around after, hoping for the day to -come when the Aurora Clan will reckon that Bad -Booker’s a sort of nightmare disease an’ needs plenty -good med’cine. Thanks, Ivor. It’s just a real kind -thought of yours, and the thing that makes me glad is -I know you mean it just as you’ve said it. But I don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> -want your money. I—I wouldn’t take it if it was that -or—or starve.”</p> - -<p>For all there was something of roughness in the -girl’s choice of words for her refusal, there was none -in her manner. Even her hope that one day Booker -would receive his medicine at the hands of the secret -Aurora Clan was without undue feeling. The man was -deeply stirred.</p> - -<p>They were great friends, these two. But for the -man’s peace of mind the frank nature of their friendship -was deplorable. He loved the girl with all the -strength of his manhood. He held a big position with -the Mountain Oil Corporation of Ohio as their consulting -engineer, and his whole desire was to take this -child of the northern wilderness away to his far-off -home in the sunlit valleys of California. She had -refused to marry him more than once. But somehow -her refusal had left their friendship unaffected. She -liked him whole-heartedly in a manner that to her precluded -all possibility of regard of a deeper nature, but -which in the man only contrived to strengthen his natural -persistence.</p> - -<p>The leaping fires of the man’s passion surged up in -face of the rebuff. For a brief moment he contemplated -the smiling eyes in their wonderful framing of -vivid hair, which the slouch-brimmed hat she was wearing -failed to conceal. Then his lips obeyed his impulse.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know, Claire,” he said, his voice harshened -by emotion. “You won’t, you can’t accept my help. -Why? I’ll tell you. Because I don’t belong to you. -Because I want to marry you, am crazy with love for -you, and you don’t feel like falling for my notion. So -you can’t have the thing I want to do for you like I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -never wanted to do for anybody ever before. I guess -you’re right enough in your own lights, sure you are. -You’re not putting yourself under obligation to the -feller you don’t fancy to marry. But why not marry -me, Claire? Maybe I’m not a thing of beauty. But I -guess I just love you to death. Maybe you don’t care a -thing for the picture I make now, but you’ll get used to -it. Sure you will.” He laughed a little bitterly. “I -guess folks can get used to most things after a while.” -Then his smile passed. “But, my dear, ther’s not a -thing in the world I wouldn’t do to give you a real dandy -life. These oil wells out here are going to pass me a -fortune that I’m crazy to share with you. Won’t you? -No. You won’t. I can see it in your eyes, the same -as I’ve seen it before. But—but if I’ve still got to -stand for that, there’s things I won’t stand for. You -need help and I’ll raise all the hell I can to pass it you.”</p> - -<p>Claire shook her head a shade impatiently.</p> - -<p>“It’s no use, Ivor. Why—why can’t we be friends? -True, I haven’t a thing against you in the world, not a -thing, not even”—she smiled gently—“the looks which -you don’t seem to set much stock by. No, it isn’t -anything like that. True it isn’t. I like you, but—— -Here, you don’t get the things lying back of my -fool head. Guess I’m my father’s daughter. You -knew him for what he was. He was a gambler. And -maybe, in a way, I’m a gambler, too. I want life with -all its chances. I want to reach out an’ hug it all. I -want to take every chance coming, and do something, -and be something in the game of it all. I don’t want -to marry. Sure not yet. I don’t want to share in any -man’s home, and—and grow on like a cabbage. -There’s too much of the big adventure in life for me to -miss it all. Maybe I’ll get sort of disillusioned later—maybe.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> -I can’t help that. But I mean to take a hand -in the game meanwhile.”</p> - -<p>There was such a ring of final resolution in the -girl’s smiling denial that the man realised his momentary -defeat. So he offered no further protest. -He made no attempt at argument. He shrugged his -great shoulders, and the happy twinkle returned to his -eyes.</p> - -<p>“Don’t say another word, Claire,” he said gently. -“Maybe I understand the thing lying back of your -mind. Forget my break. It was a bad one, and I -shouldn’t have made it, but—but I sort of just had to. -I won’t do it again. There isn’t some other feller, is -there?”</p> - -<p>The girl laughed happily in her relief at his manner.</p> - -<p>“Not a soul,” she cried, unhesitatingly.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right.” The man’s eyes smiled responsively. -“I can wait. I’m going to, and I’ll make no -more bad breaks. And maybe when you’ve hit your -adventures, and kind of tired of them, and feel you’d -like the rest you’ll have maybe earned, why I’ll be -waiting around, and I’ll surely be ready to hand it you -when you raise a finger, a sign. An’ meanwhile, my -dear, I’d be glad to have you feel ther’s no sort of -trouble in the world so big I wouldn’t be glad to smooth -out for you.” He suddenly spread out his muscular -hands. “These two hands are for you, night or day, -all the time, and I’ve two ears that’ll hear the faintest -whisper of trouble that’s worrying you. Say, come -along right down. Your mother’s crazy to talk your -Jim to you and she asked me to bring you to home.”</p> - -<p>The man’s whole manner was so gentle as to be -irresistible. For all the thing that lay between them -there had never been a moment when he had made so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> -great an appeal to the girl. His normal roughness she -knew to be but an unfortunate garment in which he -clothed himself. Now, as times before, she was listening -to the real man so surely hidden from the world -that looked on. She was not without a shadow of -regret that she could not see in him the man of her -desire. Without a word of protest she permitted him -to lead the way down from the bald crest of the headland.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">In Beacon Glory</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">IVOR McLAGAN eased his great body in the groaning -wicker chair, and his eyes snapped with something -like irritation. The long, lean cigar it was his -habit to smoke he removed from between his lips, and -indicated the main thoroughfare beyond the window -behind him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t tell me you’ve a hunch for this muck-hole, -Victor,” he said sharply. “Take a pull at yourself, -man. Get a cold douche, if you can find a thing so -wholesome in Beacon Glory, and wake yourself right -up. Take a look out there. Take a peek around you, -and if you aren’t as blind as a dead mule, and a sure -candidate for the foolish place, you’ll see this darnation -monument to human vanity as it is. I tell you there’s -no sort of limit to human vanity when it gets a-riot -fixing cities. Beacon Glory? Did you ever call a hogpen -by any other fancy name? Sure you didn’t. You -aren’t plumb crazed yet for all you’re talking this burg -as though winter had no right hiding it up for six -months of the year. Get a look at the garbage lying -around even the business avenue. Avenue! Sounds -fine, doesn’t it? And then think of the hell of flies and -skitters you got to live through next summer. Look -at the shanties lying scattered around desecrating a -swell picture of Nature’s painting. They’re enough to -insult a half-breed settlement that don’t know better. -But that’s no circumstance to the folks who’re to blame<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> -for despoiling God Almighty’s decent earth with a -pestilential collection of man’s assorted junk. The -moral atmosphere of Beacon Glory would leave the -hottest oven in hell hollering. There’s more dirt an’ -dishonesty to the square inch in Beacon Glory than -you’d ever find in any mediæval Turkish penitentiary, -kept especially for housing the folks they don’t like the -faces of. And they call this quagmire of corruption -‘Beacon Glory’! They laid it out in Avenues! They -filled it up with garbage an’ human junk, an’ folk like -you sit around with your hat in one hand and the other -on your left chest and breathe the word ‘city’ in the -sort of tone you’d hand out over a deathbed. That’s -you, who don’t belong to it. You, who aren’t any sort -of part of it, except you’re here to collect any stray -gold lying around, and pass it back to your home city. -You, a banker! My, it’s queer how folks can fall for -their surroundings!”</p> - -<p>Victor Burns laughed cordially at his friend’s diatribe. -It amused him thoroughly. McLagan was on -his pet theme, which was an utter contempt and detestation -of the city of Beacon Glory.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, Ivor,” he said. “You can’t run a -branch of your bank and shout at the folks you do -business with. For just as long as it’s my job collecting -the dust folks don’t know better than to waste their -lives chasing, Beacon Glory’s a deal bigger than ‘ace -high’ to me. It’s a swell city that does a mighty big -credit to the folks whose enterprise set it up—and -made my living possible. You’re collecting oil in the -big valleys, which is liable to leave you finding a queer -sort of human fog lying about our principal avenue, -but I’d like to say the ‘muck-hole’ of Beacon Glory -don’t hurt your prospect a cent, and you’d miss its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> -‘beauties’ if the foolish ones had never dumped it -down.”</p> - -<p>McLagan laughed good-naturedly, and returned his -cigar to its place in the corner of his capacious mouth. -They were lounging in the office of Beacon Glory’s -principal hotel, this engineer of the Mountain Oil -Corporation and the chief banker of the place. They -were something more than business acquaintances. A -pleasant friendship existed between them, inspired perhaps -by mutual esteem for the other’s integrity in surroundings -which each knew to be something morally -deplorable.</p> - -<p>The hotel—the Plaza by name—was an angular -three-storied, wooden-frame building that had once -been well and truly painted. But that was in the boom -days. It had a verandah fronting on the city’s only -business avenue, a long, unpaved thoroughfare that -had wrecked the running gear of more vehicles in its -time than any roadway the world had ever known. -Over the verandah, on a level with the first floor, was -a wide balcony of similar proportions. In the heyday -of prosperity this had been covered by a brilliant -striped awning, but that, like the outside paint, had -long since yielded to the weather. But for all its -dreary, derelict appearance the Plaza stood out amongst -the rest of the city’s buildings, with one or two exceptions, -as something rather magnificent, if only for -its proportions.</p> - -<p>McLagan and the banker had the office with its decayed -furniture and spluttering wood stove to themselves. -That is, they only shared it with its atmosphere -of general uncleanness. It was the hour immediately -before supper, a meal which Abe Cranfield’s fly-blown -menu described as “dinner,” a title his boarders refused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> -to accept. Soon contingents of humanity would -foregather in anticipation of a meal to sustain stomachs -which had long since learned to satisfy themselves -on a diet of unsavoury monotony.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, Victor,” McLagan said readily. -“You’re a banker, I’m not. I’m just a hard citizen the -same as the rest, and don’t need to worry to keep my -notions of Beacon Glory to myself. And if any feller -feels like disputing, why, I can argue it out any old -way he fancies. But I’m sick with this city the -same as I’m sick with most things unclean. I guess -it isn’t altogether the fault of folks so much as -the times, and the thing life’s drifted into. Does it -ever worry you thinking of modern conditions and -the crazy scramble of it all? You know, I ought -to’ve been born two or three centuries back before -some fool guy invented the words ‘democracy’ and -‘proletariat.’ You can’t run a thing right by committees -and assemblies set up by any popular vote. Think -of me trying to locate oil in the hills back here with a -bunch of guys sitting around telling me how I need to -go about it, and where to start my drills. No, sir. -It’s the same with countries and cities and Sunday -schools. You need one head and one hand. And -whether for good or bad you’ll get some sort of order -and discipline and things’ll move quick. I’d say it’s -better, seeing human nature is what it is, to let one feller -graft than a government of hundreds, and it’s cheaper. -This territory’s run by a government that only cares -for its job and legislates thousands of miles away. -What’s the result? Why—Beacon Glory, an undisciplined -quagmire of human muck!”</p> - -<p>Victor Burns lit a cigarette and grinned through the -smoke. He was a small, round, sleek little man, clean-shaven<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> -and with a pleasant face that looked to be made -for smiling. He was almost in ridiculous contrast to -the huge frame and rugged exterior of the other.</p> - -<p>“That’s all so, all right,” Burns nodded. “I’ve -thought heaps more than that lying awake at nights -wondering how far the other feller’s got me beat. But -a grouch in this office isn’t going to fix things right.” -He glanced alertly round the room which still remained -empty. “And that’s why I’m kind of glad for that -bunch of boys who got together to try and clean things -up. It don’t matter to me who or what the folks of the -Aurora Clan are, or the ultimate purpose lying back of -their game. They started out a year ago to clean -things up some and they got half the toughs of this -burg scared to foolishness. There hasn’t been a hold-up -in months, and only a week back these white-gowned -purifiers burnt out stark that drug den of Bernard’s -where Charlie O’Byrne was done to death for his wad. -Say, those boys are right if they just stick right to the -game they started on. The danger is, when they got -Beacon where they need it and have cleaned up the -tougher stuff of the place, they may be looking for payment.”</p> - -<p>Ivor shook his head.</p> - -<p>“You never can tell, Victor,” he said seriously. -“They’re a terror to the muck of this place now, I agree. -Maybe later they’ll be a terror, anyway, that’s the way -of these things. So long as they act the way they are -we’re all glad, we must be. Any feller with a wide -mind would be crazy to feel bad about them, but,” he -shook his head and flung the stump of his cigar almost -viciously into the stove, “maybe it’ll just drift into the -usual. With the others out of the way they’ll do the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> -hold-up. Then the Government, thousands of miles -away’ll butt in. The Aurora Clan will get cleaned -right up and back we’ll fall into the muck those boys -did their best to haul us out of. No, I’ve a brief for -them. I surely have. But when they’ve done their -work and start getting gay for themselves, I’ll be as -ready as any one to start cleaning them up. It’s a hell -of a place, anyway!”</p> - -<p>McLagan remained gazing into the stove with eyes -that had lost their usual twinkle. He was a man of -immense resolution and capacity. A brilliant mining -engineer, he yearned for wider scope in the affairs of -life. So far all his energies had been directed to the -earth’s remote places, seeking those treasures for his -Corporation which at any cost must be acquired for -the purposes of satisfying voracious shareholders. -And Victor Burns, watching him, understood something -of the restless, dissatisfied spirit driving him. -He was a shrewd judge of men, as are most real -bankers, and this burly, plain creature, all energy and -capacity, more than usually interested him.</p> - -<p>“How’s oil?” he asked quietly, as the other remained -silent.</p> - -<p>“Just about the same.” Ivor laughed in his short -way. “Oh, it’s there all right. It’s there plenty. The -Alsek valley’s full of it—when we can reach it. That’s -one of the things makes me feel bad for this place. -When we strike it, as we’re sure to, the old gold boom -that bred this city won’t be any sort of circumstance.”</p> - -<p>“When’ll that be?”</p> - -<p>Burns’ eyes were shrewdly inquiring. It was his -business to be well-informed.</p> - -<p>“Any old time, maybe a month, maybe two years.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> -McLagan shook his head. “You can’t just say. But -two years from now is our limit. That’ll make a -seven-year prospect.”</p> - -<p>“I see.” Burns nodded and glanced round. The -door had opened to admit the first arrival of the boarders. -“Well, we need it. There’s some gold flowing in -slowly from the country. But things are dead flat, -and I can’t even begin to guess where the folks collect -the dollars spent at the Speedway every night. Max, -there, tells me he’s looking to a big spending winter, -but I don’t see how he figures it. Howdy, Tilbury,” -he nodded at the new arrival. “Where’s your partner, -Allison?”</p> - -<p>The newcomer, slight, short and with greying hair, -nodded back a greeting.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I guess he’s on the bum around. He’ll be -along. Glad to see you, Mr. McLagan,” he said, turning -quickly and almost deferentially to the engineer. -“Opened up a gusher yet?”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s eyes twinkled as he rose from his protesting -chair.</p> - -<p>“Guess I’ll be asked that haf a century of times -before the night’s out. No, boy,” he said. “The old -earth’s holding up her secrets and looks like holding -’em years. An’ say, you’ll be doing me real service -putting that news around when the boys come in to -feed. Put it round quick, while I go and wash. Travelling’s -a mighty dirty pastime around Beacon Glory, -which is only reasonable.” And he passed out of the -office just as a distant bell rang announcing the evening -meal.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“Bad” Booker was sitting in his private room behind -the outer office. It was a comfortable apartment, almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> -sumptuous, and seemed to be the natural setting -for the personality of this real estate man. He was a -heavy creature with a flowing moustache, of which, to -judge by the inordinate care he bestowed upon it, he -was exceedingly proud. He was fat and everything -about him was gross. His general appearance and -manner were of extreme good nature, and his smile -to this end was of a quality admirably calculated to -emphasise it. But Beacon Glory knew the man because, -whatever other things Beacon Glory may have -lacked, it had a swift estimate of those who were part -of its public life. Those whose misfortune made it -necessary to come into business contact with Bad -Booker hated and detested the man, and more particularly -his smile, for they quickly found that the real -estate mask was incapable of long concealing the ugly -features of the usurer underneath.</p> - -<p>He was smoking a pungent Turkish cigarette liberally -besprinkled with gold lettering, and the while he -was studying the extensive deed of title relating to a -corner block in the chief avenue of the city. An air -of calm satisfaction pervaded the man, for he knew -that the property under consideration was about to -fall into his hands at a price which even he regarded as -advantageous. It was what he desired.</p> - -<p>He was a shrewd creature with a wide vision in the -matter of self-interest. Whatever others might think -of Beacon Glory, he, at least, had no doubts. He realised -with absolute certainty that the place was there -to stay. It was within twenty miles of a fine, wide -harbour for shipping from the South. It was built on -the shores of a large lake whose name, since the city’s -building, had become associated with the place, and it -occupied a site in the heart of a splendid valley which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> -ran right down to the sea and was the highway to the -interior of Alaska through the otherwise almost impassable -world of the southern hills. It was the centre -of a gold region that was as yet in its infancy. Furthermore, -there was coal and iron, and undoubtedly -oil in abundance in the broken world about it. The -place was “flat” now as a reaction from its original -boom, but it was moving steadily if slowly, and the -right men were drifting in with a view to exploring -its resources.</p> - -<p>Very quietly and unostentatiously he was acquiring -every property that fell into the market so long as the -price met his ideas of investment. He was ready to -mortgage for any town property. Smiling at all times, -his purse was always open for any proprietor of a -town lot who needed temporary assistance. The man -was a merciless money-spinner of the worst type. Disaster -and misfortune to others were the conditions -under which his real business prospered.</p> - -<p>He laid the documents aside and lit a fresh cigarette -from the remains of the other, which he dropped -thoughtfully into the silver-mounted ash-tray on the -desk beside him. Then he sat back in his chair, and, -with his fleshy hands clasped over his ample stomach, -gave himself up to a few moments of rapid mental -calculation.</p> - -<p>But his efforts were broken in upon. There was a -light tap on the opaque glass of the door that shut him -off from the outer office, and a clerk pushed his way -in.</p> - -<p>In an instant his smiling habit returned, but his tone -of greeting was sharp.</p> - -<p>“What in hell is it this time, Jake?” he demanded, -while his hands fell away from his stomach.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> - -<p>Jake Forner was a mild-looking creature whose face -gave no true indication of the man behind it. He was -broad and angular, with shoulders that looked sizes -too big for the rest of his body. He was clean-shaven, -with the wide brow and big dark eyes of the student. -But his mouth and jaws were firmly set and suggested -possibilities.</p> - -<p>“It’s an open letter,” he said, “and it was handed in -by a kid I just didn’t seem to rec’nise. I didn’t feel -like worrying you with it till I opened it, then I guessed -I’d best pass it in to you right away.”</p> - -<p>He came over to the desk and held out an open -sheet of paper, while his dark eyes closely scrutinised -the smiling features of his employer.</p> - -<p>Booker took the paper without interest for all the -other’s quietly impressive manner. He glanced at the -open sheet casually, and, in a moment, his attention became -profoundly absorbed.</p> - -<p>Jake Forner was watching him. His eyes had something -in them that suggested smiling thought behind -them. He was noting his employer’s expression and -saw it change rapidly from its habitual smile to complete -seriousness, and, finally, to something that seemed -to suggest anger not undriven by alarm.</p> - -<p>It was a curious document, littered with a scrawling -writing made up of rough block capital letters and evidently -indited by some rough instrument, possibly a -piece of sharpened wood. The lettering was red and -at the bottom of it, underneath the signature, was the -rough outline of a skull and crossbones, a flamboyant, -melodramatic finish that might well have inspired derision. -But somehow, the thing inspired nothing of -the sort in the mind of the man to whom it was addressed. -He read it carefully:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="noindent"> - -<span class="smcap">Bad Booker</span>,<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent">You are trying to steal a city block from a helpless client. -You have a mortgage on it for two thousand dollars. You -are offering two thousand dollars more to wipe out the mortgage -and possess the lot. The lowest market value of the -property is ten thousand dollars. You will pay the difference -between your mortgage and ten thousand dollars, namely, -eight thousand dollars for the site. You have twenty-four -hours in which to make a written offer of this amount. If -you fail to do this, and to complete the deal in one week from -this date, you will be hanged on the site in question.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Sgd. <span class="smcap">Chief Light of the Aurora</span>.<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>Booker did not look up as he finished the reading. -He sat gazing at the paper, and once or twice Jake -Forner observed that he swallowed drily. Then, as -the man remained furiously silent, the clerk cleared his -throat.</p> - -<p>“That’s about as ugly as I’ve known ’em to play,” -he said in a tone of mild sympathy.</p> - -<p>Booker laid the paper down and raised a pair of -angry eyes. The clerk saw the storm in them and -waited for it to break. It came on the instant.</p> - -<p>“The swines!” Booker’s body was squared in the -well-padded chair. He was sitting up and breathing -heavily. “The dirty, low-down swines!” he cried. -Then a heavy fist was raised and fell with a crash on -the ill-drawn sign of the skull. “If they think they -can scare me with a bluff like that I reckon they’re -crazy. It’s a hold-up, and I’m falling for no hold-up. -By God! I’ll fight them! Eight thousand? Not on -your life. I’ll press that two thousand home right -away and show ’em they can’t throw a bluff at me and -get away with it. They want a written offer. Well, -I guess they’ll get it. I’ll write it now an’ you can beat -it out to the Carver woman, and put it right into her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> -hands. But it’s for two thousand dollars. And I -guess she’ll fall for it quick or—starve.”</p> - -<p>He pushed the Aurora Clan’s document roughly -aside and started to write out his offer, but Jake anxiously -intervened; he quickly raised a white hand and -passed it across his broad forehead.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t act in a hurry,” he said quickly. “You’re -bucking a tough game with the ‘aces’ against you. The -Aurora bunch have been mighty busy in the past weeks. -Is it worth it? Just look back an’ see. Bernard’s -gone. Clean wiped out, an’ he’s had to beat it out of -Beacon looking like a black rooster that hasn’t moulted -right. Then there was Pat Herne who robbed Len -Sitwell when he was soused at the Speedway. They -hanged him right outside the town limits. Then don’t -forget Dick Mansell, who held up the stage coming -in from Ranger. He was left pumped full of lead till -you couldn’t tell his guts from an ash riddle. I’m -scared for you, boss. I surely am. Ther’s a terror -creepin’ through this place scares me plumb to death. -These guys are a citizen bunch and no sort of ordinary -toughs. They’re acting seemingly with some sort of -slab-sided purpose. They’re wise to every move going -on, an’ I can’t reckon how they get hold of things. -But there it is, and when they hand in a brief on a -boy they put through the thing it says. We’re a business -enterprise, boss, and it’s our job to beat the other -feller if we can. But I sort of feel when ther’s a -hanging bee at the end of it, business goes right out. -Don’t you jump, boss. Sure I’m scared. I haven’t -your nerve. But I got it right here,” and he tapped his -forehead with a forefinger, “this is no sort of bluff. -It’s dead straight. An’ I’m not yearning to see you -swinging on the wrong end of a rawhide rope.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> - -<p>Jake spoke quietly but urgently, and his usually mild -eyes were a match for his manner. He was Booker’s -confidential clerk, a man of quiet efficiency and whose -vision was unusually clear. So, for all his swift wrath, -Booker had let him talk. Now, however, the usurer -leapt uppermost and his reply was swift and biting.</p> - -<p>“You want me to hand out eight thousand at the -orders of this gang?” he cried, furiously. “You want -me to pass eight thousand good dollars to Rebecca -Carver when she’s ready to close for two? You’re -crazy, Jake! Crazy as a bed-bug! If that’s the sort -of business we’re to do, I guess the sooner we close -our doors and beat it the better. Besides——”</p> - -<p>“And the hanging bee?”</p> - -<p>The eyes of the clerk were steadily regarding his -furious chief, and somehow the quiet reminder was not -without effect. Booker shifted his gaze and it fell on -the lamentable design of the skull.</p> - -<p>“This thing sets me crazy mad,” he protested, and -his tone had somehow fallen from its original bluster.</p> - -<p>“But you’ll be madder—for a while—at the hanging -bee.”</p> - -<p>Booker broke into a short, harsh laugh at his clerk’s -persistence in dwelling upon the thing he saw lying -ahead.</p> - -<p>“That stunt has got you scared all right, Jake,” -Booker said, with a world of contempt in the quick -look he raised to the man’s pale face. “Maybe you’re -guessing, seeing you’re my clerk, they’ll need you to -be present to share in the game.”</p> - -<p>A flush mounted to the clerk’s cheeks.</p> - -<p>“You can guess that way if you fancy, boss,” he -retorted, in a pronounced change of tone. Then his -eyes searched the fat, unsmiling face before him. “But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> -you best get this right now and get it quick. I’m out -for your profit as well as my own. I’m out to see this -business go right on without any interruption in the -nature of a hanging bee. If you collected that chunk -of real estate for two thousand dollars on top of the -mortgage it would be a swell profit. Some folks might -call it robbery, seeing they ain’t in it. But ten thousand -dollars is bedrock just now as they say in that -brief, and, when boom time comes again, you won’t -miss the six thousand dollars’ difference they’re demanding. -Well, I guess I’d buy off a hanging bee, -with me as the centrepiece, any old time for six thousand -dollars. And if you’re wise, I guess you’ll act -that way, too.”</p> - -<p>“But you’re forgetting the bluff of it all,” Booker -said, without looking up. Then he raised his hard -eyes. “Gee, haven’t you any sort of old guts makes -you want to kick? Can you stand for a thing like -that?” he cried, holding up the ill-written document. -“Are we men, or——?”</p> - -<p>“We certainly wouldn’t be men for long if we didn’t -stand for it. You don’t seem to get a grip of this -thing, boss. I’ve watched it all the time. This Aurora -bunch is as real as the old Ku-Klux Klan, that cleaned -up the south in the nigger days. You’re wondering if -we’re men. Well, I’d say right here, let’s be. Don’t -write your offer in a hurry. Think awhile. An’ when -you’ve thought good I’ll saddle my pony and ride out -to Rebecca Carver with the result. It won’t hurt us -to get that block at the price they say. But it will at -any other. I’m making that tracing of the new city -limits and need to get right on with it. Maybe in a -while you’ll let me know the thing you’ve decided.”</p> - -<p>Jake turned away and passed quickly into the outer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> -office, closing the partition door carefully behind him. -Booker watched him go with eyes which had doubt in -them for the first time. Yielding was utterly foreign -to his nature where advantage in a transaction lay -within his grasp. But the mild-eyed clerk had driven -home his argument in a fashion all the more relentless -for its sobriety. And for once in his life Bad Booker, -the usurer, was thinking more of the vision of a hanging -as conjured by his subordinate than he was of robbing -a helpless widow of six thousand dollars.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Great Disaster</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">THE mother was sitting over her cookstove. She -was almost crouching over it. With her hands -tightly clasped she seemed as though she was striving -with every resource of her being to support herself under -the crushing weight of the great grief with which -she was beset. Her widely gazing eyes were straining -with the mental anguish behind them. And they were -utterly unseeing for all they stared into the ruddy heart -of the fire shining between the upright bars. Stony -misery looked out of them, that dreadful expression -of heartbreak which seems to leave a woman powerless, -helpless.</p> - -<p>The living room about her was neat, and of its usual -orderliness. It lacked nothing of the housewifely care -that was usually bestowed upon it. For all the poverty -of its furnishing, it was a place of comfort, which, -even under Rebecca Carver’s suddenly imposed grief, -had not been allowed to suffer. Her daughter Claire -had seen to that. For the time her mother was submerged -in her trouble, and the girl herself was no less -stricken, but will and youth in the latter had overridden -every weakness of the moment.</p> - -<p>Thus the mother had sat for many hours. And the -transformation which had taken place in her in twenty-four -hours was something almost horrifying to the devoted -daughter.</p> - -<p>During the long hours of night the still, silent figure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> -had nursed her despair. Claire, no less sleepless, had -discovered her in precisely the same position each time -she had left her bed in an adjoining room. She had -prayed her mother, she had sought to persuade her by -every means in her power, to seek her bed, and such -peace as sleep might afford her. But it had all been -useless. Each time her mother had obeyed her submissively, -meekly, almost mechanically, only to return -again to her vigil at the fireside the moment she had -been left alone.</p> - -<p>The grey afternoon was far advanced when Claire -returned from the creek below with her arms full of -a snowy laundry. Work! It had been the same all -day with her. It was her only defence. She pushed -her way in through the half-open door, and one swift -glance and the sound of rustling paper as she deposited -her burden on the well-worn table, told her of the -unchanged mental attitude of her mother.</p> - -<p>Just for a moment she stood regarding the bowed -figure with troubled eye. She saw the crumpled news-sheet, -one of the papers which Ivor had left with them -the day before. It was crushed under her arms as -they rested in her lap. And she understood. Her -mother had been reading again, perhaps for the hundredth -time, that brief newspaper story which was the -source of the nightmare of disaster which had fallen -upon them.</p> - -<p>The girl was tired and utterly dispirited. Somehow -her tall, graceful figure seemed slightly bowed out of -its usual courageous bearing. Her pretty eyes were -ringed about, as though, in the absence of observation, -she had yielded to her woman’s expression of grief. -But now, at the sight of the silent, tearless figure at -the stove, she summoned every ounce of her youthful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> -courage to her aid. She moved across the room -quickly, and deliberately removed the paper from beneath -the yielding arms.</p> - -<p>“Must you, mother?” she said quietly, but with a -sharpness she was wholly unaware of. Then she added -as she smoothed out the paper, “Will it do any good? -You’ve read the story till—till you’re nigh sick. -You’ve read it till I just can’t bear seeing you read it -any longer. I guess I’ll need to burn it if I don’t want -to have you set crazy.”</p> - -<p>But she made no attempt to burn the paper, and all -her courage seemed to fade completely out as her -mother raised to hers a pair of eyes that were filled -with a world of piteousness.</p> - -<p>The latter shook her greying head.</p> - -<p>“I won’t go crazy, child,” she said in a low, -monotonous voice. “Give me time, dear. You see, -he was my boy—my Jim. He was everything to me—my -son, and—and he’s gone.”</p> - -<p>Something stirred in the girl—something suddenly -spurred her. It was an expression of youthful hope, -which, in calmer moments, she would have realised was -ill-enough founded.</p> - -<p>“But has he?” she demanded, almost vehemently. -“You don’t know—we don’t know! You’ve read that -story till you can’t read it right. Our judgment’s been -snowed under in the scare of it. That’s so, sure! -What is it? Why, it’s just a news story,” she cried, -flinging scornful emphasis into her tone. “It’s a fool -news story they love to scare folks with, an’ later -they’ll contradict it without pity for the worry and -grief it’s caused to the folks who’ve read it. I’ve -thought and thought and I tell you it’s—it’s not real. -I don’t believe he’s dead. Here, I’ll show you. I’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> -read it. You sit there and just listen. Will you? -Then you’ll see.”</p> - -<p>She smoothed the paper again and moved away to -the open doorway. Then she read in a strident voice -and commented as she read:</p> - -<p class="p1">“‘Disaster at Sea? Urgent SOS.’</p> - -<p class="p1">“That’s the headline, mum dear, and there’s a question -marked against it,” she cried. “You get that? Even -the paper asks the question.”</p> - -<p>The girl had looked up. She was urgently regarding -the figure at the stove. She was seeking a sign and -seemed to find it in the fact that her mother had sat up.</p> - -<p>“Listen,” she went on quickly. “You need to get the -words just as they are.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“‘The S. S. <i>Arbuthnot</i> of Liverpool, bound for Sydney, -N.S.W., picked up the following wireless on the morning of -27th inst.: “Sailing-ship <i>Imperial</i>, Bristol. Steering gear -carried away. Cargo shifted. Plates badly sprung. Sinking. -Send help. Possibly last twenty-four hours.”’”</p></div> - -<p>Again the girl looked up.</p> - -<p>“Then there’s figgers I don’t understand,” she said. -“Maybe they’re her position. But you see she’s going -to last twenty-four hours. Anything, I guess, could -happen in that time. There’s the boats. Maybe if -there’s storm, it’ll let up. We’ve seen it storm nigh a -hurricane on the sea back of here and flatten out in -twelve hours——”</p> - -<p>The mother shook her head despairingly. “I’ve -thought all that,” she said, in a low voice. Then she -seemed to pull herself together for a supreme effort. -“It’s kind of you, Claire, to—to—say all this. I know,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> -my dear. You’re feeling just as badly, and you’re trying -to help us both. But I feel it right here,” she went -on, clasping her bosom with both hands. “He’s gone—our -Jim. It just wasn’t meant for him to get back -with——”</p> - -<p>“That’s fool talk, mother, and I won’t listen,” Claire -broke in roughly. “You’ve thought yourself into that. -But there’s the rest.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“‘The <i>Arbuthnot</i>, steamed at once to the rescue. She arrived -on the scene at the position indicated, and, though the -weather had improved, no trace of the <i>Imperial</i> was discovered.’</p></div> - -<p>“You see, mum? The weather had improved.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“‘Similarly, the <i>Argonaut</i>, bound from Shanghai to New -Zealand, picked up the <i>Imperial’s</i> message and hurried to the -rescue. She apparently arrived at the given position some -hours later. She reports no better success. There was no -trace of the distressed vessel, and it is presumed she must -have foundered. The best hope lies in the fact that, with -the storm abating and twenty-four hours’ grace, the crew -of the foundering vessel was able to get away in the boats, -although as yet none of these are reported having been picked -up.</p> - -<p>“‘The <i>Imperial</i> of Bristol is a full-rigged ship of three -thousand tons engaged in a West Australian coasting trade. -She carried a crew of eighteen or twenty.’</p></div> - -<p>“No, no, mum, dear,” Claire cried, forcing a smile -to her tired eyes. “We mustn’t lose hope. We surely -mustn’t. Why, even the paper reckons the crew must -have got away. Just think. Twenty-four hours and -the storm quitting. You know Jim. I reckon he isn’t -the boy to lie around waiting to drown. I’d bet our last -cent they got the boats out, and——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What then, Claire?” cried the mother, in a sudden -passionate outburst. “I’ve looked up those figgers on -the map. That boat, with our Jim on it, was right out -in mid-ocean, thousands of miles from land. Think -of it, girl, and don’t talk foolish. Mid-ocean! Open -boats that couldn’t stand half a gale! And they’re not -reported picked up. I tell you——”</p> - -<p>But the girl had turned to the doorway. A horse-man -had just ridden up and flung out of the saddle. -It was Jake Forner, Bad Booker’s clerk, and he came -straight to the doorway where Claire was standing.</p> - -<p>It was a moment of complete reaction. The sight of -the broad shoulders of the real estate man’s clerk, -with his dark, mild eyes and mild, almost gentle manner, -did that for the troubled women which no effort -of their own could have achieved. The pressure of -despairing thought was flung into the background in -face of the urgency of the thing which this man’s arrival -heralded. Even, perhaps, because of the enormity -of the trouble which had befallen, this man’s coming -was of greater significance.</p> - -<p>The mother remained unmoving. But Claire bravely -faced the newcomer with a smile that had no inspiration -from any pleasurable emotion.</p> - -<p>“How do, Mr. Forner,” she said, with a cheerfulness -that had seemed impossible seconds ago. “Guess -you’ve come along for my mother’s answer? Will you -come right in?”</p> - -<p>Then she turned swiftly to the woman at the stove. -She moved over to her and stood close beside her as -though to protect her as the man obeyed her invitation.</p> - -<p>“I’m kind of sorry, dear,” she said quickly. “I -didn’t tell you about it before because—because—Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> -Booker offered you two thousand dollars for that city -block he has a mortgage on. Guess Mr. Forner has -ridden out for his answer.”</p> - -<p>Then she looked straight into the man’s dark eyes -while she went on speaking to her mother.</p> - -<p>“It’s a real tough proposition,” she said slowly, and -with all the biting emphasis she could fling into the -words. “It’s so tough I feel like telling Booker the -things a girl ’ud hate to say. The block is worth ten -thousand dollars on the market to-day, which means -eight thousand dollars to him, and he wants to hand -you two thousand dollars for it. Are you going to take -the money or starve—which is Booker’s pleasant alternative? -I guess we need to decide right away.”</p> - -<p>“Ther’s no need for a decision on those figgers, Miss -Claire,” Jake said quickly, his usually impassive face -flushing under the sting of this beautiful girl’s words.</p> - -<p>“How d’you mean?”</p> - -<p>Claire’s demand came sharply. It came in that startled -fashion which suggested apprehension lest Booker -had withdrawn even his usurious offer.</p> - -<p>Jake’s flush had faded out. He stood just within -the doorway, a curiously ungainly figure in his simple -city tweed suit which seemed to belong to another -world than that of this primitive log home built by -folks who had lived their lives in the golden wilderness -of the North. His fine eyes were smiling kindly in -the manner of one who feels himself to be something -in the nature of a ministering, beneficent angel rather -than the executioner of the will of an unscrupulous -usurer.</p> - -<p>“Why, he’s reconsidered his proposal,” he said -quietly, his smile communicating itself to the rest of -his face. “I guess he’s sounded the market and feels<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> -he wants to treat you right. Maybe he didn’t just -remember the exact position of that swell corner block -when he made his offer to you yesterday. He knows -about it now,” he went on drily, “and fancies handing -you eight thousand dollars for complete reversion. I -kind of think that’s a square deal, Mrs. Carver. Here’s -his ‘brief’ to that effect and the cash, in dollars, is enclosed. -You’ll just need to sign the deed I’ll hand you -as a preliminary, and the transfer can go through next -time you’re along in town. Do you feel like closing?”</p> - -<p>There was much more in the man’s simply spoken -statement than he realised. There was much more, -too, in his manner, and somehow the unexpectedness -of Booker’s change of attitude held Claire silent while -she regarded the smiling face of the man who brought -the pleasant news.</p> - -<p>Rebecca Carver’s interest, however, had fallen back -before the mother grief which had only been deposed -from its supremacy for a few moments. She made no -attempt to reply in any form, while her gaze was -turned once more to her stove.</p> - -<p>Claire suddenly urged her.</p> - -<p>“You’ll accept, mother?” she said quickly, and the -other nodded.</p> - -<p>Then the girl turned again to the waiting man who -had withdrawn a letter and the document that must be -signed, from an inner pocket.</p> - -<p>Claire forced a laugh to her lips.</p> - -<p>“It seems queer, Mr. Forner,” she said shrewdly. -“Yes, surely we’ll accept, and mother’ll sign. But I’m -kind of glad you came, and I’m real glad to hear you -say that piece, especially seeing Booker and I discussed -the market value of the block and he was fully aware of -its position. I’d made a guess you’ve somehow had a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> -deal to do with changing his mind. It isn’t easy for -a decent man to sit around while his boss is trying to -rob a helpless woman. I’ll just get a pen—oh, you’ve -a fountain pen. Well, mother’ll sign right away, and -our blessing’ll surely follow you on your way right -back to the city.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Jake Forner had departed and his coming had done -more for the two bereft women than either of them -was aware of. The paralysing effect of the newspaper -story had given place to the reality of things. -Grief was still driving them hard, but its pressure had -somehow become less devastating, less numbing—more -particularly was this the case with Claire.</p> - -<p>She was still standing in the open doorway gazing -out into the grey light of the dying fall day whence -she had passed her “God-speed” to the man who had -executed his mission with so much obvious goodwill -and pleasure.</p> - -<p>Had the girl possessed half the woman’s vanity to -which she was entitled, she might have understood -something of the ungainly man’s feelings in visiting -her home. But Claire had not as yet discovered in -herself that dormant self-appreciation which is so essentially -an expression of all human nature. She had -learned little or nothing from the faithful, if inadequate, -mirror in her small lean-to sleeping quarters. -Her wide blue eyes were simply a feature with which -to witness the wonders of the world about her, just as -her mass of ruddy hair was a something to brush -laboriously and to fret over. Her slim, girlish figure -she had only learned to deplore in the arduous labours -which her life entailed, and its effect upon the men -with whom she came into contact concerned her not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> -at all. As yet her woman’s charm was a negative -factor in her life.</p> - -<p>But she was thinking hard as she gazed out upon -the grey and russet of the fall world about her. Her -gaze was upon the familiar, wood-clad slopes beyond -the creek, on which was situated their spent gold claim. -The slowly meandering waters that murmured their -ceaseless song on the still air helped to impress the -loneliness that for the first time in her life had suddenly -made itself felt. And somehow, it set up an -almost irresistible longing to flee from the sound of it.</p> - -<p>For all her brave effort to help her mother she knew -her beloved brother had been completely swept out of -their lives. The hungry, merciless waters had swallowed -him up. She would never, never, never see him -again, or listen to his quiet, confident words. Never -again would she witness those unobtrusive little acts -of devotion which had been so unfailing in their home -life with him. No, he was gone out of their lives -completely, utterly. It was the end of a long chapter -of youthful dreaming. And ahead lay an impenetrable -future in which care and responsibility must be shouldered, -and hers must be the burden of it.</p> - -<p>For a moment something like panic surged in her -heart. Before, only grief had stirred her. But, of a -sudden now, grief receded into the background, a depressing -shadow always threatening, whilst a wholly -new emotion took possession of her. Her moment of -panic passed. Her thought cleared of all confusion -and a swift, keen resolution descended upon her and -brought her calmness of spirit.</p> - -<p>Claire had far more in common with her dead father -than with the gentle woman behind her. In looks, -in build, in spirit she was essentially her father’s child. -Never before had the dead man’s qualities had reason<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> -to display themselves in her. But now it was different. -In her realisation of her sudden responsibilities, the -flood-tide of the reckless gambling spirit of her parent -poured forth. Her brother Jim, in the same spirit, had -fared forth to the uttermost ends of the earth on a -bare—almost ridiculous—chance to help them in their -need. He had achieved. And only the merciless waves -had robbed him and them of the full fruits of his gambler’s -adventure. Could she sit down under the misfortune -that had robbed them of a well-loved brother -and the fortune he had won for them? No. For all -the fall day was closing, with their fortunes at a lesser -ebb than the dawn had found them, their need was still -urgent. And the spirit of her father was awake and -burning strongly in her as she contemplated its reality.</p> - -<p>She turned abruptly into the darkening room. Her -gaze took in the figure of her mother still bowed under -her load of grief. Then it passed to the thick packet -of notes lying where she had left them on the table. -They represented the limits of their worldly fortune. -They were all that stood between them and the starvation -Booker had originally designed for them. Her -eyes lit, and her spirit suddenly buoyed.</p> - -<p>But she turned away and passed quickly into the -lean-to sleeping room that was hers. What was her -purpose was of little concern. Her woman’s mind was -working swiftly, almost feverishly. She stood for a -while contemplating the trifling wardrobe of gowns -hanging under a cotton curtain. She examined each -garment quickly, urgently. Then, with a gesture that -was half impatient, she permitted the curtain to fall -back over them and she moved across to the small -mirror before which she was accustomed to brush her -hair.</p> - -<p>Here she stood for a while studying the features it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> -reflected. The message it passed her was for her ears -alone. Maybe it told her some of those things which -everybody but she was fully aware of. Maybe she -only obtained a measure of reassurance. Whatever -happened in those long, silent moments she turned away -at last, and something seemed to have transformed -her. Her eyes were alight. Her shapely lips were -firmly set, and she passed into the living-room beyond. -Her whole manner was that of one whose mind is -irrevocably made up.</p> - -<p>She came to her mother’s side and laid a gentle hand -on her bowed shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Mum, dear,” she said deliberately, “we’re going to -move right into Beacon. It’ll set you crazy and me -too, to stop around out here. There’s things this place -won’t ever let us forget, an’ we’ve got to forget. -Maybe we’re mostly feeling dead now. That’s the -way grief hits us. But we’re both alive and need to -go right on living. If Jim was here he’d decide for us -the thing we need to do. He isn’t. So—so I’ve got -to think for us both and push it through. We got -eight thousand dollars to feed, an’ clothe, an’ shelter -us. Maybe it would do for a while. But after—what -then?”</p> - -<p>The mother looked up. It was the questioning of -one incapable of anything else.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, Claire? What’re you going to -do?”</p> - -<p>There was no inspiration, there was even no interest -in the questions.</p> - -<p>“Do? Do?” Claire’s reiteration was thrilling with -live purpose and something like leaping excitement. -“Do? Why, do as father would have done. Do as he -did time and again.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> - -<p>Her strong young fingers unconsciously gripped the -soft flesh of her mother’s shoulders. Suddenly she -dropped on her knees beside the other’s chair, while -she took possession of the work-worn hands lying in -the lap before her. She raised them both to her young -lips and covered them with warm kisses of real devotion. -Then she held them tightly.</p> - -<p>“Mum, dear, we haven’t a thing but that eight thousand. -Not a thing but that. But there’s money—money -in plenty in Beacon at the Speedway. Father -always reckoned so when things were bad. And he -most always found it. I’m going to find it, too, all -we want. You know what father used to say. He -taught Jim and me the poker game he played, and he -taught us good. And in the end, do you mind how I -took his, and Jim’s, spare cash when they had it? Do -you? I do. And do you remember the thing father -always said? He said I’d the poker face, and the poker -head, and the only luck in the world he was scared to -buck. It’s that luck we’re going to buck, dear. We’re -going right into Beacon with our dollars. And I’m -going to buck the game for all that’s in me. Ther’s -not a thing else for us. True, ther’ isn’t. Jim’s gone. -Our Jim! You know it. And, for all I’ve said, I know -it, too. We’ve no one but ourselves and my luck to -save us from starving in a fierce, relentless world. -Are you game, dear? I may do it? Sure I may. I -can see it in your poor, sad, tired eyes. Yes. It’s -that, sure, dear, and you can trust me.”</p> - -<p>The girl reached up suddenly. It was a moment of -supreme emotion. She yielded to it. She caught and -held her mother’s body in her strong young arms. -And then came the flood of tears for the grief that -weighed so heavily on both their devoted hearts.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">Eight Months Later—On the Lias River</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">THE dark shadows of winter had long since passed -away from the Alaskan world. The almost interminable -nights, the pitifully brief days of storm, of -cold, the drear that literally eats into the heart and -bones of man, these were left a hazy memory to be -quickly forgotten, lost in the new season of hope which -comes with a generous rush. It was a world released -from months of cruel imprisonment.</p> - -<p>Just inland from the mouth of the Lias River, where -the broad bosom of its stream was lightly stirred by the -gentlest of warming spring breezes, a man was at work -stowing his stout-built canoe with its cargo of camp -outfit. The vessel was moored against a shelving of -granite rock. A stout rawhide held it secure to a -boulder of ponderous dimensions, for it was a barren, -rocky shore without vegetation of any sort.</p> - -<p>It was a fierce coast line, harsh, unyielding and -honeycombed with every trap for destruction that the -wit of Nature could conceive. Shoals and sunken -rocks littered every inlet, and fierce, sweeping currents -and cross-currents made the smiling waters a nightmare -of chaos. Then, behind everything, lay those -merciless reserve forces of sudden wind squalls which -howled down the mountain slopes without warning, or -reason, and blasted the coast line into a churning of -fierce tempest.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> - -<p>Pitiless in its treachery, this long, tattered coast line -was for the most part completely shunned by man. -Yet here, well within the mouth of the Lias River, a -white man was labouring at his craft, indifferent to -the terror of his surroundings.</p> - -<p>The man was sturdily built. He was broad and -stocky and stood something less than six feet in -height. For all the warming of the clear, spring day -he was clad in the thick clothing with which the men -of the North are loth to part until the summer heat -makes it intolerable. He was a man of something -over thirty, with a strong face that was clean-shaven, -or was supposed to be, and with a pair of such pale -blue eyes as to be devoid of all expression. They -were curious eyes, curious in that they revealed not a -glimmer of the mind behind them, curious in that -their stony expression was unchanging under any and -every emotion.</p> - -<p>His boat was moored securely, for the tide was -a-surge and running out to sea. An iron bar, jammed -in a crevice in the shelving granite, afforded him his -second mooring and left him free to pursue his labours -at leisure.</p> - -<p>Behind him gaped a rift in the granite wall which -rose to a height of several hundred feet. It was obviously -the night shelter in which his camp had been -made, for, immediately before the entrance, the remains -of his fire were still smouldering. Maybe, the -narrow opening was the entrance to a cavern that -widened and heightened, for just such caverns, of every -size and shape, abounded in these iron walls.</p> - -<p>He worked on till the last of his outfit was securely -stowed and the canoe lay deep in the water. Then he -passed back to his camp-fire. For a second or two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> -he glanced about him questioningly, then with the aid -of a slab of stone he picked up the hot ashes and proceeded -to dump them into the river. The final clearing -was done with infinite care and patience, and even -he resorted to the brushing away of the last signs of -his fire with a sweeper made of a tied bundle of brushwood.</p> - -<p>It was all a little curious. It was all rather furtive. -It seemed so unnecessary in this wilderness of a no-man’s-land. -Yet the man paid heed to the obliteration -of all signs of his encampment with as much care as -though his very life depended upon the complete covering -of his tracks. Finally, the brushwood bundle was -added to the burden of his canoe and he cast off his -moorings. Then, in a moment, he took his place amidships -and thrust off with the blade of his double -paddle.</p> - -<p>The little vessel shot out into the tide with a velocity -that was almost threatening. But the man was ready -and skilful and its nose swung round under the pressure -of the dipping paddle and headed across current -making tremendous leeway. Slowly, however, the -guiding hand made itself felt, and the bow of the craft -headed up into the stream. Later he would have the -flood tide to help him, but for a while he must battle -with a head stream. That was all right. That was -calculated. It was his urgent desire to escape the -chances of these dreaded wind squalls which might -descend at any moment.</p> - -<p>He laboured steadily, creeping up the hither shore -to avoid the full race of the tide. He hugged the -granite walls of the canyon through which the river -cut its way to the ocean. The swirling waters revealed -the presence of a chain of sunken rocks through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> -which he was threading his way, and only skill and -keenness of vision could hope to save him from sheer -disaster. But he pursued his course without hesitation, -without a moment of shaken confidence, often -dallying with death by a margin of less than inches. -And so it went on for nearly an hour.</p> - -<p>At the end of that time the change he had awaited -took place. The pace of his progress materially increased. -The head pressure lessened. It was then for -the first time he permitted himself a glance up at the -smiling sky in the direction of the distant hills towards -which he was heading.</p> - -<p>A sigh of satisfaction escaped him. The sign of -clemency he was seeking was there in the perfect -cloudlessness. The whole breadth of the sky was a -brilliant azure. And, furthermore, the critical moment -of slack water had arrived. Now he knew that the -hill squalls intended to remain quiescent, and he swung -his craft clear of the frowning granite cliffs for the -deep waters.</p> - -<p>The man’s pale eyes were no longer watchful. -There was no longer any need. With a great depth -of water under his canoe he could drive her leisurely, -awaiting the coming flood from the ocean far behind.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Cy Liskard was lounging in the doorway of his -cabin. He was smoking contemplatively while his pale -eyes gazed out over the gravelly, trickling creek below -him. Near by, secured to a tying post, which was the -stump of a sapling spruce, two Alaskan ponies were -waiting ready for the long trail into Beacon Glory. -One was saddled and bridled, the other was carrying a -well-laden pack. Both were sturdy, powerful creatures -still clad in their long winter coats.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was a still, warm day, with the air full of the -hum of the insect world. The long tails of the horses -were swishing with flail-like force to keep the attacking -mosquitoes and flies at bay. For the moment the -sun was lost behind frothing summer clouds, while -below, the dense forests were silent and still with that -profound hush which is their prevailing mood.</p> - -<p>It was a perfect scene, typical of the greater foothills -where Nature permits nothing human to disturb -her hush. On every hand hills rose to immense -heights, bald of head, but densely clad on their lower -slopes with forests of every shade of green. Soft, and -gracious, and pleasant to gaze upon, the forests were -deep, and dark, and well-nigh illimitable. They were -full of preying animal life, and even in the full of -daylight the howl of coyote and the harsher bay of -prowling timber wolf came echoing down the aisles of -leafless trunks.</p> - -<p>But Cy Liskard was all unconcerned for Nature’s -sounds, for Nature’s moods. He was by no means -condemned to a lifelong existence in the world’s dark -places. He was there by selection and of deliberate -purpose, and his purpose appeared fairly obvious. For -there, below him, on the trickling creek, lay the complete, -primitive equipment of the gold-seeker’s craft.</p> - -<p>But for all his expressionless gaze was upon these -things his thought was far away, concerned only with -its contemplation of the thing which lay ahead at the -end of the further journey upon which he was about -to embark. As with all the hardy creatures who seek -treasure in the remotenesses of the northern world, the -joy of return to the cities of men was a passionate -yearning that had no limits.</p> - -<p>In the two weeks since his return from the mouth of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> -the Lias River his preparations had been completed, -and they were more considerable than might have been -supposed to be necessary. This was his home for the -time. This was his hunting ground. It was an uncharted, -unregistered gold prospect, and as such it -was open to invasion or any chance discovery that -might completely rob him of any proprietary rights he -might claim. So his preparations had been made -carefully and in a fashion best calculated to safeguard -his interests.</p> - -<p>Now with the last detail worked out to his satisfaction -he had abandoned himself to a contemplation of -the good time which he intended Beacon Glory should -yield him. And for all his pale eyes gave no sign, the -mind behind them was full of smiling anticipation. -He was thinking of the burden of gold on the pack-saddle, -and of the balance of credit at Victor Burns’ -bank which he knew to be lying there in his name. -He was thinking of the wine to be bought at Max -Lepende’s “Speedway”; of the orgy he intended to buy -there. He was contemplating the glitter of the place -and the seductive charm of the women with whom he -would dance. Then there was the great game with its -never-failing lure, and the thought of this last was -bound up with the vision of a young girl, beautiful as -a dream, with flaming hair, and eyes whose colour -seemed to change with her every mood, now violet, now -blue, and sometimes almost sea-green. He had only -seen her once, but memory had never let go of the -vision. This time he was determined his memories of -her should be more intimate, whatever the price to be -paid.</p> - -<p>He abruptly bestirred himself and a sound escaped -him that was like a laugh. But his harsh face and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -baffling eyes gave no sign. He turned and fastened his -cabin door behind him. Then he moved across to the -ponies patiently awaiting his pleasure.</p> - -<p>He passed round them quickly, feeling the cinche -of both. The pack was secure, but his own saddle required -tightening up. He raised the legadero of the -saddle and pulled mercilessly on the knotted strap. -Then he kicked the grass-fed belly of the docile creature -to make the tightening closer. Finally, he dropped -the legadero to its full length and prepared to mount.</p> - -<p>As he did so a blaze of sun shone out from behind -the summer cloud-bank and the man looked up with -something like a start. For a second he gazed without -blinking and his brows depressed as though the sight -of the sun offended him. Then he glanced away, and -followed its beam where it threw his own shadow absurdly -fore-shortened on the ground. In a moment he -had raised his foot to the stirrup and swung himself -clumsily into the saddle, and, snatching up the rawhide -quirt hanging on the horn in front of him, he -slashed viciously and needlessly at both horses.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Occidental Exchange was empty of all customers. -It was in the middle of the afternoon and the -time just before the mild rush which usually came -about closing-time. The place was a relic of the earliest -days of Beacon Glory, and, unlike most institutions -of its kind, it had remained un-rebuilt as the city -grew. But the fact was, Victor Burns had realised the -unstable qualities of the first boom, and been content -to await developments. So the place, although -substantial enough, was small and of no visible consequence -for all it was the city’s principal banking -house.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - -<p>Burns was at the counter, which completely cut off all -approach to the premises behind. It was well-gridded -with substantial iron of a mesh that would have puzzled -any gun-man to negotiate. It was a grid which -had been designed out of wide experience, for bank -hold-ups had been a somewhat favoured pastime in the -city’s history.</p> - -<p>The banker was talking to his principal teller, a man -who looked almost too young for his position, but -what he lacked in years he made up in physique. He -was a youthful athlete, virile and smilingly self-confident.</p> - -<p>“What’s she paid in this morning?” he asked, in the -quiet fashion of simple business interest.</p> - -<p>The youth smiled.</p> - -<p>“Why, a mere two thousand dollars,” he said with a -shrug.</p> - -<p>“Kind of a quiet night, I guess,” Burns returned, -without any responsive smile. Then he folded his -arms on the counter, gazing out of the half-open door, -which was held back by a chain that could be released -from behind the counter. “It’s queer,” he said. “That -girl hadn’t more than two red cents back of last fall. -And now—why, now she can handle more stuff than -I’ve collected in twenty years. And she handles it -right, too, that kid. They reckon she’s collected all -the luck in Beacon. Well, I’d say she’s collected most -of the business brains with it.” He laughed. “And -she’s still buying city blocks.”</p> - -<p>“And swell gowns,” added the teller with a grin.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’d say she wouldn’t be the dandy girl she is -if she didn’t. Say——”</p> - -<p>Burns broke off. A pair of rough ponies had come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -to a halt outside. They were in full view through the -open doorway.</p> - -<p>“Cy Liskard,” he went on after a moment, as he -beheld a man fling out of the saddle. Then he nodded -at the gold scales. “Guess we’ll need them, sure. He’s -a big gold winner.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>To a practical student of human nature like Victor -Burns, Cy Liskard was of more than common interest. -He had come into contact with him in business, and in -business only. But, in consequence, he saw the man -in his most interesting aspect. For, in his understanding, -a man’s business was the best channel through -which to discover the real depth of his character.</p> - -<p>He had come to know him as one of the many individual -gold men of the remoter places which radiated -about Beacon. The first time he had encountered the -man was just after winter had closed down, when he -drove into Beacon with a curious, mongrel team of -three utterly inadequate dogs, hauling a home-made -sled which bore a goodly burden of raw gold dust -of excellent quality. He had come straight to the bank -and weighed in his treasure. The transaction had been -made with the customary simple formalities, and the -man’s credit had been duly opened. At that time Cy -had only revealed himself to the banker as a surly, -silent creature who had none of the reckless buoyancy -of the men who usually came in to sell their dust.</p> - -<p>He had promised, at that time, a further consignment -later in the winter when travelling was good, if -he were able to purchase a really reliable dog team to -replace the disreputable bunch that had at last succeeded -in bringing him in.</p> - -<p>Victor had ventured a little frank talk on receiving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> -this opening. He had complimented the man on his -strike, and the quality of his gold and had inquired -if there were other prospectors in his neighbourhood. -It was then he realised something of the man with -whom he was dealing. The baffling eyes were raised -to the banker’s. They looked, or rather stared, coldly -and hardly into his, while he negatively shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Ther’ ain’t a guy around my lay-out but myself—and -ther’ don’t need to be,” he said with a snap of his -square jaws.</p> - -<p>It was the quiet tone of threat in the final words -that enlightened the banker to that which lay behind the -man’s mask-like face, and he had made no further -effort to interest his customer.</p> - -<p>Since that visit there had been another about mid-winter. -The man blew into the bank on the swirl of -a blizzard that lasted for three days. At that visit his -credit had been more, much more than trebled. And -now had come a third trip into the city and Burns was -deeply intrigued.</p> - -<p>The man thrust his way in through the doorway -bearing two lashed bundles, one under each arm. -They were large and obviously of considerable weight, -and his movements were swift almost to hastiness.</p> - -<p>It was to the banker’s thinking an unintentional outward -sign of his relief at the safe completion of his -journey and the final depositing of his treasure.</p> - -<p>“Howdo, Mr. Liskard,” he greeted the man, as he -laid his bundles on the edge of the counter. “Make -a good trip in?” Then he smiled on the two bundles. -“You look to be good an’ busy on your patch.” He -turned to the teller, who was looking on interestedly. -“The scales, Rickards.”</p> - -<p>“’Tain’t bad on the trail this time o’ year,” Cy admitted,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> -with more than usual readiness, as he cut the -lashings of his burden with a vicious-looking sheath-knife.</p> - -<p>The banker watching him noted the details of his -powerful body under the thick pea-jacket that was -closely buttoned over it. He watched the rough hands, -with thumbs stumped short in their top joints, and -with the flattest, shortest, ugliest nails he had ever -seen, as he ripped the bonds asunder. Then his gaze -lifted again to the hard face, with its dirty stubble of -beard and whisker, clearly unshaven on his journey, -and his shrewd mind was swiftly estimating. He -reckoned, by the growth of whisker, the man must have -been on the trail at least three weeks, if he had started -clean-shaven.</p> - -<p>But the two bundles were open and the canvas bags -tied at their necks were revealed bulging with their -precious contents. In a moment the banker’s interest -became absorbed.</p> - -<p>“That all dust?” he asked quickly. Then he added: -“Some stuff there—sure.”</p> - -<p>Cy nodded without speaking. He cut the fastenings -and passed the bags through the grid which Burns had -flung open.</p> - -<p>“Weigh it,” he said.</p> - -<p>The man’s voice was harsh and his demand sharp, -and the banker passed the bags to the teller at the -scales.</p> - -<p>No further word passed while the youth manipulated -the weights, and Cy watched his every movement -with an intensity of concentration that brought his -dark brows closely together over his curious eyes.</p> - -<p>The gold was emptied into the scale, which only -took a portion of one bag. The teller noted the weight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> -and emptied the scale into one of the bank’s own -leather bags. Six times the scale was filled to overflowing, -while the silent men looked on at the dull, -red-yellow of the gold this man had brought. It was -dust and nuggets, but mostly nuggets of splendid proportions.</p> - -<p>Cy Liskard was leaning on the counter with folded -arms, and when the weighing was completed and the -teller bent over his task of working out the sum, he -drew a deep sigh as though in relief that his task had -been completed.</p> - -<p>Victor looked up at the sound.</p> - -<p>“Kind of makes a boy glad to get it safe into the -bank. In these days of hold-ups around Beacon it’s -jumpy play toting a bunch of dust around. Say, that’s -swell stuff. Good an’ red, like the stuff the boys collected -on ‘Eighty Mile’ years back. I haven’t seen that -colour anywhere around Beacon till you hit along with -your bunch last fall. Are you registered?”</p> - -<p>Cy’s gaze was withdrawn from the moving pen of -the teller. “Not on your life.”</p> - -<p>Burns raised his eyebrows.</p> - -<p>“That’s taking a chance,” he demurred. “Aren’t -you scared folks’ll jump in on you?”</p> - -<p>The man made a sound like a laugh. But his face -was unmoving.</p> - -<p>“Not a little bit,” he said roughly. “I guess ther’ -ain’t a guy in Beacon with the guts to get out to the -creek I got staked. If he’d the guts he couldn’t make -it. An’ if he made it he’d forgit wakin’ when the daylight -come around. No, sir. I ain’t registered, an’ -don’t figger to. I ain’t handin’ a map of my strike to -any cursed official. I ain’t handin’ the story to a deaf -mute. I got my patch, an’ I’ll keep it. I nigh sweated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> -blood to locate it. Register an’ haf the world would -get right on my back. I’ll take all the chances, an’ God -help the son of a mule who gets within a mile of it. -What’s the tally?”</p> - -<p>The teller read out the figures in a tone of wonderment -his youth could not conceal.</p> - -<p>“Eighty-two thousand dollars and twenty-five cents,” -he said, and passed the figures to his chief for verification.</p> - -<p>Cy nodded, while the banker examined the paper.</p> - -<p>“That’s about my reckoning,” he said. “I’ll be -totin’ another bunch along when I’m through with my -summer wash. I’ll just draw a dope of ten thousand -right away. Here’s the brief.” He passed a cheque -across the counter and waited to receive the money.</p> - -<p>Burns looked up.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, seriously. “That’s the reckoning, -sure. I congratulate you. You certainly have a swell -claim.”</p> - -<p>Cy nodded. “I certainly have,” he agreed shortly.</p> - -<p>The teller passed the roll of bills and he and his -chief watched their customer bestow it in a hip pocket. -As he did so he revealed a heavy gun strapped about -his waist, and Victor, at least, realised it was there as -no mere ornament. Cy had said, “God help the son -of a mule who gets within a mile of it,” and somehow -this watching student of human nature realised that -“God’s help” would certainly be required in the circumstances. -This man was not the sort to stand at trifles.</p> - -<p>Cy took his departure without the least ceremony, -and it was only the banker’s “So long” that forced -common politeness from him. They saw him mount -one of the two ponies outside, and they heard the -coarse oath with which he urged the weary creature<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> -forward. Then came the sound of the heavy slash of -a quirt and the horses clattered away.</p> - -<p>“A mighty tough proposition,” Burns laughed -quietly. “All the gold in that boy’s claim wouldn’t -tempt me to try and track him to his hiding-hole. I -guess he comes out of the mountains. An’ maybe -they’re somewhere across the border—seeing he’s not -registered. Well, there it is. Guess it’s no worry of -mine. We’re here to collect gold, and I’d say we’ve -collected a swell bunch from that boy.”</p> - -<p>The teller laughed.</p> - -<p>“Guess there’s certainly little else to collect from -him, anyway,” he said significantly.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">A Bunch of Humanity</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">IT was the day of celebration at the Speedway. It -was the anniversary of its first opening and Max -Lepende had ordained that once a year high revel -should hold sway in commemoration of the foundation -of his fortunes. The Speedway was to Beacon Glory -what the Casino is to Monte Carlo. It was perhaps a -good deal more. But then, Monte Carlo is in the eyes -of society and Beacon Glory had somehow contrived -a position on the map more or less unrecorded. On -the whole the “Glory” citizens, as they loved to call -themselves, were well enough satisfied with their position. -It was convenient for many reasons, not the least -of which was the feeling of security it gave to most of -them, and the general immunity they enjoyed from the -legitimate consequences of offences committed against -society in earlier life.</p> - -<p>Max, being of Italian extraction and flamboyant in -temperament, had built and designed it in the manner -that most appealed to him. The place was literally a -Bacchanalian temple, lavish with white and gold and -brilliant lights. It was gaudy with red furnishings -and glittering glass, and, generally speaking, was as -good an example of a whited sepulchre as the riot of -debased human passions, and the lavish brush of the -decorator could make of otherwise perfectly innocent -woodwork.</p> - -<p>The place stared out on the city’s main thoroughfare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> -two blocks below the Plaza Hotel, a wide-fronted, be-pillared -edifice of two stories. In the brilliant summer -sunlight its whitened walls looked dispiritedly grey and -shabby, but in the dark months of winter its blaze of -electric light transformed it into a lure which the people -of Beacon Glory found impossible to resist.</p> - -<p>Max had named it “The Palace of Pleasure.” But -then Max wore a pointed beard which concealed a pair -of full, red, something sensuous lips. Furthermore, he -wore the rest of his hair long, and a large, flowing -black cravat adorned the evening clothes he always -appeared in when presiding over the nightly orgy obtaining -in his establishment. Beacon Glory, being -frank, apt and unashamed in its downrightness of -phraseology, had promptly dubbed it “The Speedway,” -and, in the end, the ultra-artistic mind of its -founder had to yield, and as the “Speedway” it was -known throughout the length and breadth of southern -Alaska.</p> - -<p>Max’s annual celebration was not lightly to be -missed, and, generally speaking, Beacon Glory was not -given to missing anything at other people’s expense. -Besides, Max would be offended if his available customers -absented themselves on this his especial night. -Then, too, why should it be missed? There would be -a dinner of exceptional quality in the grand dining-hall—free -to invited guests. There would be a flood -of wine of the best quality. The company, for once, -would smoke the best cigars and lap up expensive, -sticky cordials. And it would all be free. Oh, no. -There was no missing it by those men favoured with -an invitation.</p> - -<p>There would be no women at the dinner; that was -where Max displayed his fineness of discrimination.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> -He knew his men. And perhaps his women—some of -them. The women would be there for the dance afterwards—they -would be given a good time, but Max -sternly demanded that this, his evening of evenings, -should start—fair. Whatever the later developments, -the night should at least start with such dignity and -decorum as an assorted line in evening clothes could -impress upon the manhood of a more or less disreputable -out-world city.</p> - -<p>The Plaza was unusually full in the late afternoon -on this day of celebration. The weather was hot and -windless, and the spring mosquitoes were merciless. -But the open verandah, overlooking the main avenue, -was liberally patronised. Mosquitoes were part of the -daily life of Beacon Glory, and their worst torture was -insufficient to disturb its citizens out of their routine.</p> - -<p>Jubilee Hurst and his partner, Burt Riddell, were -amongst those foregathered. They were nominally -gold men of the type which is drawn from the big -cities of civilisation. They come at the call of adventure -and easy money, and in the end, generally seek -the latter by means of an active application of wit -rather than of muscle. Then there was the well-liked, -amiable and indifferent Doctor Finch, Beacon’s leading -man of medicine. He was reposing his rotund -figure in a chair of doubtful stability, tilted at a perilous -angle, while his heavily-booted feet decorated the rail -of the verandah. Abe Cranfield, the Plaza’s esteemed -proprietor, short, stout, and with a thrusting chin whisker, -was squatting on a low stool many sizes too small -for him. And, reposing comfortably in a prolonged -cane deck chair, with a Rye highball on an adjacent -table easily within reach, reclined Victor Burns of the -Occidental Bank.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> - -<p>None of them had as yet disguised themselves under -the uniform required for the evening’s entertainment -to which they were all invited. That was an evil they -preferred to postpone till the last minute. They one -and all preferred to remain the plain examples of Beacon’s -citizenship they really were as long as possible.</p> - -<p>The irrepressible Jubilee Hurst made no pretence of -his reluctance, and he was airing his views with that -simple freedom which he claimed as his right at all -times.</p> - -<p>“You know, boys,” he said, smashing a bunch of -mosquitoes on the back of his bull-like neck, “Max is -mostly a decent citizen for all he’s a Dago. But his -craze for patent shoes and hair oil gets me all the time. -You know, there’s no sort of reason in a guy acting -the way he does behind a bow-tie fit for a Dago revolutionary, -and wearing a sheath-knife on his hip fit to -carve up whale blubber. Maybe, with an elegant souse -in prospect he fancies us boys fixed the way he gets us -because most of our party suits were invented before -the possibilities of the hip-pocket were guessed about. -I’d say the Speeedway’s no sort of joint to fall into -without a whole darn arsenal of weapons lying around -to your hand most all the time, and, I’ll sure be feeling -like a lamb at slaughter time settin’ around disguised -like a first-class waiter, while he belches up his annual -hash of the pleasure it hands him having us suckers -around, and how grieved he is the cemetery’s added to -its stock of fancy mausoleums by way of advertising -the amenities of his darn booth.”</p> - -<p>He smiled amiably round upon the company, and -took half a highball at a gulp. And his black, twinkling -eyes finally settled on his partner’s long and grievously -unsmiling face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s all right, boy,” he said, grinning genially. -“You needn’t to feel the way you’re lookin’. I got -two boiled shirts, and seein’ you’re a partner of mine, -I’ll share ’em with you for haf a dollar.”</p> - -<p>Burt raked at the calf of one hairy leg exposed about -his sock suspender to the attacking mosquitoes.</p> - -<p>“Oh, beat it,” he cried irritably. “You wouldn’t -miss a thing the Speedway could hand you, if Max -reckoned to have you around in your underpants. -You make me tired.” He turned to the banker. “I -got around the ‘Glory Hole’ this morning. It’s burnt -out stark.”</p> - -<p>The banker sipped his highball and gazed thoughtfully -out at the far hills.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad,” he said quietly, after a moment’s deliberation.</p> - -<p>It was coldly said and Abe Cranfield looked round -at the speaker quickly.</p> - -<p>“I can’t say I’m glad for any feller to get burnt out,” -he exclaimed warmly. “The Aurora bunch are acting -mighty gay. Wher’s it goin’ to stop? Is it the Plaza -or the Speedway next? How am I to know when -I’m offending their notions? Clancy Roscoe had been -runnin’ his saloon since ever Beacon started. I can’t -see——”</p> - -<p>“It was a brothel,” Burns spoke sharply. Then he -laughed quietly. “See here, Abe,” he said in a conciliatory -fashion, “I guess you hold a brief for Clancy -and his Glory Hole because he’s in your line of business—as -far as liquor’s concerned. You sort of feel -it’s interference with lawful liberty, and maybe, that -way you’re right. But there’s no right-minded boy to -this city’ll feel that the Clan has done anything but a -service to the credit of our burg. Clancy was warned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> -He showed me his written warning two weeks back -and he was right up in the air. And his warning was -straight and right. It said, ‘Clear out your women -and run your liquor joint straight.’ It gave him two -weeks. Well, he refused. And I got my notions of the -feller who makes his pay out of that sort of thing. He -banks with me and I can’t help it. But I’m glad his -shanty’s gone, and there are some more I’d like to see -treated the same.”</p> - -<p>“Sounds like he was the Chief Light of the Aurora,” -laughed Jubilee.</p> - -<p>Burns nodded.</p> - -<p>“Maybe it does, boy. But think back to the days -when you were your mother’s kid and you’ll think like -me. No, I guess there’s a worry back of that Clan, -but not when they burn up joints like the ‘Glory -Hole.’”</p> - -<p>Doc Finch nodded over his cigar stump.</p> - -<p>“I’m with you, Victor,” he said seriously.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure you are, Doc.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what of Max’s show?” Abe was still considering -possibilities from a personal point of view. -“What of the women there? Are things better there -when you get right down to bedrock? Say, I want to -laff. Ther’s vice to the square inch right around that -dance hall ’ud pave hell a furlong a minute. But then, -Max could buy half the city,” he finished up bitterly.</p> - -<p>“I can’t stand for that,” the unsmiling face of Burt -was suddenly transformed. He was grinning but in -real earnest. “The Speedway’s the thing folks make -it,” he said hotly. “It’s the only real joy spot in a city -that’s forgot how to laff. You can help yourself to -a portion of life there without a meal ticket. Ther’s -light and laughter there if you don’t get around with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> -a grouch. You can burn money there, or make a -bunch, if you’re bright enough to beat the other feller. -Ther’s women who’re foolish, and women who ain’t, -and ther’s boys who’re a real imitation of men, and -hogs disguised under a bank roll. If the Clan was to -get after Max’s joint it ’ud be me for the coast and the -first barge for the south. No, Abe, if ther’s any sort -of method back of those guys in their white shirts and -pointed sky-pieces you and Max can sit around without -a worry. An’, anyway, this bum hotel couldn’t have -claim to vice, even in the dreams of a bughouse inmate.”</p> - -<p>Jubilee chuckled as a preliminary to one of his characteristic -outbursts. Then he took in the whole company -in his expansive, headlong way.</p> - -<p>“Burt’s got a hell of a hunch, an’ I won’t have to -charge him haf-a-dollar for that shirt,” he laughed -delightedly. “My, Abe, but he got you plumb in the -pit of the stomach. And he was right, sure. I guess -you can throw all the dirt you fancy in Beacon without -ever a chance of missin’ things. But the Speedway -ain’t available for that playing without hurtin’ folks -who’re mostly your friends. What ’ud we do without -the Speedway? Why, die plumb to death setting -around your verandah, smashin’ skitters. I can’t think -of dying worse.”</p> - -<p>The grin died out of his eyes, and a curious sort of -earnestness replaced it as he went on:</p> - -<p>“No, Abe,” he said, sitting up abruptly and spreading -out his lean, tenacious hands, which were carefully -manicured. “Get a grip on yourself and think of the -women-folk who get glad there at night. Do you -grudge ’em? No, sir, you don’t. You couldn’t. It’s -not in you. You know a woman hasn’t a swell time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> -in life when you think about her. And in Beacon she -wouldn’t get any time at all.” He laughed again. -“We’re told the first woman was made out of man’s -‘scrap.’ Maybe that’s how it comes she’s had to put -up with man’s ‘left-over’ ever since.” He shook his -head. “To my thinking, woman’s never had a better -time than a yaller pup ever since she disappointed her -folk with her sex. It seems to me a poor sort of life -fixing a man’s hash so he don’t take too big a chance -on his life policy. Think how she needs to smile every -time a feller hands her out five cents to make vacation -on, same as if she was pleased. Chores seem to be -the limit of woman’s joy in life, and I guess she’ll go -right on chasing kids’ noses with a swab till she jerks -up at the graveyard. She’ll keep on trying to feed her -whole bunch on the change out of a dollar, and the -promises her man hands out to her like dead leaves -in the fall. She’s got a hell of a life, even if it’s only -she’s expected to swallow a man’s lies whole and sit -around foolish waiting for ’em to come true. No, -Abe, don’t you ever go for to rob her of a moment’s -pleasure. She’ll mother you sick, and mother you -well. She’ll lie for you and fight for you. And when -she’s broke her heart keepin’ folks from lynching you, -she’ll tidy you all she knows and pass you into the -crematorium in the hope of making you a real sanitary -proposition for the first time in your darn life. Ther’s -all sorts of ’em find joy in the Speedway. Some are -foolish, but,” he finished up, turning his perfectly serious -eyes in the direction of the great dance hall, -“ther’s those who—aren’t.”</p> - -<p>At that instant a raucous honk! honk! echoed down -the wide, dust-laden, unkempt thoroughfare, and every -eye was turned in the direction.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> - -<p>Out of a dust cloud a high-powered automobile -raced down towards them, rolling and bumping over -the perilous unevennesses of the road, regardless of -every consequence. It was painted a curious rich red, -a big saloon body with black running gear and black -roof. It contained only two women, both expensively -clad, one of whom had a wealth of red hair that seemed -to match the colour of the vehicle. Every man on the -verandah was craning. Every eye was watching the -car’s reckless progress. And as it passed, leaving them -almost lost under a fog of dust, it was Doc Finch who, -returning his feet to their resting-place on the verandah -rail, voiced something of the thought that occurred to -the mind of each.</p> - -<p>“No,” he said, smiling amiably round on the company, -“there’s no gang, or clan, or bunch of disorderly -toughs in Beacon Glory that ’ud dare to do harm to -the Speedway so long as St. Claire Carver is its patron -saint.”</p> - -<p>The banker nodded prompt agreement.</p> - -<p>“That’s a cinch, Doc,” he said. “She’s got every -man in Beacon just where any good woman could -want him.”</p> - -<p>Abe concurred promptly, if grudgingly.</p> - -<p>“She’s a real dandy an’ a good spender,” he admitted, -“and she’s got the whole fancy of Beacon as -well as its luck——”</p> - -<p>“Luck?” Victor Burns drained the remains of his -highball to wash the dust of the automobile from his -throat. “She’s made a pile that would set some of the -Wall Street guys screaming. Say!” He laughed. -Then he became serious. “And talking of gold and -things,” he went on, “there’s colour coming in just -now from outside. A boy bought himself a credit at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> -my place this afternoon for eighty thousand odd, and -it was the sort of dust they used to collect on ‘Eighty-Mile’ -years back.”</p> - -<p>The banker watched the almost electrical effect of -his words on a company to whom gold was the beginning -and end of everything. Discussion of the Speedway -and its morals, and even of its beautiful patron -saint, was forgotten. Every man at once sat agog. -And even Jubilee Hurst, who was mainly a sheer gambler, -who had been gazing down the avenue after the -now-vanished automobile, eagerly sought information.</p> - -<p>“Where did it come from?” he asked, without hesitation -or scruple.</p> - -<p>Burns shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Search me,” he said with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“Who’s the guy?” demanded Burt.</p> - -<p>“Guess I’m a banker.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t you hand us a thing?” inquired Abe.</p> - -<p>“Not a thing but just that,” Burns said quietly. -“It’s the third big bunch of dust come in from the -same place, by the same boy, in six months. And -there’s more coming. I wanted you fellows to know -about it because it’s my job to collect the stuff, and the -more folks know about it the more they’ll worry to get -after it. There’s big gold coming into Beacon, and I -guess that’s the best news you——”</p> - -<p>He broke off. Ivor McLagan had appeared in the -open glass doorway leading on to the verandah.</p> - -<p>“Say,” he cried, after a moment’s pause, “I hadn’t -a notion you were in town, Ivor.”</p> - -<p>Jubilee laughed.</p> - -<p>“You ain’t much of a guesser, Burns,” he interjected. -“Why wouldn’t McLagan be along in? Is he -missing Max’s show any more than you and me? But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> -say, Mac, tell us about oil. We just been hearing gold -from Burns and now we want oil. The oil king is -right with us, folk. He’s right in our midst,” he cried, -with his ready laugh. “The soft yellow stuff gets us -all the time, but nice, black, sticky oil’s only a short -cut to it. You’re the guy to grease the wheels of Beacon -right. Gold won’t be a circumstance when you -open out one of your gushers. Sit around, man, and -hand us news that’ll help us digest Max’s Dago feast -right. Talk to us of options and borings and coal -mountains, and all that sort of truck you can’t eat and -I’ll buy you a highball right now, and swear to set up -a swell piece by way of epitaph on your mausoleum -when you’ve got mired to death in the juice you’re -going to flood Beacon with. You’re our only hope -of——”</p> - -<p>“And a darnation poor one, Jubilee,” McLagan interrupted, -“that is, right up to now.” He pulled up a -chair and leaned his great body over it, while his plain -face smiled indulgently on the irrepressible man who -never failed to amuse him. “But we’re right on oil. -We’ve hit a—trickle. A hell of a fine—trickle.”</p> - -<p>Abe sat up.</p> - -<p>“Is that right?” he demanded, his eyes lighting.</p> - -<p>Ivor nodded.</p> - -<p>“It surely is, Abe. You’ll be re-building this hogpen -in a year’s time and you’ll need to add a hundred -rooms.”</p> - -<p>Burns leant forward in his chair.</p> - -<p>“Is it going to be big?”</p> - -<p>“A real flood—if I’m not foolish.”</p> - -<p>“Will you talk to-night at Max’s feed?” inquired -Doc Finch, a staunch believer in publicity.</p> - -<p>“Not a whisper.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why not?” inquired Burt Riddell.</p> - -<p>“Because I got a deal too much that’s worth saying,” -McLagan laughed. “The only time it’s safe to -talk is when you haven’t.”</p> - -<p>Jubilee chuckled appreciatively.</p> - -<p>“I’m buying that highball right away, Abe,” he cried. -“And make it for the whole darn house, if it’s my last -buck. McLagan’s right. Don’t shout till you want. -Then shout like hell. Folk’ll hand it you if it’s only -to keep you quiet while they shout. Oil? And it’s -coming? Are there any options lying around? Are -we to be in on the ground floor, Mac, or is the darn -door bolted and locked?”</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Sure it’s locked and I’ve hidden up the key,” he -said quietly. “My prospect’s a tight one. You see, -it’s been a long trail and I’m taking no chances. Easy -money’s fine for those who make it. But I’m not passing -easy money to a soul. Guess I’ll go and clean up -for Max’s party.” He laughed pleasantly. “And I’ll -collect your highball on the way, boy. So long.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Speedway</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">MAX LEPENDE, for all Jubilee Hurst’s estimate -of him, was a creature of unusual mentality. -His ability was quite beyond question; his morals were -something of a less buoyant nature; while his poses -were wholly Latin in their extravagance, and contrived -to set up an impenetrable armour against those who -sought to discover the real man underneath.</p> - -<p>The Speedway was the reality of his own dream. -Its inspiration was a product of memories and experiences -of early life in a land of beauty and an -atmosphere of bygone glories. And as such it was a -sufficient anachronism in its present setting to grip the -imagination of the crude minds which made up the -clientele he hoped to pillage in the outland territory -he had chosen for his hunting ground.</p> - -<p>He boasted the refinements of his designing, and -was mercilessly jealous of the Speedway’s fame. The -attitude of other minds was less benevolent towards it. -The citizens of Beacon Glory were prone at all times to -downrightness, and, consequently, they set no halo -about the place. But they delighted in the licence it afforded -them for indulgence in pleasant surroundings.</p> - -<p>The fronting colonnade of five gaudily decorated -pillars meant nothing to the citizens of Beacon Glory. -Yet they sometimes marvelled at the costliness and the -extent of the white paint that looked so drab in the -sunlight. Some never even paused to consider the rich<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> -carpetings they trod underfoot in the gaming rooms, -or the wonderful block-flooring over which their heavy -boots glided in the great dance hall. But there were -few enough who failed to appreciate the raised private -boxes which lined the walls of the latter, furnished as -they were with drinking tables, and deeply upholstered -chairs and divans, and hung with curtains to be drawn -at will. Then there was the glitter of innumerable -mirrors, and the broad staircase with its carved balustrades -leading to the rooms above, where every game -from “crap dice” to “baccarat” could be indulged in.</p> - -<p>The general run of the men and women of Beacon -Glory demanded a good time. And the Speedway, -under Max’s consummate guidance and absolute control, -provided for their every need in this direction. -Oh, yes, Max saw to that. For underneath his patient, -smiling veneer, and his pose of polished respectability, -he possessed a hard, unyielding, astute commercial soul, -greedy for the last cent of profit he could extract from -his customers.</p> - -<p>Hardened trail men, no less than educated men from -the cities of culture in the outer world, yielded to the -seductions of the Speedway. So did the women, who -regarded it as a part of their daily lives. The charm -of subdued lights in the gaming rooms; the dazzle and -glitter at the gilded bars, and in the dance hall; the -subtle, rather sickly perfume of the place, the value of -which Max so perfectly understood; these things all -contributed to make it a veritable temple for the spiritual -debasement of its devotees.</p> - -<p>On the night of its birthday the Speedway was swept -and garnished to the last degree. Fashion and custom -were no less strong in Beacon than in the more enlightened -dwelling-places of humanity. Every visitor to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> -place would be clad for the occasion. No woman -would dare to appear for the festival without some -sort of a new gown. And as for the men, knee-boots -would be taboo, and heavy working shoes were under -the ban. Every man who was accustomed to resort -there would be raiding the shoe store the day before, -and, failing evening suits as part of their wardrobes, -certainly only the best they possessed could be tolerated.</p> - -<p>It was truly a splendid function and possessed all -the outward display with which humanity loves to hide -up the wealth of moral blemish to which it is unfortunately -and unfailingly heir. The place was super-heated -and the air was heavy-laden, and Max, as he -welcomed his customers and guests, radiated smile, -and perfume, and punctilio without discrimination.</p> - -<p>Jubilee Hurst, observing him after enduring his own -portion of the formalities at the foot of the great staircase -in the central hall, realised to the full the delicious -mockery of it all. He whispered his comment to Ivor -McLagan, who stood beside him, clad in the well-cut -evening suit that was anathema to his downright soul.</p> - -<p>“You know, Mac, there’s a heap to Max of the -feline species. He’s a mitt on him that ’ud shame -velvet, and a tongue to match, and I feel plumb sick in -the pit of the stomach, and like handling a newly -hooked eel, when I get near enough to listen to his -fancy dope, and feel the tips of his polished fingers in -my hand. Get a line on him bowing around to folks -whose bank roll he’s made his life’s study. See his -Dago antics. You’d guess he loves us all to death, -while all the time he’s out for plunder like any ‘hold-up’ -that ever flagged a western express. And we’re all -grinning back at him to schedule. And we’re all saying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> -a piece we’ve sort of learnt by heart from years of -repetition. Can you beat it? No. I’ll eat his darn -feed an’ likely get full up to the back teeth with the -liquor he’s going to hand out. But to me it’s simply -the change out of the dollars he’s collected out of my -wad over a long period of darn foolishness. It isn’t -a thing else, unless it’s to say I’m just one of the -mutts of life mired at the wrong end of things, an’ -can’t afford to act diff’rent.”</p> - -<p>McLagan smiled.</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry a thing, boy,” he said easily. “It’s -just the game of things we’ve all of us got to play more -or less as we beat it along the trail to the crematorium. -I’d certainly say Max don’t need showing a thing. I -want to laff.”</p> - -<p>But for all the bitterness of spirit the Italian’s antics -might have inspired in those who saw through the -mockery of it all, the whole comedy looked to be playing -out as the master-mind had designed. It was ordained -that the gathering at the Speedway, on this one night -in the year, should be a vivid landmark impressed upon -the minds of the city’s people, from the banquet to the -invited guests, to the ball, and the great gamble that -would later take place at the tables. There would be -impressive decorum for just as long as decorum could -be maintained. And after that, circumstances and the -proprietor’s tact, and, failing that, his powers of other -persuasion, would deal with every contingency that -arose. There would be nothing allowed to occur on -that occasion calculated to besmirch the record of the -place. That was Max’s purpose. A purpose from -which he had no intention of departing.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The banquet was over and the company had dispersed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> -in such directions as individual inclination -prompted. Max had thrown his annual shower of -verbal bouquets, and had drunk in the responsive -adulation and laudatory expressions which custom demanded -from his guests. The courses had been disposed -of by healthy appetites which refused to be disguised, -and an excellent brand of champagne had -flowed in no niggard measure to lubricate faculties -that were easily enough set in motion for full appreciation -of the night’s riot. The ballroom was already -thronged with dancers of every grade of ability, and -the lure of the tables had claimed their devotees. -While not a few were sufficiently attracted by the magnetic -glitter of the bars where the white-clad bartenders -were under orders to dispense of their best -mixtures without charge.</p> - -<p>Ivor McLagan and some of his friends had passed -over the attractions of everything else for the shaded -lights of the poker hall. It was a spacious apartment -with panelled walls of dark green to match the colour -of the baize-covered tables. It was carpeted thickly -with oriental reds and blues, and such woodwork as -there was was gleaming white. The tables were spaced -evenly round the walls, with one only somewhat larger -than the rest, occupying the centre of the room. The -place was entered from a landing just beyond a wide, -decorated archway hung with curtains, and this, in -turn, gave on to the head of the great staircase.</p> - -<p>It was a room with which little enough fault could -be found. For, apart from the charm of its shaded -rose lighting, it was governed by a number of unwritten -laws so that its company could pursue its devotions -without let or hindrance, or any disturbing element. -The chip bureau was presided over by a seemingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> -voiceless autocrat, while velvet-footed waiters ministered -to the thirst of everybody in the efficient manner -of well-drilled club servants. It was all admirably -calculated to yield the best possible profit out of a -mixed company which consisted of men and women of -substance and undeniable beauty, down to the rough-clad -trail men who sold their “dust” for chips, and -a gambling fraternity of every shade of colour and -almost every race.</p> - -<p>Outwardly it was a sheer delight for those who were -sufficiently young and reckless. It was a place to grip -the imagination. Inwardly, or underneath its surface -of pleasant seeming, there was perhaps a different aspect. -There was not one of the immaculate waiters -who was not a trained athlete in his ability to deal with -the toughest human violence, and each man was fully -armed with an automatic pistol or some other lethal -weapon. Then the voiceless president at the chip -bureau was a dead shot, and had under his fingers a -system of switches which could summon any aid he -needed and close every exit of the establishment, at an -instant’s notice.</p> - -<p>McLagan had made no attempt to cut into any of the -games that had already started. For the moment he -and the rotund Dr. Finch and Jubilee Hurst were onlookers. -Jubilee was sitting on an unoccupied table, -while the two others were smoking Max’s cigars, -watching the game in progress at the next table.</p> - -<p>The doctor and Jubilee seemed more deeply interested -than was the oil man. A poker game was irresistible -to Jubilee at all times. Doc Finch had partaken -of a sufficiently good dinner to find interest in -anything, provided it was witnessed from a comfortable -chair. But McLagan’s attention undisguisedly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -wandered to the curtained entrance every time the -hangings were drawn aside to admit a newcomer.</p> - -<p>He was a keen poker player, but only as a pastime. -And he rarely drifted into any of the really big games -that were played at the Speedway. Just now he had -no desire at all to participate in any of them. He was -by no means a part of the Speedway’s human freight. -But for months, now, he had never failed to spend his -evenings in its scented atmosphere when business demanded -his presence in the city.</p> - -<p>Jubilee shook his carefully oiled head in response to -McLagan’s challenge.</p> - -<p>“No, I’m not cutting in yet,” he said. Then he -added with a grin, indicating the table in front of them, -“Guess I couldn’t make a one-night hotel bill out of a -bunch like that. See that guy open a fi’ dollar jack -pot, an’ throw in at the first bet? They’re a close -bunch, without the nerve to buck four aces right. I’ll -wait for the Saint.”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s quick eyes shot a sharp look into a grinning -face.</p> - -<p>“She plays a great game,” he observed quietly.</p> - -<p>“Game? It’s a gift.” Jubilee chuckled. “If she’d -take me as partner,” he went on with meaning, “we’d -clean up half the world.”</p> - -<p>McLagan removed his cigar and dropped its ash into -the fixed tray provided on the table on which Jubilee -was sitting.</p> - -<p>“Have you put it to her?” he asked smilingly.</p> - -<p>The other shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Not on your life, Mac,” he said seriously. “I’m -sure like every other guy around the way I feel but -I’ve a sight too big a respect for a good woman to -want to tie her up to the kind of life I live. Maybe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> -sometime I’ll make the pile I mostly dream about, and -I’ll be able to quit the game I’ve always run. Well, -when that time comes, and I’ve learnt Sunday School -ways, I’ll be feeling and acting pious. Maybe it ’ud be -different then. Say, Doc’s doping off his feed.”</p> - -<p>“You’re wrong, boy.” The Doctor bestirred himself. -“But likely enough I was dreaming. I thought -I heard you talking of acting—pious. I——”</p> - -<p>He broke off. The curtains had been abruptly -drawn aside from the great archway. Two of the -waiters were holding them back. Suddenly there was -a curious hissing sound somewhere up in the shadows -about the domed ceiling. The next moment a fierce -light flashed out, filling the archway with the white-circle -of its beam. It was a “spot lime,” and it fell on -the tall, slim figure of a beautifully gowned girl as -she appeared from the landing beyond. It was Max’s -greeting, on the night of celebration, to the beautiful -Saint of his beloved Speedway.</p> - -<p>Just for an instant Claire Carver stood dazzled by -the glare of the unexpected light. Every eye in the -room was turned in her direction to discover the meaning -of the terrific blaze. And in that moment Ivor -McLagan feasted himself upon the vision he had been -awaiting.</p> - -<p>The girl was clad in an expensive sort of semi-evening -gown of soft, black material, aglitter with the -shining surfaces of a myriad of black beads. At her -waist was a large, sprawling artificial flower that -matched the ruddy tone of her vivid hair. She was -without gloves, and her rounded arms of alabaster -whiteness were bare to the shoulder, and her gown -below the knees revealed sheeny silk stockings which -terminated in high-arched insteps and exquisite shoes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> -But her glory was the hat adorned with flowing Paradise -plumes, and the wealth of her hair framing a face -whose beauty set the pulses of the gazing man hammering.</p> - -<p>Never in his life had McLagan seen Claire a creature -so exquisite. And there flashed through his mind a -memory of the girl of the headland, tortured by the -threat of Bad Booker’s usurious terms. The change, -the complete transformation, was amazing. There -had been change before. He had seen it and delighted -in it. But there had been nothing like this. This was -the girl’s party gown. He understood that. She -was——</p> - -<p>“God o’ my fathers!”</p> - -<p>Jubilee breathed his astonished admiration into McLagan’s -ears, and was promptly silenced by a look.</p> - -<p>Somewhat embarrassed Claire came down the room -with heightened colour, and eyes that smiled almost -shyly. It was the same sweet face which McLagan -had always known. Only it lacked something of that -natural freshness which the wind and the sun of the -coast had bestowed upon it in her days on Lively -Creek. The downy bloom of those days had been replaced -by a suggestion of powder. Even her pretty -lips seemed to have gained added ripeness from the -careful touch of cosmetic. But the wide blue eyes, the -even brows, and the rounded, perfectly moulded cheeks -were the same, and, to the man’s thinking, even more -beautiful.</p> - -<p>But some of the delight McLagan felt as the girl -came quickly towards him passed at once as he beheld -the figure of Max close behind her. Many a night he -had looked on at the centre table where Claire always -played, and had even found amusement in observing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> -the crowd of men of all conditions who never failed -to gather like moths about a candle flame. He had -watched them in their frantic efforts to win her ready -smile, and it had filled him only with added pleasure -in her beauty and simple charm.</p> - -<p>But the sight of Max at that moment, with his sleek, -dark head, and his carefully cut close beard, his immaculate -clothes, and his good-looking foreign face, -inspired a feeling he had never before experienced. -He remembered the method of this girl’s entrance. -The elaborate staginess of it. And he realised that -Max had not designed an entrance for the most popular -gambler in Beacon Glory. No. It was for the woman -herself. And Max was rich and powerful, and without -scruple. And, furthermore, with immense resources -for achieving any purpose upon which he set his mind.</p> - -<p>Anger rose behind the man’s keen eyes, and their -usual easy humour was changed to a glitter that had -nothing mild or yielding in it.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Man from the Lias River</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">THE little burst of applause which greeted Claire’s -entrance had died out. Like the stage light that -had descended upon her it had left her with a slight -feeling of embarrassment. But she understood that -the men, at least, if not the women, were in the mood -to applaud anything and everything, for it was a night -of festival. It was the first of its kind she had attended. -She had known by tradition what was expected, -and had seen to it that she played her part. -So her gown was the most expensive she could import -from Seattle and the largish beaded handbag she was -carrying was packed with a roll of money of unusually -large proportions.</p> - -<p>In the brief eight months since Claire had plunged -into the vortex of the Speedway’s gaming life she had -become a victim of the fever of it all. Her original -purpose had been the simple betterment of her fortunes -and those of her mother. She had desired nothing -more. For, in her heart, she had no sympathy with the -reputation of the place. The whole idea had been cold -business. But by degrees her viewpoint had changed, -and the rich youth in her had gained ascendency. The -place, the life, the game, swiftly took possession of -her, and all of the dead father latent in her young soul -had stirred to an irresistible passion. The lure of that -centre table she had made hers, the rattle of the chips, -the feel of the delicate pasteboards in her nimble fingers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> -were all things she had come to live for. She had -learned to love it all with a real passion.</p> - -<p>In the process of time there had been scarcely a -moment of disillusion. Her beauty had gained her a -deep place in the hearts of the men. And the women, -whatever their real feelings, bowed before a creature -whom the other sex had set on so exalted a pedestal. -Then her skill; her spirit. At the realisation of these -things even the women stood by in frank admiration, -while her amazing good fortune filled them with superlative -envy.</p> - -<p>Claire had been staunch and true to herself and her -purpose. Never once had there fallen a lapse. She -eschewed the vices she witnessed in others of her sex -who haunted the place, while she gave full run to her -capacity for sheer enjoyment. Never once in the -thirsty, heated atmosphere of the place had she permitted -any beverage more harmful than a mineral -water to pass her pretty lips. She revelled in the scent -of the tobacco with which men and women filled the -atmosphere. But she had not the slightest inclination -to essay the mildest of cigarettes herself. Then, too, -she had swiftly discovered herself to be possessed of -an unerring instinct in defence against the ardent and -often crude advances she was constantly encountering -amongst the wild youth with which she found herself -surrounded.</p> - -<p>She had been dubbed “The Saint” from the earliest -days of her career at the Speedway. And it was a -natural enough appellation. Her given name had suggested, -and her methods had inspired. It was the jealous -minds of her own sex which had coined the designation. -And the manhood of the city had taken it up -in real affection.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> - -<p>Before passing to her table Claire came over to the -seat where McLagan’s great figure was lounging. And -her greeting of him had in it no lessening of their old -friendliness.</p> - -<p>“Why, Ivor,” she cried, “I didn’t guess you’d be -along in town. This is real fine on a party night. And—and”—her -lighting eyes surveyed his evening suit—“say, -don’t you look swell? You see, I always sort of -expect you in your tough old pea-jacket.”</p> - -<p>The man’s plain face was alight with undisguised -pleasure. He shook his head, and his small eyes twinkled.</p> - -<p>“Don’t just say a thing, Claire,” he said quietly. -“If you knew the way I feel I guess you’d hand me all -the pity you know. I am hating myself under a boiled -shirt, but I had to be around to-night anyway. And -I’m glad. I’d have missed that dandy gown of yours -else, and the picture you’re looking. You’ve got Beacon -plumb dazzled and me well-nigh blinded.”</p> - -<p>The girl flushed and laughed, but she left his compliment -unanswered.</p> - -<p>“Are you going to sit in at my table?” she asked. -Then with real sincerity, “I’d be glad.”</p> - -<p>But again McLagan shook his head.</p> - -<p>“No, Claire,” he said reflectively. “I got other notions -being here to-night. Besides,” he added with a -smile, “my bank roll isn’t equal to better than table-stakes,’ -and that’s no sort of use when <em>you</em> get busy. -I’ll just sit around awhile. There’s Jubilee yearning -to lighten your wad. He sat right in on the jump -when you came along, and I don’t fancy he’ll squeal -when you’re through with him. No, I’m waiting on -Victor Burns, and one or two boys. I can do business -here, and—I’ve pleased Max coming.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> - -<p>Claire glanced round at her table and her eyes were -no longer smiling. Her table had filled with the men -with whom she was accustomed to play, and they were -waiting on her pleasure.</p> - -<p>“Why must you please Max?” she asked a little -sharply. “Why is it all of you men reckon to please -Max?” Suddenly she lowered her voice and inclined -towards him. “He’s gone off to the dance hall so I -don’t mind. I’m getting to hate him like I used to hate -Booker months back. That play of his just now with -his light. It sickened me. It surely did, Ivor. And -he’s getting like a tame cat. And I hate cats. Give -me a dog all the time, and a good, rough, fighting trail -husky at that.”</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded. His eyes were smiling inscrutably.</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry with him,” he said. “Don’t worry -with any feller. Max has his uses, which don’t need -to concern you. But your boys are looking gun-play -my way.”</p> - -<p>Claire laughed. The man was dismissing her. This -big, burly, plain creature who had persistently asked -her to marry him. Just for a moment a sense of pique -disturbed her, but it passed immediately, lost in her -laugh. There was no other man in that room would -have done the same. She nodded at him and took her -dismissal.</p> - -<p>“Swell clothes hide up all sorts of things, I guess,” -she cried, as she moved away, “but it’s queer how the -rough in a man can leak through. I guess those boys -at the table won’t be in such a hurry to lose me.”</p> - -<p>She was gone. And with her going a sense of loneliness -at once stole in on McLagan. He desired her for -himself. He desired Claire Carver above all things in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> -the world. He could cheerfully have driven the crowd -about her table headlong. But that was the feeling that -was his at all times at the sight of the men who gathered -about her. However, he had come there with a -resolve from which he would not deviate, and, in accordance -with that which lay at the back of his mind, -he had dismissed her to the game which he knew was -her passionate delight.</p> - -<p>Victor Burns had just passed the curtained archway, -and hard on his heels was a newcomer who at -once claimed all McLagan’s interest. For a moment -he observed the man while the banker strolled leisurely -over towards him. He was a broad, powerful creature -in dark clothes, with a pea-jacket tightly buttoned over -his chest. His face was clean-shaven and dark, but -his eyes were of the palest hue of blue, and as expressionless -as those of a dead codfish. It was his eyes -that interested McLagan most, and Burns came up -almost before he was aware of it.</p> - -<p>Burns laughed.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Mac, where are the boys? Busy? You -seem to be having all sorts of a time to yourself. I’ll -hail a flunkey an’ collect a cocktail.”</p> - -<p>McLagan edged round towards the empty chair -which the banker took possession of.</p> - -<p>“Nothing for me, Victor,” he said brusquely. “Jubilee’s -in the game there, and the Doc’s oozed off to get -a look at the dames in the dance room. Abe’s passed -back to his own booth, and young Burt Riddell’s sitting -in where his game can’t butt in on his partner’s.” He -laughed. “We’re outside it all, eh?”</p> - -<p>“I surely am,” the banker admitted promptly as he -surveyed the crowd. “You can’t run a bank and play -big money at the Speedway. Say——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<p>He broke off as he caught sight of the man with the -pale blue eyes thrusting his way unceremoniously -through the crowd about Claire’s table. McLagan followed -the direction of his gaze.</p> - -<p>“Who’s that tough-looking guy?” he asked quickly.</p> - -<p>“Cy Liskard,” the banker said. “He’s a client of -mine. And he’s full to the back teeth with dollars and -dust. And,” he added slowly, “looks like he is with -liquor, too. Guess he’s out for a time. He’ll get it if -he sits into the Saint’s game. She’ll skin him to -death.”</p> - -<p>The stranger’s movements were rough and forceful. -He made no pretence. The crowd where he joined it -about Claire’s table was at least three deep. It was -composed of men in every fashion of clothing, and -women whose faces were sufficiently disguised under -paint to hide up the worst traces of aging and dissipation. -He shouldered his way through and came to a -halt immediately behind one of the players. McLagan -wondered at the ease, the impunity, with which his purpose -was accomplished.</p> - -<p>“He’s a roll of ten thousand in his hip pocket, and -I can’t say how much more. I wonder the kind of game -he’s got lying back of those dead eyes of his.”</p> - -<p>Burns spoke reflectively, but his companion made no -answer. McLagan had bestirred himself out of his -seat. He had perched himself up on its arm, the better -to view the scene. His gaze was on the stranger and -was swiftly reading the thing that must have been -obvious to any onlooker sufficiently interested. The -man was clearly under the influence of drink, but by -no means drunk, and his “dead eyes,” as Burns had -called them, were fixed in a devouring stare upon the -girl at the far end of the table. It was not the game<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> -that claimed the man. No, it was the girl, who remained -utterly unconscious of his regard, lost in the -absorbing interest of the hand she was playing.</p> - -<p>“You know, Mac,” Burns went on, after a moment’s -contemplation of the man, “there’s faces with features -that mark a man down in a feller’s reckoning, and -leave him with an opinion that he’s no right to on the -face of things. But his feeling generally proves right -in the end. That boy’s eyes leave me cold in the spine,” -he laughed. “To me they’re the eyes of a dead soul. -To me, they’re the eyes of a feller who’d better have -been smothered at birth. I’d hate——”</p> - -<p>He broke off. Above the murmur of voices with -which the room was filled the tones of a voice jarred -harshly. It was Cy Liskard, and he was speaking to -the man behind whose chair he was standing.</p> - -<p>“I want to cut in right away,” he was saying. -“Ther’s fi’ hundred dollars for your chair, Mister. -Does it go?”</p> - -<p>McLagan had straightened up from his lounging attitude. -Burns, too, was on his feet, and both had -moved nearer to the table. Five hundred dollars offered -for a “cut-in.” It was sufficiently extravagant. -And every eye of those standing around was on the -stranger who made the offer.</p> - -<p>A few moments passed. The hand came to an end, -the pot passing to the man whom the stranger had -sought to buy out. Then there came movement, and -the player’s voice made itself heard.</p> - -<p>“Hand us the dough,” he said sharply. “You can -cut right in. If you’ve the nerve to bid five hundred -for a chair, I guess you’re more entitled to it than -me.”</p> - -<p>He rose from his place and Cy Liskard dropped into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> -it. Then he made his way through the smiling crowd.</p> - -<p>“Fifteen hundred dollars for six hands leaves me at -peace with the world,” he said, as he approached McLagan -and the banker. “Ain’t that so, Mac?” he asked, -with a wink.</p> - -<p>He stood for a moment looking back at the table, -and his smile of self-satisfaction suddenly faded out -of his eyes.</p> - -<p>“I’m kind of sorry I fell for it, though,” he said, -lowering his voice. “That guy’s haf soused, and I’ve -let him into <em>her</em> table.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe it’s just as well you did, Soo.”</p> - -<p>Soo Tybert stared at McLagan wonderingly. He -was a burly youngster, partner in a dry goods store, -and hailed from his father’s wholesale house in Seattle.</p> - -<p>“How so?” he asked.</p> - -<p>McLagan shrugged.</p> - -<p>“He meant cutting in, anyway.”</p> - -<p>Burns smiled.</p> - -<p>“I guess the Saint’s going to have a swell night,” he -said. “Mister Cy’ll be along in the morning to replenish -his dollar reserves. Can you beat these boys who -come easy by the stuff lying around the creeks? Haf -a highball under their belts and the good air of the hills -blown out of their vitals, and they’re as ready to pass -on their stuff as an elderly, new-made widow-woman.”</p> - -<p>But McLagan and the dry goods boy were paying no -heed to the banker’s reflections. They were talking -earnestly in a low tone, and when they had finished, -Soo made a somewhat hurried departure.</p> - -<p>“Where’s he gone?” asked Burns, when McLagan -returned to his side.</p> - -<p>“To hunt up Max.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” The banker’s keen eyes had sobered, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> -a sharp look of doubt accompanied his interrogation.</p> - -<p>McLagan indicated the table at which Claire presided.</p> - -<p>“What d’you know of Cy Liskard?” he asked, curtly.</p> - -<p>“Not a thing. He’s a customer at the bank, that’s -all. He’s on pay dirt and hit it good.”</p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t know.”</p> - -<p>Burns shrugged. But the look in his friend’s eyes -interested him.</p> - -<p>“There’ll be trouble before the night’s out. I’m -going to stop around.”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s words came sharply, but in a tone only -meant for the banker’s ears. There was a curious hard -set to his plain face, and his small eyes were coldly -bright. Victor Burns held him in deep regard, and his -understanding of him was the understanding of years -of intimate association. He had long since probed -McLagan’s interest in Claire Carver, and made his -estimate of it. And now, as he observed the man’s -hard-set look, he realised something of the depths to -which he was stirred.</p> - -<p>“You don’t need to worry,” he said quietly. -“There’s no man around here to-night crazy enough -to play tough—not to-night.”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s reply came with cold conviction.</p> - -<p>“Ordinarily, I’d say you’re right, Victor. But ther’s -mischief back of that feller’s eyes. He paid five hundred -to cut in. Why? For a hand at poker? Not on -your life. I’m going to get in and watch the game.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>McLagan was far too familiar with the poker games -played at the Speedway to concern himself with the -bigness of the game he was looking on at. It mattered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> -little enough to him the relative value of the heavy -red, white and blue chips. Their value might be -twenty-five, fifty and one hundred calculated in cents -or dollars. It made no impression whatsoever upon -his imagination, but the skill of the players was a -never-failing source of interest. The human psychology -in the game was fascinating beyond words.</p> - -<p>To him the young girl, who seemed literally to have -given up her life to the lure of the game, was the epitome -of all that was demanded of human nature in -the play. Her beautiful face smiled or remained serious -as mood inclined her. But no change in it was -wrought or influenced by the progress of the game. -Her mood seemed at all times buoyant, and her flashes -of inspiration came and passed without a moment of -apparent effort or hesitation. In three hands she had -her opponent’s measure with an instinct and observation -that were unerring, while she played her own hand -with the baffling inconsequence which only a beautiful -woman could achieve. The values of every hand, estimated -through her understanding of her opponent’s -methods, were instinctive knowledge to her, and she -played on the instant at all times, while her skill in the -draw proclaimed her utter and complete mistress of -the game.</p> - -<p>A hand had been dealt since Cy Liskard had sat in -and the ante had remained unchallenged. Now a jack-pot -was being dealt for. Claire’s smile was good to -watch, and a light of deep absorption was shining behind -her beautiful eyes. She dealt the hand, and sat -waiting for the opening or passing of the jack-pot.</p> - -<p>Jubilee shook his head and closed his cards up. The -next man refused. Cy Liskard picked up some chips -and counted them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m opening for ‘fifty,’” he said, while his curious -eyes levelled themselves at the dealer. “Guess that -calls a hundred.”</p> - -<p>The hush was profound. The onlookers foresaw a -big gamble if all the table came in. Then again, it -might be a crude bluff on the part of this man who -was almost a stranger to them.</p> - -<p>McLagan was observing the man with almost cat-like -watchfulness. Victor Burns was smiling interestedly, -wondering the while how long his customer -would last in the hands of these skilled and merciless -gamblers. To him there was, there could be, no doubt -as to the end. This man would stand no chance. He -would stand no more chance than a lamb in the midst -of a wolf pack.</p> - -<p>Of the six players at the table Jubilee alone refused -to come in. He threw his cards in and sat back while -Claire began to deal for the draw. The betting started -at fifty dollars, and the spectators’ interest deepened, -for, after the draw, all but Claire and the man who had -opened the pot threw in their hands.</p> - -<p>Claire’s instant response to the stranger was a raise -to five hundred dollars.</p> - -<p>It was the sort of thing expected of her, and interest -deepened. Cy Liskard had drawn two cards, and the -smiling dealer had matched his draw. There could be -no indication as to what either of the players held -beyond the fact that the man had opened the pot.</p> - -<p>Cy’s response was slower in coming. He glanced -at his cards and closed them instantly. Then, in a moment, -he raised the girl’s bet by one hundred dollars.</p> - -<p>McLagan never for an instant withdrew his gaze -from the man, for it was the man who interested him. -It seemed to him the dead eyes had somehow come to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> -life under the purpose driving him, and he was endeavouring -to read and grasp that purpose. To McLagan -it was a face masking completely every sign of -emotion, but he felt that emotion was burning deeply -behind the lustreless eyes, and somehow the conviction -of lurking evil was irresistible.</p> - -<p>Victor Burns, like all the rest around the table, had -eyes only for the beautiful woman, with her graceful -figure a-shimmer with the twinkling beads of her -gown, and with her wealth of vivid hair under her -modish hat framing a face which he was never tired of -gazing upon.</p> - -<p>Claire smiled her prompt reply, her lips parting and -revealing a row of perfect teeth as she “saw” the bet -and raised it another five hundred. The challenge was -thrilling and on the instant every eye focussed on the -man at the end of the table.</p> - -<p>He raised his strange eyes and gazed hardly into -those of the girl, and as he passed his chips into the -centre of the table, McLagan drew a deep breath.</p> - -<p>“Curse it, ther’s your fi’ hundred, an’ another on top -of it. Will you see it?”</p> - -<p>“Surely. And raise it.” Claire’s retort came in -tones of smiling, unruffled calm. “It’ll cost you a -thousand more.”</p> - -<p>The man laughed. But the laugh was harsh and -unconvincing in its lack of mirth.</p> - -<p>“I like it in thousands,” he cried, as the girl’s chips -were slid into place to swell the pot. “There’s your -thousand and another. Well?”</p> - -<p>There was a shuffling of feet amongst the spectators -and several coughed. It was an expression of the -wave of excitement surging.</p> - -<p>“Perfectly well.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> - -<p>The girl matched his bet and raised it another hundred. -And the man laughed again with a further -challenge.</p> - -<p>“It’ll cost you another thousand!” he cried, and his -tone was exulting.</p> - -<p>Victor Burns found himself holding his breath while -he waited for the girl’s move. Just for one instant her -eyes flashed out of their usual calm. There was real -excitement in them now. And he wondered if at last -she had been caught out of her depth.</p> - -<p>“And more,” she said. And her voice was perfectly -steady. “One thousand more.”</p> - -<p>Her chips had become exhausted and she thrust forward -a roll of bills. Then she sat waiting for the man -to come again.</p> - -<p>It was the supreme moment when the test of nerve -was at its highest pitch. The onlookers understood. -Big game as they were used to witnessing at this -centre table, it was the first time they had looked on -with stakes rising by a thousand dollars at a bet. The -question in every mind was the same. The man was -obviously a gold man with a pouch full of dust. What -was its limit? How far would he go under the influence -of the surroundings and the liquor he had obviously -consumed?</p> - -<p>Cy Liskard clutched his cards and laughed harshly.</p> - -<p>“Come again,” he shouted. “There’s your thousand -an’ another.”</p> - -<p>He literally flung the bills on the table, for he, too, -had exhausted his chips. “Ther’s nigh fifteen thousand -in the pot. Can you see it an’ raise it? Raise it—if -you’ve the grit.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, I will,” Claire replied with just a suspicion -of sharpness in her tone for all her smile. “Come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> -again, Mister man. Let’s see your colour. You -haven’t the stuff in you to raise that. It’ll cost you -fifteen hundred.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s breath came quickly for all her self-control. -There was challenge in her tone, a woman’s -taunting. But to McLagan, who knew her every -mood, there was more. In his mind he questioned her -nerve if the man came back at her, and he edged his -way nearer, and his instinct was to support and -strengthen her in the weakness he fancied she was beginning -to betray.</p> - -<p>He reached her side, and her opponent was forgotten. -Just for one instant her pretty eyes flashed a smiling -upward glance into his plain face, and a wave of relief -surged through his anxious mind. Her eyes were -full of the confident courage he had feared for.</p> - -<p>“It’s good enough!”</p> - -<p>Cy Liskard threw his cards on the table face downward.</p> - -<p>“It’s yours, my lady. I’m done.”</p> - -<p>A gasp of astonishment came from the onlookers. -The man’s defeat, his weakness, left them amazed. -Then, as Claire reached out and collected the pool, -short and sharp came Jubilee’s challenge.</p> - -<p>“Your ‘openers,’ Mister!”</p> - -<p>Cy Liskard turned his unsmiling eyes on the man. -His gaze was cold for all the harshness of his response.</p> - -<p>“What the hell!” he cried.</p> - -<p>Then he reached towards his cards and sought to -turn them. In doing so he displayed all five. Perhaps -it was intentional—perhaps, in a fury of resentment -at the challenge in his defeat, the thing was inadvertent. -Whatever it was, the revelation was complete -and a gasp of amazement greeted his action.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> - -<p>He had thrown in <em>four aces</em>!</p> - -<p>A chorus of derision followed. There was laughter. -There were epithets of undisguised contempt for the -play that could yield four aces so tamely. Even -Claire smiled her contempt at her late opponent while -she thrust her own cards deeply into the remainder of -the pack. There was only the straight flush to have -beaten that hand, and the man had parted with something -like eight thousand dollars.</p> - -<p>The comments of the onlookers remained unheeded. -The man’s dead eyes were on the woman opposite him. -He seemed oblivious to all but the smiling contempt in -her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Say, ain’t you satisfied?” he demanded, a curious -note underlying the harshness of his tone.</p> - -<p>Claire laughed derisively.</p> - -<p>“Sure I am,” she cried. “I’m always satisfied with -easy money. Guess I’m ready to take all that’s coming, -even from a feller who’s fool enough to throw in -four aces. The deal’s with you, Jubilee.”</p> - -<p>She turned to her grinning neighbour, who was shuffling -the cards, but the man at the end of the table -was not yet done with.</p> - -<p>“Say,” he cried again, and his tone matched the -frigidity of his soulless eyes. “Ain’t ther’ no change -comin’? I handed you better than eight thousand dollars. -Guess you didn’t win that pool. I passed it you. -You didn’t bluff me a thing. Eight thousand couldn’t -scare a feller with my wad. No, sir. You’re queen -of this layout, and I don’t seem to yearn for any -lesser dame. You got eight thousand a present. An’ -ther’s fi’ thousand more fer a dance. Guess that’s -what you’re here for, ain’t it? Here’s the stuff. I’m -out to buy. It’s right up to you. Well?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> - -<p>The coldness of it was icy. The brutal purpose -consummate. The man was in liquor, but it was no -drunken proposal. It was considered and confident.</p> - -<p>A hot flush swept over the girl’s beautiful cheeks. -It dyed her fine brows right up to the roots of her no -less vivid hair. Then she smiled, and her eyes glittered. -She shook her head.</p> - -<p>“You’re drunk or crazy,” she said. “I don’t know -where you come from. I don’t even know your name. -But I guess you best get back to the dirt you scratch -your gold out of. It’s the only place for men like -you.”</p> - -<p>Claire spoke quietly, but there was that in her words -and tone that was indescribable in its utter contempt. -Cy Liskard withdrew the bunch of money he was -grasping with a jerk. He stood up. And his cold -gaze passed swiftly over the crowd of faces watching -the scene. Then his eyes came to rest again on the -beautiful creature he so obviously coveted, and dull -fury looked out of them.</p> - -<p>“You b——!”</p> - -<p>But the filthy epithet was smothered. A man’s -great fist crashed it back into the foul throat that had -inspired it. Cy Liskard reeled. He fell backwards -against the chair from which he had arisen. And -when he recovered himself he was looking into the -muzzle of a heavy automatic pistol with the fierce, -narrow eyes of Ivor McLagan behind the weapon.</p> - -<p>“You swine! Beat it! Beat it right out of here -or I’ll send you plumb to the hell you belong to! Push -up your hands, darn you! Push ’em up, an’ beat it!”</p> - -<p>But the man made no attempt to obey. His pale -eyes stared back into the fury burning in the engineer’s. -His hands remained by his sides.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> - -<p>Those looking on realised the thing about to happen. -There was movement and scurrying as those in other -parts of the room scrambled out of the line of fire. -This stranger man was looking on death, calmly and -without yielding. Another moment and——</p> - -<p>But in that moment an amazing thing happened. It -almost seemed as if by magic the room had become -peopled by a small army of ghostly, white-robed figures. -They came in a sort of wave through the curtained -archway through which Claire, earlier in the evening, -had made her triumphal entry. And they swept down -upon the gold man from behind in the voiceless fashion -of avenging spectres.</p> - -<p>It was all over in a moment. Cy Liskard was engulfed -in the white wave that rushed upon him. There -was a moment of confused, voiceless struggle. Then -the white-hooded spectres had vanished as they had -come and McLagan returned his heavy weapon to the -hip-pocket of the evening clothes he so cordially detested.</p> - -<p>Cy Liskard had been spirited away by the white-clad -Aurora men, and almost on the instant the momentarily -interrupted game was resumed amidst a chorus of -laughter and eager comment. Nothing would be allowed -to interfere with the Speedway’s routine. Even -matters of life and death were of no real concern comparable -with the success of Max’s annual festival.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Aurora Clan</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">IT was brilliant moonlight. Millions of stars were -shining on the velvet of the heavenly dome, but -their sheen was dimmed against the vivid spread of -moving colour that lit the northern horizon. In the -cloudlessness of the night the mysterious blaze of the -Aurora had transformed the hours of darkness.</p> - -<p>It was somewhere beyond the city limits where the -plain rose gently towards the distant, surrounding -hills, and the open gave place to wide bluffs of forest -land. The scene was set in a spacious clearing, with -a wealth of spruce and poplar and jack-pine rising out -of the tangle of undergrowth encompassing it. And -somewhere about its centre stood an aged Western -cedar, which looked to belong to other latitudes, other -climates.</p> - -<p>The cedar was a forest giant of immense proportions. -It stood out in the splendid twilight black and overwhelming, -for all its height was dwarfed by the lofty, -tattered crowns of its aloofly respectful neighbours. -It formed a wide canopy of shelter beneath its far-reaching -boughs, matted with their manifold carpet -of curious foliage. It was a shelter admirably suited -to the ghostly scene being enacted beneath its shade.</p> - -<p>Twenty white-robed, white-hooded figures stood in -an unbroken circle at a point where the wide-flung -boughs were at their greatest spread. Right above -them, almost exactly bisecting their circle, a monstrous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> -bough reached out supporting a dangling, rawhide rope -which terminated in an ominous noose. Within a foot -of this noose, gazing squarely at it, bound hand and -foot, stood a white man prisoner.</p> - -<p>For the moment complete silence prevailed while -Cy Liskard’s pale eyes surveyed the thing with which -he was confronted. He was sober enough now, and -there was no lack of understanding in him. He knew -he was the victim of no play game. For even he, comparative -stranger as he was to the life of Beacon Glory, -had heard of the doings of the men of the Aurora -Clan.</p> - -<p>He had offended. He realised that. He had offended -these self-appointed custodians of the city’s -morals, and he was searching acutely the doubtful -chances confronting him.</p> - -<p>His cold eyes passed over each silent figure in its -white cloth gown. He sought to penetrate the conical -hoods which enveloped each head, masking it completely -and falling generously upon the shoulders. -And all the time he was aware of the ugly thing which -hung precisely at the level of his neck.</p> - -<p>The futility of his search quickly impressed itself -upon him. Bound fast, he was completely helpless. -These people had left him with sufficient freedom to -stand erect, but that was all. At length the silence, his -own impotence, and the hideous threat of the dangling -rope got the better of his none too generous stock of -self-restraint. He stirred, and sought to twist his -powerful arms free under their painful bonds. Then -of a sudden his voice rang out sharply, harshly, in a -characteristic challenge.</p> - -<p>“Well? What the hell—next?”</p> - -<p>There was fury in his challenge. There was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -shadow of something else in its violence. And as the -sound of it died away the silence of the night came -back at him, filling him with a sense of his own utter -helplessness.</p> - -<p>A few moments later one of the white figures stepped -out of its place in the circle. It came forward and -halted before the hanging rope. It raised its arms and -took possession of the noose, and when the rope was -finally released the captive realised that the noose had -been considerably widened.</p> - -<p>Then the man stood a pace back and made a sign -with outstretched hands. He beckoned in two directions. -And, in a moment, the captive was seized from -behind and securely held by his bound arms.</p> - -<p>Putting forth a tremendous effort, Cy Liskard -sought to free himself. It was quite hopeless; and the -effort, as a result of his bonds, only cost him his balance, -and, but for the support of his captors he would -have fallen to the ground.</p> - -<p>The prisoner was no longer under any illusion. The -thing about to happen was obvious, and the silence of -it all suddenly drove panic surging. The man in front -of him had again possessed himself of the swinging -noose. He approached slowly. Then, in a moment, -the rope was placed over the prisoner’s head and -rested loosely upon his shoulders.</p> - -<p>The figure withdrew at once to the tree-trunk. And -a moment later the noose drew sharply tight about Cy -Liskard’s bull-like neck.</p> - -<p>With the tightening of the noose the last vestige of -the prisoner’s self-restraint vanished. He cried out, -and his whole impulse was for blasphemy and vituperation.</p> - -<p>“Name of God!” he cried violently. “Cut this adrift<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> -if you’re men and not swine. What have I done? -What d’you want? Gold? If you’re ‘hold-ups’ I’m -ready to pay. You’ve got me where you need me. -Turn loose your lousy tongues. If you cut this gear -adrift ther’ ain’t a man amongst you ’ud stand up to -me two seconds.”</p> - -<p>A voice replied to him. It sounded muffled, and -hollow, and far-off as it came from behind the mask of -the man at the tree-trunk. But to the prisoner it came -in welcome relief. For it was the first human voice -he had heard since his capture.</p> - -<p>“We want nothing from you, Cy Liskard,” it said. -“We aren’t out to rob dead men. You’re about to be -dealt with according to the laws of the Aurora Clan.”</p> - -<p>The voice seemed to fade out rather than to cease -speaking. Then the controlling figure at the tree-trunk -gave a further sign. The two men standing ward of -their prisoner withdrew on the instant, and with a -jerk the rope tightened viciously about the prisoner’s -neck.</p> - -<p>The man writhed under the sudden pressure. He -struggled fiercely. But every effort he made only -caused a further tightening of the rope. In panic and -complete and sudden despair, he ceased his struggles. -And on the instant the rope relaxed, and the muffled -voice came again.</p> - -<p>“Your struggles are useless,” it said. “There’s no -escape from the Aurora Clan. Our men are everywhere -in the city, the valley, the forest, the plain. If -you broke from us now, you’d be recaptured within an -hour. Our purpose to-night is simple. To-night you -die—unless you swear never to return to Beacon Glory. -If you swear that you’ll be freed at once, and your -goods and ponies will be handed back to you here and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> -now. There’s no alternative. No woman in Beacon -will ever be insulted by you again. We’ll see to that. -Remember, if you ever return to Beacon your death -will be instant. You can choose. You’ve two minutes -in which to do so.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The ballroom was a blaze of light. The raised -boxes about the walls were crowded with resting -couples refreshing themselves at the expense of their -host. The band, which was more brazen than seemed -necessary, was blaring out a fox-trot with a haunting -melody, which seemed to be the joy of the heart of -the uniformed man behind the slide trombone. The -softer strings were almost drowned under his super-human -efforts, and even the notes of the cornet were -hard put to it to obtain a hearing.</p> - -<p>The dancers were many and various in their methods -and appearance. There were dress suits in evidence -among the men, and the women’s garments -ranged from prodigal scantiness to redundancy. There -were burly men and fat. There were lean creatures -who looked to spend their days on short rations and -hard work. While the women appeared, as they ever -do to the casual onlooker, a rainbow spectacle of femininity -pleasing enough to the masculine eye careless of -the details of their variegated costumes.</p> - -<p>Doc Finch was among the stouter dancers and -his partner was only little less ample. They looked -comfortably hot and in no danger of foot entanglement. -Jubilee was striding vigorously with a good-looking -woman whose beauty owed much to her gown -and the careful application of facial make-up. Bad -Booker was smiling over the shoulder of a young -thing who was frankly absorbed in the joys of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> -dance without regard for the company she was keeping. -While Jake Forner, his chief clerk, was straining -every nerve to keep pace with a woman whose -efforts suggested gymnasium training rather than -terpsichorean. He was perspiring freely, and a far-off -look of troubled concentration gazed out of his -student’s eyes, leaving it a matter for speculation as -to when the breaking point would be reached.</p> - -<p>It was a scene of real and comparatively decent -human revelry. Outwardly, at least, its decorum was -complete. The night was still young enough for the -human nature gathered there to retain possession -of the cloak of seeming which the occasion imposed. -It was a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bal masque</i> without its phantasy of costume.</p> - -<p>Claire Carver and Ivor McLagan were in possession -of one of the boxes. The waiter had just deposited -a tray of refreshments on the table between -them. True to her fixed rule the girl had ordered -coffee and a savoury sandwich. But the oil man had -no such scruples. His refreshment was a Rye highball.</p> - -<p>Claire had abandoned her game immediately after -the discomfiture of the stranger gold man. The thing -had startled her out of her usual equanimity. Trouble -of one sort or another was by no means new to her. -But in her eight months of the life of the Speedway -it had been the first time she, herself, had been -subjected to downright insult. She had always understood -the risk she ran. Her mother and friends -were always behind her ready to remind her if in -her more generous moments of happy optimism she -should chance to forget. But for all that the shock -had been no less, and for once she had been glad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> -enough to accept the company of the man who had -so promptly defended her, and turn her back on the -shrine of the temple at which she worshipped.</p> - -<p>McLagan read through the mask of levity she was -endeavouring to impose upon herself. Out of his love -and great sympathy his pity had promptly leapt. It -stirred him to her further aid. And so he had gladly -availed himself of the mood that had made her laughingly -appeal to him for the dance she had refused to -the man who had so grossly enriched her.</p> - -<p>They were talking now as they rested, watching the -antics of the buoyant crowd moving rhythmically to -the brazen efforts of the band.</p> - -<p>“You know, Ivor,” Claire said smiling but reflectively, -“those white fixed folk get me scared to death. -It’s the first time I’ve seen them close up. Once before -I saw them, or thought I did. I was out in the -automobile, and I kind of thought I saw a bunch of -them move off the trail ahead of me in the dusk and -hide up in the bush. I wasn’t sure, but I was scared -enough then. It’s queer. How—how did they know -to-night? How did they come along right on time? -was it Max on the ’phone? I didn’t see Max around -at all. Say, does he run them? Are they sort of his -police? They scare me. I was glad enough to see them -get around. You see, that feller didn’t put his hands -up to you when you had him covered. But I sort of -feel we don’t just know where we are with such a -gang operating.”</p> - -<p>The girl was gazing down on the moving crowd -while she voiced her apprehensions, and the man was -left free to feast his eyes on the picture she made in -her beautiful gown and the hat that was so perfect -a crown to the wealth of vivid hair beneath it. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> -was smiling happily in the reward her presence bestowed -upon him for his efforts in her defence.</p> - -<p>“It’s kind of queer, Claire,” he said, and there was -that curious harshness of tone which he rarely seemed -able to avoid. “But some way I don’t feel it’s for -you to be scared a thing. If this gang is what it’s -reputed I’d say it’s only the folks with unclean minds -and ways that need to be scared. But there certainly -are things calculated to set folks worrying the way -the Clan learns and acts when things are wrong. I -don’t reckon Max has a thing to do with ’em. Though -you never can tell. I was talking to Max when we -came down. I allow he’s quite an actor. But—well, -if he was acting it was mighty clever. He was raising -hell to learn how those folks got in on his precious -Speedway.”</p> - -<p>The girl turned from the scene that so entertained -her.</p> - -<p>“Was he?” She shook her head. “He’s got a head -as long as—as the body of that girl dancing with -Burt down there,” she said with a laugh. “He’s not -going to give himself away. I’d say he’s a great bluff -when he feels like it. You know I’ll have to quit the -Speedway or——”</p> - -<p>“Or what?”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s eyes were no longer smiling.</p> - -<p>“Or marry him.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s smile had passed. Her eyes were no less -serious than his.</p> - -<p>“You mean that?”</p> - -<p>McLagan was leaning across the table with his -hands supporting his plain face. He waited while -Claire sipped her coffee and nodded over her cup. -Then he went on deliberately and almost harshly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You can’t! You mustn’t! You shan’t!”</p> - -<p>He was stirred out of his usual calm. And Claire’s -gaze lowered before the hot fire she beheld leap into -his eyes.</p> - -<p>“He’s wealthy,” she said slily.</p> - -<p>“And he’s like a tame cat. The creature you hate.”</p> - -<p>Claire set her cup down and laughed happily.</p> - -<p>“That’s no argument,” she cried.</p> - -<p>“Argument?” McLagan shook his head. Then he -added significantly: “If you want argument I can give -it you.”</p> - -<p>“Not that sort,” Claire warned him sharply. “I -have your promise. But I’d like to hear any other—from -you.”</p> - -<p>The man sat up. He leant back in his chair and -gulped down half his highball. His moment of unrestraint -had passed. He was smiling again, but a -feeling something approaching bitterness laid hold of -him that Claire would tolerate only his friendliness. -He gazed into her face and smiled. But he was -yearning with a passion that well nigh devastated his -sternly controlled composure. He shook his head.</p> - -<p>“No, Claire. You mustn’t marry Max,” he said. -“You know him as the actor he is. I know him as -he really is.” He leant over the table again. “Say, -I wouldn’t marry a she-wolf to Max.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>McLagan shrugged.</p> - -<p>“Leave it at that,” he said brusquely. “Here, kid,” -he went on quickly. “You’re right. You must quit -the Speedway. Quit it all. It’s not for you. Don’t -you see? Oh, yes! I know. The folks are good to -you. Sure they are. They’re mostly men, and you’re -a swell girl that sets them crazy to be good to you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> -But it’s all on the top. There isn’t a thing underneath -but the ordinary muck of human nature. -You’re going to get it sometime when I’m not around, -if you keep on. And there’s sure no need for you -to keep on. I——”</p> - -<p>“But there is.” Claire’s interruption came sharply, -and she held up a warning finger at the threat of -storm she again read in the man’s hot eyes. “Here, -Ivor. I said plain argument. Listen. I’m making -money in bunches. Big bunches. I need the money. -And I love the game. But some day I’ll need to quit. -I know that. But it won’t be till my luck breaks, or—Max -turns. If Max turns first I’ll need to get out -quick. No! I’ll never marry Max! I’d sooner -marry—Satan. Oh, yes! When that happens I’ll get -out quick. I know. I’m wise. You don’t need to -be scared for me. But meanwhile I go right on—— -Hello! Say—look!”</p> - -<p>The girl was pointing down the ballroom. Her -eyes had widened. They were sparkling with a queer -light.</p> - -<p>McLagan was leaning forward. He was following -the direction of the pointing finger, peering out half -hidden behind the curtain hangings. And as he gazed -upon the queer scene that had startled his companion -the braying of the band crashed awkwardly into complete -silence, and the dancing floor was cleared as if -by magic.</p> - -<p>Three white-robed figures were making their way -in silent procession down the length of the room. -They moved slowly, and with monkish dignity, their -high-pointed mask hoods, with their goggling eyeholes, -creating an atmosphere that hushed the onlookers to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> -dead silence. Behind them the arched entrance was -crowded with similar ghostly figures. But the illusion -in this direction was largely counteracted by the array -of heavy guns held ready for prompt action by hands -all sufficiently human.</p> - -<p>It was a tense moment. The silence was deathly. -Only the sound of the footsteps of the moving figures -broke it. The whole company was shocked to impotence. -And the eyes of all were preoccupied between -the array of arms in the far archway and the -progress of the moving trio. The “hold-up” was complete.</p> - -<p>The three figures halted before the buttress pillar -which centred one of the walls, and on which was -fixed the notice-board whereon was pinned the dance -programme for the night. They gathered about it, -and for some moments their movements clearly told -of their purpose. Then they moved away, returning -as they had come, without haste and without a word. -Again they passed over the polished floor. They -reached the archway and their supporters. They -passed through the closed ranks. Then, in a moment, -the whole of the silent white army had withdrawn -as abruptly as it had appeared.</p> - -<p>A rush, a scramble followed. Men and women, -even the orchestra men, hurried over to the notice-board. -The dance programme was lying on the floor -below it and its place had been usurped by a large -sheet of paper covering the whole extent of the board.</p> - -<p>McLagan and Claire had abandoned their box and -joined the curious crowd. They were standing on the -fringe of it, gazing at the white sheet of paper bearing -its written notice in crude, hand-printed lettering.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> -There was no need to get nearer. The text was plain -enough and large enough to be read from across the -room.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="center"> -TAKE NOTICE<br /> -</p> - -<p>The people of Beacon Glory are warned that the presence -of one, Cy Liskard, on the premises of the Speedway will -be the signal for its complete destruction by fire.</p> - -<p class="right"> -Sgd. <span class="smcap">Chief Light of the Aurora</span>.<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>Claire turned to the man at her side.</p> - -<p>“Max isn’t around,” she said significantly.</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head.</p> - -<p>“He’ll be along,” he said, and glanced expectantly -in the direction of the arched doorway.</p> - -<p>The crowd was recovering itself. It was moving -away, and comment and laughter made themselves -heard in every direction. The bandsmen were hurrying -back to their dais where the conductor was summoning -them with sharp taps of his baton on his music -stand. The boxes, too, were rapidly refilling. Doctor -Finch approached McLagan and Claire. He -laughed with a little uncertainty.</p> - -<p>“Things are kind of busy,” he said. “Max’ll need -to have a sharp eye. These boys don’t bluff any.”</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head.</p> - -<p>“No,” he admitted seriously. “They don’t bluff. -If that boy shows up inside the Speedway I wouldn’t -give five cents for Max’s fire policy.”</p> - -<p>Claire looked round quickly. The band had just -started a One-step. She had been interestedly watching -the entrance.</p> - -<p>“Let’s dance, Ivor,” she said quietly. “Max has -just come in.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> - -<p>McLagan glanced round quickly. Max, dark, sleek, -picturesque, was coming towards them hurrying down -the room. His face was unsmiling, and to those who -knew him the signs were sufficiently ominous.</p> - -<p>McLagan quickly took possession of the girl and -drew her away from the region of the notice-board -and Max, and as the latter came up and stood himself -before the insolent threat it contained, he found -himself alone with such emotions as the message inspired. -Claire and McLagan, like the rest of the -dancers, were observing him half-amusedly, half-doubtfully -as they glided about over the polished floor -which was so much his pride. They knew that his -wealth and power as the reigning monarch of his -beloved Speedway had been challenged, and they wondered -as to its possible effect upon a man of his temperament.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Haunt of the Clansmen</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">FOR all the glory of the night had waned, lost in -the deeper shadows of the hour before dawn, the -house stood out stark and decaying on the low foreshore -of the lake. Once upon a time the place had -represented luxury. It had possessed an enclosure -where its owner had sought to cultivate a flower garden -about it. There had also been a pile-built landing -at the water’s edge, and a stout boat house. There -had even been a roadway approach from the city -which was more than a mile distant. But, like the -house itself, these things had long since yielded to -the fierce battle of the elements. A few up-standing -timber-baulks reared their rotting heads above the -water. The original fencing of the enclosure lay rotting -on the ground, and the roadway to the city was -almost completely submerged by the encroaching -waters. For the most part the house was well-nigh -roofless. The shingles had been torn from their -places, and the underlying joists stood out bare to -the storms which swept the plain in the howling winter -season.</p> - -<p>It was a relic of the vaunting days of the boom -of Beacon Glory when easy money so often robbed -even the astuter souls of that longer vision of which -they stood in so much need. It had doubtless been -the pride of some more than usually fortunate creature’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> -heart, who yearned to possess a lake-side summer -residence. There were many signs about it to -give such an impression. There were the remains of -the deep-roofed stoop for lounging in the sweltering -heat of summer. There were the French casement -window frames overlooking the lake. Then the woodwork -and the joinery were of the finest quality, while -the whole planning suggested a type so beloved of -the heart of New England.</p> - -<p>But now, with the waters of the lake lapping about -the foundations of the verandah, with the garden and -the roadway approach a partly submerged wilderness, -in the chill windlessness of the last of the night, the -place only added to the general impression of distance -and darkness and utter desolation.</p> - -<p>The moon had lost its cold brilliance. It lay fallen -from its high estate in the dome of the heavens, lolling -wearily, a dull yellow disc just above the horizon. The -stars, too, had yielded their twinkling brightness, while -the cold fires of the Aurora were burning low, and -their ceaseless movement suggested a hasty, disorderly -retreat to the mysterious fastnesses of the northern -world which had given them birth.</p> - -<p>Yet life was stirring, and it centred about this derelict -habitation.</p> - -<p>Two men had passed the rotting fencing and made -their way through the tangle of growth to the back -entrance, which clearly opened into the kitchen premises. -They paused before the closed door and remained -talking in low tones for some moments, then -one of them, a man of big physique, raised a clenched -hand and his knuckles rapped sharply and peculiarly -on the resounding woodwork. There was a further -moment of delay, then the door swung open inwards,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> -and the darkness beyond swallowed up the newly -arrived visitors.</p> - -<p>After awhile there came a further arrival. He was -a stoutish creature who gazed searchingly about him -in the darkness before passing on beyond the line of -the containing fence. But finally he, too, passed from -view as had the earlier comers, and the engulfing solitude -in which the derelict habitation was wrapped returned -to its unbroken sway.</p> - -<p>After that, in quick succession, there were two further -arrivals. They came, both of them, from the -direction of the sleeping city. They came singly, and -in each case their approach was in similar method to -those who came before. It was as if rule governed -them, they approached cautiously, peering and listening -in the dim twilight of the night. Then came the -signal knock upon the door, and after that the gaping -darkness of the interior swallowed them up in the -voiceless mechanical fashion which suggested a contrivance -controlled from somewhere in the far interior -of the deserted habitation.</p> - -<p>As the last of the five visitors passed into the house -there came the sound of the bolting and barring of -the entrance door, and the final operation was completed -just as the first streak of dawn transformed the -eastern horizon, and brought forth the waking chorus -of the wild fowl upon the lake.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The room was bare of all ordinary furnishings. -The brick walls were cracked and decayed and discoloured -with damp patches. It was a windowless -apartment containing the rusted boiler and gear of a -steam-heat furnace. In one corner lay a small quantity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> -of anthracite coal and a rusted shovel, and the -concrete floor of the place was a-litter with rubbish -and damp patches, and odds and ends of old packing-cases -clearly left there for the original purpose of -kindling.</p> - -<p>The place was lit by an oil lamp suspended on a -hook in one of the timber joists supporting the floor -of the house above, and by its dim, yellow light four -white-robed figures, with their sugar-loaf hoods, -pierced with eye-holes, were revealed lounging on -such of the upturned packing-cases as afforded reasonable -security. A fifth was standing, leaning in his -immaculate garment against the rusted side of the -derelict furnace.</p> - -<p>It was a spectacle for humour to witness these -queer, ghostly figures in their secret haunt, holding -solemn conclave in a cellar which in ordinary life -probably nothing on earth would have induced any of -them to enter. But their purpose was utterly and -completely serious. They formed the Supreme Executive -of the “Council of the Northern Lights,” which -was the whole control of the great body of the men -of the Aurora Clan.</p> - -<p>The big man at the furnace was clearly the leader -and prime moving spirit of the organisation, and he -was talking in the cold, hard fashion which so much -suggested his position. His whole manner was that -of keen command, but for all the coldness of his tone -there was neither roughness of language nor the least -vaunting display of authority.</p> - -<p>“We needed this council right away,” he said. “We -need to take a clear decision before the sun gets up. -That’s why I sent you boys word when maybe you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> -were yearning to make good the sleep you’re needing. -We’ve had a busy night. And I reckon, as a result -of it, we’ve a busy time in the future.”</p> - -<p>He paused. His hooded head was raised so that -its eye-holes were directed at the lantern above him, -which had begun to splutter. As the flame settled -again to its business he went on:</p> - -<p>“Our job is primarily to clean up some of the muck -lying about our city. I know that. But I never had -any doubts, from the moment of our foundation, that -an endeavour like ours might easily lead us into other -work—other responsibilities. The logic of the whole -position is simple. If we reckon to clean up the muck -of the city, we also need to set its furniture into decent -order. It’s no use setting hogs to live in a -palace. If we’re cleaning up morals, let’s look to -folks’ rights.”</p> - -<p>He paused again. This time he was listening -acutely. There was a sound drifting somewhere out -over the bosom of the lake. It was the rising of the -wind as the sun approached the horizon.</p> - -<p>“Now, boys,” he went on, speaking more hastily, -“I don’t want to keep you from the sleep you’re all -needing, but this is the proposition as a result of this -night’s work. Beacon stands right at the crossways -to-day. Maybe soon there’ll be a flood of oil come -to its rescue through those folks on the Alsek River. -That, I guess, is in the lap of the gods and the feller -running it. Then there’s the other thing—gold. It -was gold that raised this city. Well, Beacon can go -up, or further down, as a result of those two things. -A big gold strike or a big oil strike, can send her -sky high. That’s all right. But it seems to me our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> -work demands that whether it’s the feller, McLagan, -with his oil, or any other boy with gold, we need to -see that Beacon gets its due success as a result of any -strike in its neighbourhood. I guess McLagan’ll play -white. If he don’t the remedy is with our Clan. But -the gold boys are more difficult.”</p> - -<p>He stood up from the rusty stove, and his white -robe was sadly besmirched, but he gave no heed and -went on sharply and with obvious feeling.</p> - -<p>“It’s that feller, Cy Liskard, we’ve been dealing -with to-night. I believe he’s made a strike that looks -like transforming Beacon from a derelict city to a -hive of prosperity.”</p> - -<p>There was a movement amongst his audience which -clearly displayed the impression, the effect of the -magic of gold upon these men of the gold city. A -voice came back at him out of one of the hoods.</p> - -<p>“He comes from the Lias River.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve heard that, too.”</p> - -<p>“An’ the Lias River runs right back into the mountains, -hundreds of miles,” said the same voice.</p> - -<p>“Sure.” The man at the stove nodded his cowled -head. “That’s so. It runs right back into Canadian -territory. If that feller has made a big strike, and -I know he has, Beacon should know it. No feller’s -entitled to more than his claim. Beacon should know -the place. Beacon should have a right to jump in, -too. There’s decent men and women with as much -right as Cy Liskard, and maybe more, to handle the -wealth of this territory, and it’s up to us to hand them -the chance. We ask ’em to live clean and wholesome. -Well, we’ve the right to show ’em how, and help ’em. -We must send a bunch to the Lias River and locate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -this strike. We must respect Liskard’s claim, whether -it’s in Alaskan or Canadian Territory, but we want its -secret for the folks of Beacon. Well?”</p> - -<p>Discussion followed promptly. It came in the -quick, hot fashion of men whose main outlook on -life is bounded by the precious metal that first brought -their city into being. And the discussion tended to -complete agreement with the man whose guidance they -had accepted.</p> - -<p>The leader listened closely to every argument his -council put forth. He agreed to, or negatived, each -argument with calm impartiality, and when, at last, -nothing further was forthcoming from his Counsellors, -he leant again against his supporting stove, and raised -up one warning hand in sign that the debate was -finished.</p> - -<p>“I put the proposition,” he said formally, “we appoint -a bunch of the boys to investigate on the lines -we’ve laid down. There must be no other action -taken. The man must be shadowed to his destination. -His movements must be watched, and when the -discovery is complete, or sufficient has been ascertained -of the whereabouts of his strike, full report must be -made to this council. Then we will decide on procedure. -There are gold men amongst us, but our oath -must prevail. The result of this investigation is for -the community of Beacon Glory, regardless of all individual -personal interests. Is it agreed?”</p> - -<p>The prompt show of hands was unanimous. Finally -the “Chief Light of the Aurora” himself raised his -right hand.</p> - -<p>One by one the hands were lowered and the leader -spoke again:</p> - -<p>“It’s sufficient. The investigators will set out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> -forthwith. We shall need a competent leader for the -work. Therefore, I call on you, Number Three,” he -said, pointing at the stoutish figure sitting third -amongst his audience. “You are best qualified in every -way. You have years of the gold trail behind you, -and you will know how best to deal with any opposition -you may encounter from this man. The meeting -is closed.”</p> - -<p>He reached up and unhooked the lantern in the -roof. The next moment the cellar was in complete -darkness.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Wreck at the River Mouth</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">SASA MANNIK was down at the seashore. He -was labouring over his fishing tackle, which was -only little less primitive than that of his Eskimo fore-bears. -His sturdy bluff-nosed, sea-going boat was -lying nearby on the shelving beach, awaiting the moment -when she would be run down into the racing -waters waiting to receive it. The man was a half-breed -Eskimo, in whom White and Indian ran a neck-and-neck -race with the original stock from which he -sprang.</p> - -<p>Sasa was a characteristic creature. In build he was -squat, and of enormous physical strength. He had -a beardless face that might have belonged to almost -any native race. His eyes were mere deeply set slits; -his mouth was large and loose; his nose was as flat -and broad as his cheekbones were high and prominent; -while his lank black hair suggested nothing so -much as a horse’s mane. He was certainly unprepossessing -and even crafty to look at, but he was by no -means without many redeeming qualities. He was a -fisherman first and before everything, but he was a -reasonably faithful servant, <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note—Period added after 'faithful servant, too'">too</ins>. His greatest weakness, -however, was an addiction to a picturesque and -superstitious lying which Ivor McLagan, who employed -him, chose to condone for the sake of his -otherwise useful service. The engineer liked the man. -Sasa made a curious appeal to him. And so he paid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> -him ten dollars a month, and permitted him to cook, -and wash, and look after the log shanty, which, like -an eyrie, he had set up on the high cliffs overlooking -the mouth of the Alsek River.</p> - -<p>It was a no less bleak and desolate inlet than a -hundred others which serrated the southern coast line -of Alaska. Attacked from sea and land, a way had -been driven through the granite cliffs so that river -and sea merged in an iron-bound bay, sea-bird haunted -and without a vestige of softening from its barren -austerity. Its waters were set with numberless upstanding -granite fangs, and the swirl of its turbulent -tide revealed submerged traps in almost any direction. -The bay possessed two definite, comparatively free -and wide channels. One travelled southwards while -the other hugged tightly to the northern shore. But -even in these the racing tide looked ready to crash -the adventurous navigator upon unguessed disasters.</p> - -<p>Sasa Mannik stood up from his labours and his -narrowed eyes gazed contemplatively out over the racing -waters. He, like his employer, saw none of the -natural terrors with which their high-perched home -was surrounded. Ivor McLagan had no business with -the hauntings and dread which Nature strives to inspire -in her harsher moments. His was the hard, -practical, hungry mind of one of the earth’s seekers. -His only care was for the lure of the business which -was his. His home had been pitched in the heart of -this natural wilderness, that, in his brief moments of -rest from the labours of his enterprise farther up the -river, he might look out on the wide-open sea. Whatever -the storms that howled about his staunch homestead -there were always hope, and health, and sunlight -in the breath of the restless ocean.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> - -<p>Sasa was quite without any concern in the matter -of where his existence was set, provided the sea was -within his reach. If his boss chose to live like some -foolish sea-fowl, perched on the summit of barren -cliffs, that was his affair. For himself he would undoubtedly -have chosen some sheltered bluff on the -river where the worst storm would be powerless to fan -the flame of his camp-fire. But then he was not a -white man and foolish. So he contented himself with -things as they were, and fished, and traded his catch -at his leisure, and carefully pouched the money he so -earned. And meanwhile he ate and drank well at his -boss’s expense, and fulfilled as much of his side of -the contract between them as suited him.</p> - -<p>The man’s eyes looked to be almost tight shut as -he searched the swirl of waters sweeping by, and the -cloud-flecked sky above them. All his experience was -in full play at the back of his mind. It was a fresh -spring day, and the waters were smiling as much as -they ever permitted themselves to smile, and the restless -gulls were winging in every direction accompanying -their efforts with mournful cries of joy. A light -breeze was coming out of the northwest.</p> - -<p>In Sasa’s mind the indications were not all that he -might have desired. The northwest wind was always -something that could leap suddenly into a howling -gale. But then, on the other hand, it was good for -the salmon shoals, which at no time of the year he -had any scruple about attacking. Yes. On the whole -the day was too good to miss. Besides, the risk of -a sudden gale added spice to his labours. His boat -was stout. It was ready. So was his gear. Then, -too, there were many shelters on that broken coast -he knew of in case of need.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> - -<p>He turned his dark face to windwards, where a -sharp and lofty headland shut out something of his -view. His movement possessed no real inspiration. -It was the mechanical result of his thought. This -way lay the northern channel which surged round the -rugged beach at the foot of the headland. He had -no thought of passing out that way. It would be -simple madness to make the attempt. Besides, it -would be impossible. No boat could face the torrential -rush of the current in that direction. He knew -it as the “Channel of Death.”</p> - -<p>Not even a crazy white man with his boat of iron -and smoke could face that channel and hope to reach -the sea. But the current had its uses for a real sailorman -like himself. Oh, yes. A hundred times he -had sailed home to this beach upon it. And even to -do that was an adventure that stirred his native vanity -and yielded him vaunting satisfaction in his own skill. -No. He would run down on the southern channel. -He would fish with the ebb till it was nearing flat -water, then he would beat up northward and sail home -down the northerly raceway with a free wind. That -is, if no gale arose to——</p> - -<p>His train of thought suddenly broke off short. -Something had caught and held his whole attention -out there somewhere beyond the sharp-cut headland. -And as he gazed, his eyes screwed up in the brilliant -sunshine, he drew a sharp breath which was his only -expression of astonished incredulity. Just for one -brief moment he stood thus. Then he suddenly set -off at a run, making all speed for the fierce beach -where the ocean rollers roared impotently at the foot -of the headland.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>More than a month had passed since the night of -the Speedway’s festival. It had been a time of intensive -work for the head of the Mountain Oil Corporation. -The summer was short, all too short, for -the work he was engaged upon, and of necessity he -was forced to drive hard while the season permitted. -Now he was at home drafting an earlier survey of a -territory which looked like revolutionizing the work -of his company.</p> - -<p>In the midst of his labours he looked up as the -door of his log shanty was unceremoniously thrust -open.</p> - -<p>The table before which he was seated was a rough -enough piece of furniture, as were most of the fitments -of this shelter he had set up on the wind-swept cliffs. -It was littered with the mechanical drawings, and -charts, and maps he was at work upon. There was a -queer assemblage, too, of the instruments of his profession -lying scattered over the completely untidy -apartment.</p> - -<p>Peter Loby stood regarding him with a smiling look -of relief.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad I took the chance, boss,” he said, with a -laugh of content. “Guess I was two minds about it. -You see, I came down the river because I wanted to -save you the trip up—an’ to gain time.”</p> - -<p>“Why? What’s doing, Peter?”</p> - -<p>McLagan spoke quietly, but his eyes were sharply -questioning.</p> - -<p>Peter was a tall, lean creature whose whole horizon -was bounded by oil and the business of extracting it -from the bosom of mother earth. He was a practical -expert to his finger tips. But he possessed no knowledge -beyond its sheerly technical side. He was glad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> -enough to serve under McLagan. He knew his chief’s -worth as a dogged, fighting, companionable creature -who held his place as the principal representative of -the world’s greatest oil concern by sheer ability. And -he knew his own expertness would have full play -under McLagan’s control, and such reward on results -would come his way as rarely enough fall to the man -in his position. Furthermore, he liked the man, and -desired nothing better than to serve as his foreman -of works.</p> - -<p>“Why, I spent three weeks on that coal belt you -located last fall. An’ I’ve made a further rough map -of the thing you guessed about it but didn’t figger to -chase up at the time. Here’s the map. Maybe you -best read it. I’ll talk after.”</p> - -<p>He passed a large linen tracing across to the man -behind the table, and drew out a plug of chewing -tobacco from the hip pocket of his moleskin trousers. -Then he propped himself against the doorcasing and -gazed out seaward, while his lean jaws masticated the -chew he had bitten off.</p> - -<p>After awhile McLagan looked up from the carefully -drawn chart.</p> - -<p>“That belt passes right back into Canadian territory,” -he said.</p> - -<p>Peter turned.</p> - -<p>“Sure, boss,” he replied, with a light of triumph in -his keen eyes. “But there’s more than that to it. A -heap more. That’s why I got around on the dead -jump.”</p> - -<p>He stood up from his leaning attitude and his hands -were spread out in an expressive gesture. The man -was simply bursting with his news.</p> - -<p>“It looks to me we’re in the heart of the world’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> -biggest coal beds, an’ the signs are we’re surely right -on the fringe of the oil field that’s mixed up with it,” -he went on. He came over and rested his hands on -the table, leaning forward the more surely to impress -the man behind it. “I tell you, boss, right here we’ve -hit the biggest cinch since the world began. We’re -on oil now, and drilling through hard black lime. -That’s all right. But further back is where the real -stuff lies, an’ it’s right in the heart of such a coal -belt as I’ve only dreamed about. It’s a range of coal -mountains. It’s nothing less. And the valleys are -the natural drainways for the thick juicy oil we’re -yearning to tap. It’s that brought me along. I want -to take you right up there to see the thing it is. But -I’m crazy for you to wire this report I’ve got here, -from Beacon to our folks down home. Here it is, -boss,” he went on urgently, as he drew a folded sheet -from an inside pocket. “I wanted you to get that, -an’ send it from Beacon first, an’ then come right -along up where I can show you oil lying around where -ther’ ought to be only creeks of mountain water.”</p> - -<p>The man was wellnigh beside himself with excitement. -Oil was his job. Oil was his whole life. And -out of his experience and keen practical knowledge, he -knew he had jumped into the heart of such an El -Dorado as he had only found hitherto in his dreams.</p> - -<p>But McLagan refused to be caught up by the infection -of the man’s excitement. It was not that he -doubted. He never doubted when Peter Loby gave -his considered opinion on such a subject. But he knew -the amazing nature of the man’s assertion, and he knew -that never before had he experienced a moment when -calm judgment was more surely needed.</p> - -<p>He read the written report. Then he looked up at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> -the man who still stood leaning over the table awaiting -his decision. He nodded.</p> - -<p>“If this is right, Peter, it’s—the biggest thing in the -world,” he said.</p> - -<p>His eyes were shining.</p> - -<p>“It’s right, boss. You’ll pass that on?”</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head.</p> - -<p>“It’s too—big—as it is,” he said. “Too sweeping. -I’ll rewrite it, and let you see what I’ll send. I just -daren’t send it all till we’ve tried it out. I’m glad you -came along down, Peter.”</p> - -<p>He held out a hand and the oil man gripped it.</p> - -<p>“Act the way you think, boss,” the man said, but -with a shadow of disappointment. “You know best. -Say—it’s great.”</p> - -<p>“It surely is. After this I guess you’ll be able to -quit the game and sit back—Hello!”</p> - -<p>Sasa Mannik’s stocky body was filling up the open -doorway. He stood there breathlessly gesticulating.</p> - -<p>“Boss! Boss! You come quick!” he cried. “It -dam’ fool white man with big ship, plenty much sail. -Him come along by raceway tide. Him break all up -sure. All no good break up. You come quick. Crazy -white man. All dam’ fool. No good.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The three men were standing outside the hut perched -so perilously near to the sharp-cut edge of the sheer -cliff. They were standing at an altitude of something -over four hundred feet, gazing over the wild scene of -the bay. It was the highest point immediately overlooking -the mouth of the Alsek River.</p> - -<p>Behind them, to the north and to the south, rose the -great hills which had remained snow-clad throughout -the ages. But there the iron cliffs of the coast line<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> -stretched out at something like a uniform level. Far -as the eye could see the smiling ocean lay spread out, -glittering under the keen spring sunshine, while below -them, marked clearly, sharply, lay the ugly ruins of -torn rock which the storms of centuries had hewn from -the parent cliffs.</p> - -<p>It was a scene these men knew by heart. All three -were gazing out seawards. Their eyes were fixed -upon a vessel that looked to be driving head on, under -full sail, for the merciless rocks guarding the entrance -to the river mouth.</p> - -<p>It was a sight that stirred the white men deeply. It -was a sight that filled them with a strangely oppressive -feeling of complete helplessness, and left them no -longer concerned with those things which a moment -before had completely preoccupied them. Here, on a -calm Spring day, with a seemingly flat sea, a white -man’s vessel under full sail—no wreck, no derelict with -broken masts and spars, and with perhaps the steering-gear -carried away—was heading calmly, almost it -seemed, happily, to become a total wreck on perhaps -the cruellest coast in the world. It was amazing! It -was staggering! The awesomeness of the spectacle -left them without a word.</p> - -<p>Not so, however, the half-breed who had brought -the news. Perhaps he was less stirred by such a vision -of coming disaster. Perhaps, in his curious, savage -mind, the life or death of a few crazy white-folk was -of no serious account. At any rate, he was under no -spell of silent awe.</p> - -<p>“It all same lak I see this white man do all time,” he -commented for his companions’ benefit. “What you -mak? I tell you this. White man sailor see big bay. -He see it all through much long glass. He say, ‘Yes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> -it good. We mak him land.’ He not think nothing. -He not think ever. He white man. He do as he -please. Yes. It same all time. White man boss look -for oil. He say, ‘We find him.’ So he look where -only hill, an’ forest, an’ river. He look for oil. Psha! -I see white man down the coast same lak this, too. -He come down in big canoe. He look, look all time -for some thing. I not know. He search much. He -climb rock. He peek in cave. All time he look where -nothing is. That white man, sure. All time look -where nothing is. I know. This man sailor. He -mak break up all bimeby. He look for some thing. So -he come. He sure find something bimeby. Plenty -rock. Plenty all break up. Plenty all go dead.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, beat it!”</p> - -<p>It was Peter who flung his impatience at the half-breed. -His chatter at such a moment was insufferable. -Out there far beyond the headland the vessel was -steadily heading on its course. It was racing down -out of the northwest straight, almost as an arrow’s -flight, for the desperate entrance to the bay.</p> - -<p>McLagan remained silent. He seemed oblivious to -everything but the amazing vision of the doomed ship. -His narrowed eyes searched her closely. She was -smallish, as sea-going vessels went. He gathered from -her sails and masts she was some sort of full-rigged -ship, perhaps a coaster. Her sails were full in the fair -wind. She was yawing slightly, but not sufficiently -to set her aback. But it was sufficient to suggest some -lack of control. Suddenly an inspiration took hold of -him. He turned to the now silent half-breed.</p> - -<p>“You, Sasa,” he said sharply. “It was blowing yesterday -an’ you didn’t go out poaching the salmon. -That poor devil of a ship’s caught in your death current.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> -She’s made a lee shore and got caught in the -current. She’ll pull up right on the beach of our -river, do you understand? He’s no fool skipper looking -to make a landing. He can’t darn well help himself. -Don’t you see? Here, Peter.” He turned to -the oil man on the other side of him and his tone was -urgent and thrilling with the horror of the thing he -realised was about to happen. “You don’t know this -coast like we do. There’s a maelstrom current out -there. The only crazy man in the world who’d go -near it is this feller, Sasa. Ther’ isn’t a steamer in the -world could beat its way out of it if it once got caught -up in it. As for a windjammer like that—psha!” he -threw up his hands expressively. “That’s it. He’s -made a lee shore in the gale. And now—God help -him.”</p> - -<p>He turned again to Sasa.</p> - -<p>“Where’ll he beach?” he asked sharply.</p> - -<p>The half-breed pointed down at the wide foreshore -on the south side of the river mouth.</p> - -<p>“He mak that beach,” the man replied promptly. -Then he pointed down at the northern beach where his -own boat was still lying. “I mak him dis way. But -I know. I sail him all time by the headland. So I -slip him current, an’ mak quick shelter by the headland. -Big ship not slip him current. Oh, no, he mak -so.” He swung an outstretched arm from right to -left, indicating a great sweep across the bay. “He -full current. An’——”</p> - -<p>“Sasa.”</p> - -<p>“Yep, boss.”</p> - -<p>“Can we signal from that headland?”</p> - -<p>The half-breed’s eyes widened.</p> - -<p>“Wo’ for we signal. It no good sure. Him crazy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> -white man not understand nothing. Him ship in the -Death Current. He go on. Oh, yes. Crazy white -man break all up bimeby.” He shrugged. “It all same -all time. Same lak that other who look into caves an’ -climb rocks. I see him one time mak right out to sea -in canoe only built for river. Him current tak him. -I get him with my boat. I tak him back. He not say -nothing but curse me for a black son-of-a-bitch. Sure -he all break up bimeby.”</p> - -<p>The doomed vessel was crashing on at terrific speed. -Already it was looming large as it approached the -headland. And now, as it drew nearer, its yawing -became more and more pronounced. For some moments -no one spoke while they contemplated the -wretched vessel’s impending fate. Then, as her high -bows disappeared behind the upstanding belt of the -headland, McLagan turned on his contemptuous -servant.</p> - -<p>“Who’s the feller you’re talking about? The feller -who looks into caves and climbs rocks?” he asked -sharply.</p> - -<p>The half-breed shrugged without withdrawing his -gaze from where the vessel was disappearing behind -the headland.</p> - -<p>“How, I say? I not know. He come down the -river out of the hills. What you call him? All white -mans say him Li-as, yes? Indian man say him Devil -River. Oh, yes, he come this way. I see him one, two, -three time this man while I fish. He not see me, only -one time. Maybe he fish. I not know. Plenty fish -by Devil River. Oh, yes. Say, look, him come as I -say. See? The Death Current take him. So. See?”</p> - -<p>He pointed. His narrow eyes were alight with -something almost like joy as the bows of the vessel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> -cleared the headland and the doomed ship raced on for -the far beach.</p> - -<p>“It much big tide. Oh, yes. He go right up to the -big rocks. Bimeby the tide fall. Then us go find -plenty thing. Food, clothes, blanket. All thing dead -white man not need more. So. I——”</p> - -<p>“Quit it, you darn thief!” McLagan’s eyes were -furious as he turned on his ghoulish henchman. “And -you’ll stay right here and not move a step till Mr. Loby -and I get back. You’re nothing but a dirty scum of -a half-breed. And if I get you near that wreck without -my permission I’ll take you right in to Beacon and -get you hanged.”</p> - -<p>He turned to Peter.</p> - -<p>“It’s no good, boy. I can’t stand it. We’ve got to -do something. Poor devils, they’re surely doomed! -Come on. Maybe we can help some. We’ll go right -on down. We’ll get Sasa’s boat and ferry across to -where she’ll hit that beach. I——”</p> - -<p>“I go too, boss.”</p> - -<p>Sasa was no longer contemplating the wreck he had -hoped to enjoy. His attitude had suddenly become -one of pleading.</p> - -<p>“You not mak that crossing without me,” he urged. -“I know. Him my boat, an’ I sail him good plenty. -You my good boss. You drown sure you sail him, -my boat. I come. Yes? I not tak white man’s blankets. -His food. His——”</p> - -<p>McLagan raised a threatening hand.</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake, shut up and come on!” he cried -impatiently. “Come on, Peter. Maybe ther’s women -down there. We’ll do what we can.”</p> - -<p>The engineer waited for no reply. The vessel was -looming largely half-way across the bay. Now, as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> -passed into the shelter of the towering cliffs, her sails -were flapping and booming in the breeze. But she -was racing on to her destruction on the tremendous -current, helpless yet almost magnificent in her white -suiting over her black hull. It seemed incredible that -nothing could be done to save her. A fresh, calm -Spring day with a flat sea. And yet there was no help -for her.</p> - -<p>Not a sound came up from her decks but the crashing -of her great sails. There was not a single human -voice crying out its agony of despair. Only there -came the mournful shrieks of the circling sea-fowl as -the men raced down the rocky pathway to the beach -below.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The <i>Limpet</i> of Boston</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">THE outlook of the day had materially changed -with the tide. The wind had increased mightily, -and the fine, fresh, early summer sky had changed to -one of banking storm-clouds which drove down out of -the northwest. It was a prospect of rough weather, -for all there were still moments when the sun broke -through the grey, and strove nobly to lighten the depressing -outlook.</p> - -<p>McLagan and his companions were standing on the -slippery, weed-grown rocks. They were gazing speculatively -up at the high sides of the wrecked vessel as -she lay cradled upon the jagged belt of rocks which the -ebb of the tide had laid bare. She was lifted high out -of the water, for the flood tide had long since abandoned -her. It had done the work it had striven to -accomplish. It had flung its victim crashing upon the -trap concealed within its merciless bosom. And now, -in turn, satisfied, perhaps satiated, it had itself yielded -to the greater forces of Nature. As the waters receded -the vessel was left with her high, bluff nose stubbed -deeply into the sharply shelving beach, which alone -had saved her from complete destruction upon the -granite walls of the cliffs beyond.</p> - -<p>It was a sight for real pity. Even to the unskilled -minds of these landsmen she was a fine, sturdy craft -that deserved better of the elements. There she lay, -slightly a-list, wounded and sorely stricken. Her forepeak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> -was literally disembowelled and they could only -guess at the damage the rest of her bottom had suffered. -Her yards were groaning under a hectoring -wind, and her torn sails were slashing and whipping -viciously in response to its onslaught. Her plates -seemed to be sprung in every direction, and she lay -there utterly helpless, awaiting the inevitable and complete -destruction that was yet to come.</p> - -<p>McLagan had first approached the wreck on the -height of the tide. His purpose had been the simple -succour of those poor souls he had expected to find -on board. The adventure had been full of risk, even -under the consummate skill of the half-breed, who had -done his best. But the terrible tide, and the increasing -wind had defeated them, and, reluctantly enough, they -had been driven to a perilous stand-off while they hailed -the doomed vessel.</p> - -<p>They had shouted. They shouted again and again, -seeking to make their voices heard above the roar of -the ocean rollers driving down upon the vessel’s side. -But the effort had been unavailing. There was not a -sign or sound of life about her, and their only response -was the roar of the sea and the mocking cries of the -sea-fowl whirling about her protesting rigging.</p> - -<p>So in the end, they had been forced to yield. There -was no alternative. They dared not approach nearer. -Under the prevailing conditions their only hope of approaching -the wreck was to await the fall of the tide -and make the shore upon which it was piled.</p> - -<p>But even so, their attempt had not been wholly fruitless. -They had discovered many things of deep interest. -They had discovered the vessel’s name, which was -set out plainly on her bluff stern. She was the <i>Limpet</i>, -and her port of registration was the city of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> -Boston. Furthermore, they realised that though her -rudder post remained in place the rudder itself was -gone. Then they understood that she had the shape -and qualities of a coasting vessel of more than usual -deep-seagoing type. She was built for heavy weather -as well as the lighter work of her coasting trade, and -they beheld, too, a wireless aerial was still in its place -between her main and mizzen masts.</p> - -<p>But in McLagan’s mind the greatest significance lay -in the fact that she was still laden with a deck cargo -of lumber, and all her top gear was intact, and all her -sails were set, and the only signs of her distress were -the inroads which the wind had made upon her canvas -suiting. From the distance, when she had first been -discovered, she had looked to be riding proudly, gallantly -to her death under full sail. But at close quarters -it was clearly evident that this had been something -of an illusion. Her sails were full set, it was true, but -there were many sad rents that were widening every -moment, and, in many places, their clews were straining -upon a last desperate hold.</p> - -<p>Now, with the tide at its lowest ebb, standing beside -her on the rocks these men were less concerned for -her superstructure than for the evidence the rocks had -imposed upon her. Peter Loby was staring in simple -wonder at the yawning gash torn out of her bows. -Sasa Mannik, in true “wrecker” fashion, was contemplating -her from the point of view of his own advantage. -He was a sailorman, and here were gear, ropes -and canvas and possibly all the needs of his heart, for -the simple process of collecting them. He had no concern -for anything else. But Ivor McLagan gazed -upon her wrecked bows while his mind was preoccupied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> -by the mystery of her presence in the remote inlet -where he had set up his home.</p> - -<p>He was convinced now that she was without life -on board, but the condition of her fully set sails also -convinced him that her abandonment had taken place -in fair weather, perhaps, even, in a dead calm. He was -left quite unimpressed by her rudderless condition. -He argued that this disaster must have occurred after -her abandonment. For even to him it seemed impossible -that any responsible shipmaster could have set full -sail on a vessel without steering gear. Then, except -for the almost paintless condition of her rusted hull, -there was no other sign of distress about her. Her -deck cargo was aboard, and her boats, as far as he had -been able to judge, were snugged as though there had -never been a thought of the necessity for launching -them.</p> - -<p>No, it was a curious, even mysterious visitation. -He understood, he had often enough heard of a lee-shore -and its dangers to a sailing vessel. Clearly -something of the sort must have happened. But not -in association with this vessel’s abandonment.</p> - -<p>He turned abruptly to his subordinate and pointed -at the mass of rusted cable strewn about the rocks -fallen through the rent in the vessel’s side like the litter -of some wounded monster’s bowels.</p> - -<p>“That looks to me the easy way aboard,” he said -sharply. “I don’t figger to know a deal when it comes -to sea-craft. But it likely seems the hole that belched -up that junk ought to be a way up to her decks.”</p> - -<p>Peter nodded. He glanced up over the sprung plates -of her sides.</p> - -<p>“It surely looks that way,” he agreed. “Maybe—Holy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> -gee! Here! Get a look up there! Look at ’em!” -he cried excitedly, pointing up at the vessel’s rail. -“Ther’s scores! Ther’s regiments of ’em! Get a look -at those darn rats!”</p> - -<p>All three men were staring up at a sight rarely -enough to be seen. Peter’s excited estimate was by -no means exaggerated. Just above the vessel’s rail -was an upstanding pile of lumber, and it was literally -swarming with rats of all sizes, from the full-grown, -long-whiskered, grey patriarchs down to the extreme -youth of the colony. They were running hither and -thither without apparent aim or object till it seemed -they must be participating in some sort of curious -rodent gambol or driven by senseless panic.</p> - -<p>It was sufficiently repulsive to gaze upon. There -was something utterly repellent in it. For some reason -it is against human nature to view these pests without -deeply stirred feelings. And for all the hardiness of -these men the effect upon them now was wholly one -of loathing.</p> - -<p>The scene only occupied a minute or so. Then, of -a sudden, one rat, bigger, it seemed, than all the rest, -suddenly made its appearance. He came to the rail of -the vessel. He seemed to be contemplating it closely, -or perhaps he was contemplating the men standing below -him on the rocks. Then, at last, apparently satisfied -with his survey, he set off along the rail on the -run. In a moment the rest were following behind. -They ran close together in single file, head to tail, till -they looked like a long, thick, moving, grey rope. At -a given point, the leader turned off back on to the deck, -and the swarming creatures pursued him.</p> - -<p>With the passing from view of the hindmost, McLagan -spat and shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Quitting,” he said. Then he laughed. “It’s the -way of things. She’s doomed. So—the rats are quitting. -Guess it makes me sick in the stomach. I’ll hail -you boys if I get through this way.”</p> - -<p>He moved over to the great hole in the vessel’s side -and, stooping, peered within the dark cavity. He stood -there for a moment. Then Peter saw him move forward -and the hole swallowed him up.</p> - -<p>For all the extent of the rent in the vessel’s side the -forepeak was dark and low and dank with the stench -of bilge and rust. McLagan was forced to move cautiously -over the piles of rusted cable, for he was utterly -unfamiliar with his surroundings. But soon his keen -eyes grew accustomed to the twilight and he was able -to measure with some accuracy the place in which he -found himself. A steel bulkhead shut him off from -the rest of the vessel’s hold, and the walls of the place -sloped inwards till their point of meeting was lost beneath -the tangle of chains at his feet. Right in the -centre he discovered a fixed iron companion ladder -standing sheerly erect. And examination showed him -that it mounted up through manholes to the top deck, -where a small, gaping hatchway revealed full daylight.</p> - -<p>In a moment he was swarming towards the light -above.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The three men were standing in the narrow limits of -the ship’s cabin. It was small and unpretentious -enough, but not without some refinement of decoration. -The deck of the ship’s poop roofed the room, and, as -is usual in such cases, the ceiling it made to the cabin -was picked out in panels which were outlined in somewhat -striking but sufficiently harmonious colours. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> -was the same with the walls, and the doors which -opened out of the apartment. The fixed chairs against -the centre table were of the usual ship’s mahogany, -and the upholstery was well-worn leather. There was -no other furnishing to the place except strips of somewhat -decayed carpeting pinned securely to the deck.</p> - -<p>But there was that set out on the table which held -both the white men deeply preoccupied with its significance. -It was a meal obviously arranged for only -<em>one</em> man. And it was only half consumed. There was -no confusion, no litter, no sign of hasty abandonment, -except that the meal appeared to have been broken off -in the middle of it.</p> - -<p>The table was partly covered with a white cloth that -had seen better and cleaner days. There was a dish -containing some sort of hash that had become dried -up. In front of what was obviously the captain’s seat -at the head of the table, and which faced the alleyway -entrance to the apartment, was a plate containing -the remains of a portion of the hash. This, too, was -dried up and shrivelled, and beside it lay a knife and -fork which were both smeared as with use in consuming -the food. Besides these, again, were the gnawed -remains of some broken bread, and a drink that was -clearly whisky and water.</p> - -<p>Further along the table stood a dingy cruet. And -beyond this again was an uncut fruit pie. The crust -of this was almost gone, and that which remained was -sour-looking and mildewed. This, too, had been obviously -consumed by rats. And it was the same with -the contents of a bread basket which stood beside it. -Even the table-cloth itself had failed to escape the -insatiable depredations of the rodents. But the signs -were unmistakable. The meal had been interrupted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> -The man who had been devouring it had clearly been -suddenly inspired to abandon it, and for some unguessed -reason he had clearly failed to return.</p> - -<p>McLagan raised a hand and pushed his cap back -from his forehead. It was a gesture of perplexity.</p> - -<p>“It looks tough,” he said slowly. “It looks like that -feller didn’t take time to eat right for the darn hurry -he was in. He was a plain liver, too, I’d say. But he -surely was in an almighty hurry.”</p> - -<p>Peter Loby nodded. Imagination in him was working -hard, but the result was negative. He glanced up -from the table and his eyes surveyed the walls with the -doors which opened out into what were clearly the officer’s -sleeping quarters. There were only three doors -besides the entrance from the alleyway.</p> - -<p>“It’s the kind of thing to leave you guessing,” he -admitted. “We’ve looked right into it all from the -fo’castle head to this cabin. But ther’s still those state-rooms -yet. Maybe one of ’em’ll hand us the ship’s -papers and the log. That ought to tell us the story of -it. It’s most certainly queer.”</p> - -<p>“Queer?” McLagan laughed shortly. He shook his -head. “That don’t say a thing. Think back, man. -What have we found so far? From the carpenter’s -shop under the fo’castle head to the men’s quarters -and the galley, and this, we’ve found just the thing -you’d expect to find in a full-crewed, well-found ship—except -the ship’s company itself.” He shrugged. -“There were chips and wood lying around in the tool -shop—and tools—just as if the boy who worked there -had only just quit his job. The men’s quarters in the -fo’castle looked to be in the sort of order you’d find -in a ship about to set out for sea, an’ before she’s taken -on her crew. As for the galley, you could start right<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> -in to fix food there now and not be worried a thing, -except for being short on pots an’ things. Look at the -lumber stacked on the deck. It’s there ready for a sea-trip -without a stick or lashing out of place, and I’d say -the hold cargo’s likely the same. And as for the -boats——” He paused and gazed thoughtfully about -him, and his eyes came to rest again on the rat-gnawed -food on the table, which held him fascinated. -“That’s the queerest thing of it all. This craft -was built with four boats and they’re all in place -snugged down, and I’d say they’ve never been unshipped -except for a coat of paint. Here’s a darn craft -been sailing loose for maybe weeks or months without -a soul on board we can locate, not even with the rats -belonging her—now. And there’s not a sign of how -or why the folks belonging her quit.”</p> - -<p>He turned and flung himself into the chair that had -obviously been that usually occupied by the captain of -the vessel. He seemed to be completely at a loss. Peter -moved over to one of the doors, and peered into the -apartment beyond. Sasa displayed no curiosity. His -dark eyes were unusually wide, and a curious brooding -light left them almost expressionless. He stood staring -down at the littered table, and after a few prolonged -moments of silence, McLagan stirred irritably in his -chair.</p> - -<p>“Get around in those three state-rooms, or whatever -they are, Peter, an’ take the darn breed with you,” he -cried. “Poke around and smell out. Sasa’ll be more -use that way than gawking like some darn mutt around -here. If you find a thing, shout me. I’m stopping -around to worry this thing out right here.”</p> - -<p>McLagan was rarely enough given to irritation. But -oppressive irritation was driving him now. He remained<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> -where he was until his lieutenant and the half-breed -had passed into the first of the three compartments. -Then, as the door swung to behind them, he -started up and passed swiftly from the room. Moving -down the alleyway, beyond the steward’s pantry, he -came to the break of the poop and out into the daylight.</p> - -<p>Here he paused. It was good to be out in the air -again, and a sense of relief came to him as he surveyed -the scene. The main deck here was clear of cargo. It -was clean, almost as clean as if it had only just endured -the attentions of the sand and canvas so beloved of the -seaman. Rope-ends, that should have been neatly -cleated, or coiled away, were littered where the weather -had flung them, but it was the only sign of any confusion.</p> - -<p>He breathed his relief as he leant against the doorway -and surveyed it all with contemplative eyes. The -wind was screaming through the rigging and the torn -sails were booming out their protests. The sky was -darkening with a real threat of storm, and beyond the -high prow of the wreck the grey walls of the bay rose -up gaunt and forbidding.</p> - -<p>The whole thing had gotten hold of McLagan in a -curiously depressing fashion. He felt that somehow -there was an unusual story lying behind the circumstances -of this fair-weather wreck. And his practical -mind was searching every avenue that opened up to its -vision.</p> - -<p>Mutiny? His mind naturally turned to mutiny, but -he dismissed the thought immediately. There was not -a sign of mutiny from the ship’s bows to her stern-post. -There was not a sign of force or struggle, and -her boats were in place. Storm? He shook his head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> -No storm had broken the heart of her crew. What else -was there to cause her abandonment? Nothing. No. -Look which way he would, there was no reasonable solution -in the vessel’s condition. There had been a -purely voluntary exodus, orderly, quiet, even if hasty. -Of that he was convinced. There was no other conclusion -to come to. No. Whatever there still remained -to be discovered in her holds, and in those cabins behind -him, there was nothing much else for him to do -but to drive into Beacon on the work he had in hand, -and carry in with him the report of this wreck to Alan -Goodchurch, who represented the United States Government -for the district. That would have to be done. -But meanwhile——</p> - -<p>A curious look crept suddenly into his narrow eyes. -He was looking out straight before him down the -deck. Immediately in his focus were the securely battened -main hatch and the galley and the fo’castle. -There were the iron-shod steps of the companion-ladder -up to the roof of these, and, to the right of that stood -a tarpaulin-covered winch, with behind it the donkey-engine -room. His gaze was riveted on the deckway -that passed beyond this and which was stacked high -with great baulks of lumber.</p> - -<p>But it was not these things which had inspired the -curious, questioning, incredulous look with which he -gazed upon them. It was something else. Something -which startled him, and made him turn quickly to the -stormy sky, which, at that moment, had broken to -permit a pallid beam of sunshine to make its way -through. It was only for a moment he looked up, however. -Then again he became absorbed in the deck -ahead of him.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he stood erect. He had abandoned his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> -lounging. The doubt in his eyes had given place to -something else which baffled description. He drew a -deep breath, while a chilly sensation passed through -his great body and left him with a feeling of curious -helplessness.</p> - -<p>He remained unmoving. His fascinated gaze was -still held. Not for a moment did it shift. It almost -seemed as if it were impossible for him to look away. -Then the grey of the storm-clouds closed up again and -the sunbeam faded out. And as it did so he raised a -hand slowly, almost involuntarily, and passed it hesitatingly -across his forehead.</p> - -<p>With that movement mobility returned to him. He -turned and glanced back into the alleyway. The next -moment the sharp tones of his voice rang out.</p> - -<p>“Anything doing, boy?” he called, harshly. And he -followed up his question by hastily passing back into -the cabin.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The search was over. McLagan and Peter Loby -were standing at the break of the poop-deck. Sasa -Mannik had separated from the others and was squatting -hunched upon the main hatch. He was watching -the white men, contemplating them with narrowed eyes -while his shrewd native mind was following a train of -thought which deeply preoccupied him.</p> - -<p>“I’m not a thing wiser,” Peter said in reply to a -question. “There wasn’t a scrap of paper, or a bunch -of human clothes. But I wouldn’t rely on that too -much. You see, I hurried, an’ when you’re looking -that way you’re liable to miss things. Ther’s one of -those rooms for wireless. The other two were bunks. -One with one bunk and the other with two. Both had -bed fixings and they looked so they hadn’t been slept<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> -in. It gets me beat. The lockers were plumb empty, -just as though they’d been cleared out to leave no trace. -It’s the queerest——”</p> - -<p>He broke off. Sasa’s harsh voice had broken in on -him. He had risen from his place on the hatch, and -his eyes had widened out of their usual narrowing.</p> - -<p>“I go,” he said, sharply. “This bad ship—no good. -Bimeby I not come back ever.”</p> - -<p>He turned and glanced almost fearfully about him.</p> - -<p>“Why, Sasa? You don’t like it? Why?”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s questions came sharply and on the instant. -There was a half smile in his eyes. But there -was nothing smiling behind them.</p> - -<p>Sasa spat viciously on the deck.</p> - -<p>“Bad spirit plenty,” he said with native panic in his -widened eyes. “I go.”</p> - -<p>And without waiting for reply, or, perhaps, because -he feared lest he should be detained, he passed quickly -across to the vessel’s rail where a heavy downhaul was -sprawled on the deck. He flung it over the side. And -in a moment he had followed it, and was swarming -down to the rocks below.</p> - -<p>“This thing’s got on his nerves,” Peter laughed.</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded. But there was no responsive -laughter.</p> - -<p>“And I don’t somehow wonder,” he said. Then he -shrugged. “I guess we can’t do any good here now. -I’ll get along back, and pass right on into Beacon. I’ll -need to make a report to Goodchurch on this. I surely -will.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The “Come-back”</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">A RADIANT sky was smiling down upon the -forest-clad hills. Somewhere away to the West -the sun was lolling just above the horizon. For the -moment its glory was lost behind the ranging hills with -their garments of every shade of green. There was -no cloud to be seen anywhere from the purpling distance -of the snow-capped mountains in the East, to the -western splendour of the summer sunset.</p> - -<p>Cy Liskard was squatting over a camp fire that was -built just outside his log home on the hillside. Nearby -his dogs were pursuing some evening pastime that appealed -to their savage natures. Maybe it was play, -but the snarls that were so frequently accompanied by -the fierce snapping of ivory-shod jaws suggested the -narrow line dividing it from canine warfare.</p> - -<p>His ponies were beyond the fence of a small, roughly -constructed corral, and they stood close up to it at a -point most nearly approaching the home of the man -it was their life’s burden to serve. Their shaggy heads, -still rough with the remains of a winter coat, which -neglect had left clinging to them, were thrust over the -log rail. They were clearly waiting with equine patience -the long overdue attention to which they had -full right.</p> - -<p>The man disregarded their appeal; he was in a mood -to disregard any duty that might have been his. Even -the claims of his own stomach were forgotten in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> -consuming depths of impotent rage that were driving -him. His expressionless eyes gazed out through the -smudge of smoke which lolled heavily upon the still, -fresh mountain air. His view was over the range of -his gold workings, which lay down below upon the -wide bank of the creek. But for all, his gaze was for -the thing which held him to his mountain solitude, his -thought was left all unconcerned for it.</p> - -<p>He had returned from Beacon only that noon. The -long trail had claimed him for days, as the condition of -his fleshless ponies testified. He had driven hard and -mercilessly, for there was that behind him which impelled -him in a fashion he had never known before. -But the thing which had driven him had no relation to -fear, or, if it had, his apprehension was utterly lost in -the rage that smouldered behind his pale eyes. He had -driven his ponies to their last extremity out of an almost -crazy desire for speed and movement that he -might reach the security of his home for the sole purpose -of nursing his fierce desire for swift vengeance -upon Ivor McLagan.</p> - -<p>He sat with his rough hands clasped about his knees. -He remained unmoving. There was room for nothing -in the mind behind his stony stare but the fierce longing -to hurt, and the method by which it could be achieved.</p> - -<p>He felt himself to be beyond the reach of the men -of the Aurora Clan. He felt himself free from every -threatening human danger, lost in the heart of these -distant hills. As for the threat of that which his return -to Beacon might mean, he dismissed it without a -moment’s consideration. He intended to return to -Beacon just whenever it suited him. It might entail -watchfulness. It would undoubtedly entail sufficient -weapons of defence. But he never moved without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> -these. And in the open and in the daylight fully prepared, -he knew himself to be a match for these absurdly -tricked out bunglers who sought to impress their -will upon a foolish, credulous, awed bunch of white-livered -citizens.</p> - -<p>No. It was not against the men of the Aurora Clan -that his fury was directed. He held them in contempt -for all they had forced from him an oath under threat -of hanging. He knew well enough the nearness to -disaster to which he had been brought. He knew they -had meant their threat and would have hanged him -out of hand had he failed to yield his oath. Their -other doings were not unknown to him. He had -heard of Bernard’s and other outrages, but the whole -thing had left him unimpressed. When men were -driven to spectre-play to achieve their ends he felt that -sufficient boldness could defeat them all the time. So -these white-shirted creatures with their cedar boughs, -and rawhide hanging ropes, were dismissed from his -mind leaving him free to contemplate that other who -had brought about his undoing at the Speedway.</p> - -<p>Ivor McLagan! Oh, he knew the man by reputation. -Furthermore, he knew the work he was engaged -upon and where that work was being done and this was -the man against whom all his rage and desire for -vengeance were directed.</p> - -<p>Once he released his clasped hands, and, reaching -out one heavily booted foot, kicked the embers of -his fire together. With the sunset the air of the mountains -was chill enough. For all the man’s toughness, -for all the thick pilot cloth of his pea-jacket, and the -thick flannel he wore underneath, the chill bit harshly -and forced him to regard the life of his fire. He flung -a number of logs on to it from his near-by stack of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> -fuel and edged closer to the leaping blaze. Then -again his arms embraced his knees, and he yielded himself -to the schemes and plans which sprang so readily -to his mind.</p> - -<p>The wound inside his lips was still raw where McLagan’s -blow had split open the flesh against his teeth. -But he needed no reminder. He never would need reminding. -The memory of that night was indelibly -fixed upon a mind which was utterly incapable of forgetting -an injury. But such evidence as still remained -only the more surely drove his headlong desire. He -meant to kill Ivor McLagan, and the only problem that -presented itself to him was the manner he should prefer -for the accomplishment of his purpose.</p> - -<p>Oh, yes. He would kill McLagan. He would have -killed him at the Speedway, or some time that night, -but for the men who had smothered him in their numbers. -Well, he was beyond their interference now. -He was out in the open. There was only the open between -him and McLagan, a vast, rugged back country, -where there was no human agency to interfere between -him and his vengeance. Yes, out there they were far -hidden from the rest of the world with only the hills -to fling back the death-cry he would wring from -his——</p> - -<p>He broke off from his lusting thought. A broad -beam of the dying sun’s light drove its way through -the loose arms of a woodland bluff. It lit the ground -on which he sat, and enveloped his hunched body. He -turned with all the alertness he might have displayed -in the presence of an enemy, and his expressionless -eyes looked into the blaze of light. For a moment the -illusion was complete. Low down on the horizon the -sun was sinking to its final rest, and as it passed from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> -view it looked like a world of consuming fire devouring -the woods which lay in the path of its amazing light.</p> - -<p>It was only for an instant that his narrowed eyes -confronted the intolerable burden of its fierce light. -Then he sprang to his feet and moved away, and his -going was something almost precipitate, headlong. In -a moment he had vanished within the doorway of his -primitive home.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The moon was at the full of its glory. The night -was no less cloudless than had been the close of day. -The sky was ablaze with stars, but from the heart of -the hills no aurora was visible.</p> - -<p>Down on the creek below Cy Liskard’s home the -world seemed severely limited. On either hand, before -and behind, the hills rose sharply in every direction. -It was overpowering, overwhelming. The sky above -was transformed into a narrow canopy, with the silver -of the moon shining directly down upon the bosom of -the little creek. The region was brilliantly lit by its -ghostly light. Every detail of it was sharply outlined, -and it flung the ghostly shadows of the trees in every -direction. Then the waters of the creek, still flowing -with something of their Spring freedom, were transformed -into a perfect ribbon of silver.</p> - -<p>Midnight was gone and the small hours were slowly -growing. The valley was full of the strange night -sounds of a creature world whose day it was. Cries -came echoing down through the forest which clothed -the hillsides, and the voices of water life kept up an -incessant chorus. It was a world of Nature’s unutterable -peace—and something else.</p> - -<p>There was movement about the banks of the creek. -There was movement amongst the gear of the gold-seeker.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> -So, too, was it on the broad hillside about the -cabin where Cy Liskard had abandoned himself to the -blankets which nightly claimed him. It was the silent, -ghostly movement of white-robed figures. They stood -out in sharp relief under the brilliant light of the moon. -They came and passed on. They paused. They -crouched, searching. They moved without haste, or -apparent fear of disturbance. And their long white -gowns and high-peaked head pieces transformed them -from living humanity into the spirits of the night.</p> - -<p>The thing that was in progress was plain enough to -read. The white-clad figures were searching the valley -of the gold workings for information of the “strike” -which the sleeping man had made. Their movement -made it impossible to estimate their numbers with any -accuracy, for the forest, reaching down to the water’s -edge in many places, hid up much of it. Possibly there -were a dozen. Possibly less. But, whatever the number, -the search was utterly exhaustive. The corral, -the log hut on the hillside were not left unexplored, -and the presence of the man’s dogs only made it something -curious that no canine voice had been raised in -protest.</p> - -<p>There was not a sound to disturb the night or to -give alarm to the sleeping man. The dogs lay huddled -on the ground as though in the deepest slumber and the -man slept on profoundly while the figures moved about -the interior of his quarters.</p> - -<p>It was all curious. But there was doubtless an answer -to it. These men had travelled far and hard -under the strictest orders to return with a full report -of the gold strike made by Cy Liskard. Their report -depended on a complete and uninterrupted investigation. -There were many means of accomplishing this.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> -It would have been simple enough to deal with the man -himself. In their numbers they could have taken him -in his blankets. But perhaps they had no desire that -he should be aware of their visitation. In that case -there were other measures. Similar measures such as -had doubtless silenced the dogs. A whiff of some -pungent narcotic and the sleep of these creatures, human -as well as canine, would be infallibly prolonged.</p> - -<p>The search went on to its conclusion. It was prolonged -and completely thorough. And when the movements -of the Aurora men ceased and their ghostly -figures no longer haunted the valley, the moon had -passed from her throne in the heavens and the star-light -was already beginning to fade out. Then came -darkness, utter and complete. It was the darkness -preceding dawn. And the valley of the Lias River -was given up wholly to the haunting sounds of the -night.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Cy Liskard was ashore at a landing on the river he -had made his own. His stout canoe was lying moored -to the overhanging trunk of a tree, and it swung away -at the end of its rawhide to the easy stream. A roll of -blankets lay in the bottom of it while his camp outfit -was littered upon the gravelly foreshore about his feet. -It was noon or thereabouts, and the day was overcast -and threatening. But down here on the river was the -pleasant warmth of a summer day.</p> - -<p>He was gazing out downstream, and his view was -of a great expanse of flowing water moving heavily -on towards the sea. There were many miles between -him and the coast yet. The journey would run into -something approaching one hundred and more, which -it would take days to travel. But it was not the distance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> -he had yet to go that preoccupied him. It was -not the scene set out before him with its amazing hills -and dense forests growing down to the water’s edge. -He was literally and perhaps spiritually at the parting -of the ways.</p> - -<p>Directly ahead of him a hill reared its lofty crest. -It stood up an indestructible barrier to the rushing -waters hurtling on towards the distant ocean. It had -faced the fierce onslaught of the stream throughout -the ages. It had yielded nothing but the loose soil -about its rocky base. And so the waters which refused -denial to their progress had turned sharply away in -face of its heroic resistance.</p> - -<p>Somewhere to the north of that hill he knew that -another river flowed over an almost parallel course. -It was a smaller river which owed its source to the -same world of hills as that which bred the flood of the -Lias. But it was not for its proximity he was concerned. -It was not for its relation to his own. It was -because, somewhere further down its course, Ivor McLagan’s -oil camp was pitched. And Ivor McLagan -was the man who had hurt and thwarted him.</p> - -<p>Somehow the night had at first wrought a change in -the almost insane mood in which Cy Liskard had -sought his blankets. He had awakened heavily, with -a feeling of unusual depression. He had awakened -without any yearning for immediate action against the -man who had hurt him. He had found himself contemplating -his future outlook without enthusiasm or -deep interest, and it was not until he had broken his -fast, and perfunctorily executed the simple chores he -was accustomed to perform, that his evil spirit returned -to its full dominion.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> - -<p>But even then he had been incapable of rising to the -pitch of desire which had stirred him the night before. -Perhaps it was the balance of sanity reasserting itself. -Perhaps it was the result of that long, deep sleep which -had robbed him of the night vision of the movements -of the men of the Aurora Clan. Whatever it was, he -decided definitely that his vengeance upon Ivor McLagan -could wait. There was all the summer for that, -and meanwhile, there was urgent work lying ahead of -him in another direction. Perhaps a year more of -these solitudes and his work would be finished. Yes, -in that time he would have completed everything. And -the while, McLagan would have forgotten and lulled -himself into a sense of security. Then, at his -leisure——</p> - -<p>So he had gone about his simple preparations. He -prepared his boat down on the river. He loaded it with -his camp outfit and provisioned it. Then he turned his -ponies loose to fend for themselves on such mountain -feed as they could find in his absence. And his trail -dogs he treated in similar fashion. These creatures -were subsidiary. His boat was the thing he knew and -understood.</p> - -<p>But this more temperate mood had been in the early -morning. Since then there had been hours of labour -on his journey downstream. And the work of it had -lightened the dullness of his earlier inspiration. By -high noon he had been completely flung back upon his -desire for the life of the man he had encountered in -Beacon.</p> - -<p>So he stood before the great bend of the river where -the angry waters beat impotently against the foot of -the mountain and raced away to the south in search of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> -the outlet they refused to be denied. And all his passion -for revenge was burning deep behind his soulless -eyes.</p> - -<p>Why should he wait? Why should he deny himself? -There was all summer for the rest as well as for that -other. Why not reverse the thing? The rest could -wait, far more easily wait than the vengeance he desired. -It would be better so. For just so long as -Ivor McLagan lived, he, Liskard, would never know -peace of mind. What was it? At the most a ten or -twelve mile portage to the north of that hill. He had -made it before when he had looked to discover for -what purpose his neighbours were around. Yes. And -the Alsek was an easy river. He could pass down it -at his leisure until he came to the oil camp. He could -cache his boat while he searched the place for the man -whose life he desired. Then, if he were not there but -down at the river mouth where he had built his crazy -home on the cliffs, he could pass on down beyond the -camp in the night and stalk his quarry.</p> - -<p>It would be easy—so easy. There would be no need -to take chances. His rifle could do the job at his -leisure. The man’s home was perched up for long-range -shots. He could remain under cover——</p> - -<p>Yes, the rest could wait. It must wait. His desire -was overwhelming, irresistible. He would eat at once -and pass over to the landing he knew of at the foot of -the mountain. The water was turbulent enough there. -There were rapids of no mean proportions to be negotiated. -But they were nothing to him—nothing this -river could show him could match his watercraft.</p> - -<p>He moved back from the water’s edge. His decision -was final. So he prepared a fire for his noon -meal.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">In the Sunshine</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">“I’M kind of glad you could run down, Peter. I’ve -put that report through to our people. This is -the message I handed ’em.”</p> - -<p>Ivor McLagan held out the copy of the message he -had despatched from Beacon, and, while his assistant -read it, he stood with narrowed eyes gazing down upon -the wrecked vessel standing high out of the waters of -the bay below.</p> - -<p>He had not long returned from Beacon, and Peter -Loby had made a special trip down the river to meet -him. Deeply as McLagan was concerned for any further -news his subordinate might have brought from -the camp on the river, the wreck below had lost none -of its interest for him. In fact, for some unexplained -reason, it had taken even a firmer hold upon his imagination.</p> - -<p>Curiosity had by no means a prominent place in his -psychology. Ordinarily he was not seriously concerned -for happenings which had no intimate relation to -the affairs of his life. He was sufficiently self-centred -in the work that was his to leave such a thing as the -sudden appearance of a derelict of the sea, flung almost -on his doorstep, a thing without more than passing -interest, after he had ascertained that no human life -stood in need of his succour. But strangely enough -the vessel lying upon its deathbed below him, claimed -him with greater force than he would have cared to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> -admit. His mind had been full of it on his journey -into Beacon. Its memory had remained with him and -deeply increased its spell, as he made his report to Alan -Goodchurch, and his journey back to his home on the -cliffs had been made with haste inspired by the strange -feeling of unrest with which the thought of those last -moments he had spent on the deck of the vessel had -filled him.</p> - -<p>Now the wreck was standing out amidst its rugged -surroundings, under a blaze of sunshine, and, as his -gaze took in its details, his mind was full of questioning -and unease. The condition of the vessel had apparently -changed very little. The tides that had passed -since his first visit to it had left it wholly undisturbed. -Its sails were in worse shape, and their tattered remains -fluttered and whipped furiously in the breeze and sent -the gulls screaming as they sought to find resting place -on the creaking yards. But he was not thinking of -any of these things. No, he was thinking——</p> - -<p>Peter looked up from his reading.</p> - -<p>“That’s a good report, McLagan,” he conceded with -a grin. “It’s a deal better done than mine. I surely -guess that’ll set our folks smiling a mile wide.” He -drew a deep breath. “Well, they can keep right on -grinning. They’re on a bonanza, or I’m all sorts of a -mutt.”</p> - -<p>He gazed up into the face of his chief as he offered -his frank comment and passed back the copy of the -message.</p> - -<p>“It makes me feel good,” he went on quickly, “standing -around out here, perched right up on this darn -rock breathing good sea air an’ soaking in elegant sunshine -with our play coming right. Makes the world -seem right someway. Makes me sort of feel I want<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> -to holler like a school kid on Thanksgiving Day. Oil? -It’s the most crazily wonderful thing in the world—when -you strike it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s response was without a shadow of the -other’s enthusiasm and Peter turned questioningly. -Instantly he realised the direction of his chief’s -gaze and the meaning of his preoccupation. He chuckled.</p> - -<p>“I’d forgot that crazy barge,” he said. Then he -added: “You handed Goodchurch the dope?”</p> - -<p>The difference in the attitude of these men was profoundly -marked. The lean, practical oil man was alert -and thrilling with the prospect lying ahead of the work -they were both engaged upon. The wreck and the -atmosphere of mystery which it had originally impressed -upon him had entirely passed out of his concern. -He had witnessed the wreck. He had explored -it. He had shared in the risk of that first approach. -But none of these things, not even the vision of the -deserting rats, had been sufficient to persist in a mind -absorbed in his lifetime’s pursuit of oil. The affairs of -the oil prospect were paramount with him, first, last -and all the time. And the report he had just perused -represented something approaching the crowning of his -life’s work. But at that moment, oil and coal were -the two things farthest from McLagan’s mind.</p> - -<p>The latter moved away and approached the edge of -the wide ledge upon which his hut was set. Peter -moved up beside him and bit a chew of tobacco from -the disreputable fragment of plug tobacco which he -carried in his hip-pocket.</p> - -<p>As McLagan nodded his gaze was still upon the -wreck below.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Surely,” he said. “I handed it the best I could, -and Goodchurch guessed things would need looking -into. He took down the name of the ship and its port -of registration. He’s wiring right away to the proper -authority and promised to get it broadcast by wireless. -I asked him for that. You see, I kind of got a hunch -the folks who quit that vessel might be glad to locate -her—if they’re alive. He reckons we’ll likely get -word from the owners. You know, Peter, I feel ther’s -a mighty queer story lying back of that wreck.”</p> - -<p>“You mean—the boats—and——”</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head. He was gazing out to sea -now and stood abstractedly filling his pipe.</p> - -<p>“No,” he said. Then his eyes came back again to -the scene of the wreck with the screaming sea-birds -circling about it. “Psha!” he cried impatiently. -“What’s the use? Yes, the boats if you like. It’s the -whole darn thing. It’s got me guessing, so I can’t -forget it.”</p> - -<p>Peter chuckled.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” he said. “It don’t worry me a -thing. It’s oil for mine. You can play around with -all the wrecks if you fancy that way. I’m beating it -right back to camp.”</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded.</p> - -<p>“Yes. It’s oil, not wrecks, for you an’ me,” he said, -as though striving to convince himself. “I know that. -But—yes, you beat it right back to camp and I’ll be -along up the moment I touch the answer our folks send -to that report. I’ll just wait around for that. I’m -figgering there’ll be a big move on that new field when -we get word. The drilling we’re doing now looks like -it’ll be a circumstance to the thing coming. Maybe -I’ll even have to run down to Seattle, after I’ve made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> -my own inspection. Still, that won’t be till the late -fall.”</p> - -<p>Peter agreed, his keen eyes lighting afresh.</p> - -<p>“That’s how it looks to me,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes. Are you stopping around to eat?”</p> - -<p>“No. I’ll make camp on the river. I’ll pass up on -slack water and grab the tide later.” Peter laughed -and nodded down at the wreck. “You’ll get another -look at that while you’re waiting reply from our folks,” -he observed slily.</p> - -<p>“Sure I will.” McLagan looked round quickly as he -thrust his pipe into the corner of his mouth, and his -strong jaws shut tight on its well-bitten stem. “Just -as soon as you beat it.”</p> - -<p>“I thought so.” Peter was chuckling. “Well, it -doesn’t rattle me a thing. The only thing worrying -me is the yarn lying back of the coal belt we’ve located. -I’m sure crazy to get after that. So—I’ll beat it. So -long.”</p> - -<p>McLagan smiled at the other’s thrust.</p> - -<p>“So long, boy.”</p> - -<p>He stood gazing after the slim figure of his lieutenant -as he hurried towards the head of the pathway -down from the ledge on which they were standing. He -waited till the last of his cloth cap vanished below the -level. Then he lit his pipe and turned again to his -absorbed contemplation of the mystery boat below.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The breeze was dead flat. It was low water. In -something under an hour the tide would be starting its -flood again. Meanwhile, the sky had clouded over. -But it was without any storming threat. It was only -the fleecy shading which came so frequently with the -change of tide.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> - -<p>Sasa Mannik’s eyes had curiously widened as they -gazed up into the face of the man he served. They -were alight with all the superstitious fear of his kind. -He had just concluded a long and almost incoherent -protest which his boss’s demand for his assistance -aboard the wreck had brought forth.</p> - -<p>McLagan’s face was frowning. His eyes were -coldly contemptuous. He stood a towering figure over -the sturdy little man who was in open revolt.</p> - -<p>“You’re worse than a darn fool, Sasa,” he said -sharply. “You’re a low, miserable coward. You’re -the worst coward I know. You’re such a coward you’d -run a mile from a jack-rabbit. You make me sick to -death, and I feel like sending you to hell out of my -service. I tell you there’s not a thing to this poor -darn wreck to scare a buck louse. There’s not a thing. -She’s dead and done, and there’s not a living soul -aboard.” Then he changed his tone from condemnation -to derision. “What the hell scares you about her? -What d’you think she’s got aboard her? Devils or—what?”</p> - -<p>The half-breed turned away. He glanced down at -his own boat lying half out of water on the smooth -surface of the rocks on which it had been hauled up. -Perhaps he desired to reassure himself it was still there -for his safe retreat. A moment later he turned again -to the white man, and from him he gazed up at the -high sides of the great vessel which loomed monstrously -as they stood on the slippery rocks below it. -And as he gazed up at the hated object his eyes further -widened, and he spoke in a tone that was almost a -whine.</p> - -<p>“Maybe, boss,” he said. He shook his dark head -vigorously. “This thing bad. So bad. I see him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> -same lak you see him, too. I know. It in your eye -when you look. You scare, too, plenty. You not -know. I know. I much coward this thing. Nothing -else I scare lak him dis. I not go aboard. Never.”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s gaze was compelling. He held the other -while he put his question.</p> - -<p>“This thing? What did you see?” he asked sharply.</p> - -<p>The half-breed shifted his position uneasily. He -sought to avoid the white man’s questioning eyes. He -turned away. But his fearful eyes came swiftly back -to those they had sought to avoid.</p> - -<p>“I not speak this thing,” he said in a low, surly tone. -“It bad. What you ask him? You see. Oh, yes. I -know.”</p> - -<p>He made a movement. It was almost like a shudder. -Then without waiting he passed down to his boat.</p> - -<p>“Sasa!”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s voice brought the terrified creature to a -standstill. He turned and waited. And then he heard -the white man laugh as he flung his final orders.</p> - -<p>“You take your boat and go back to the beach. You -wait there till I hail you. If you leave that beach till I -hail you I’ll beat the life out of you. Now go.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>McLagan had made no further attempt at investigation -of the secrets of the wrecked vessel. It was -with an unusual feeling of repulsion that he climbed -up through the gloomy precincts of the forepeak. And -somehow the memory of the half-breed’s accusation -stung him sharply, as, involuntarily, his searching gaze -sought to penetrate the darkness surrounding him. In -his heart he felt the man was not without justification -in his charge. From the moment he had set foot on -the ladder a strange sensation took hold of him, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> -with every upward step, he wondered what revelation -the next would yield.</p> - -<p>Once on deck, however, the uncanny sensation -passed. Here was daylight. Here were the things -he knew and recognised. But somehow he did not -want to use the forepeak again, and forthwith he set -about discovering some other means of reaching the -deck.</p> - -<p>He found it quickly. It was there lying amidst some -sprawled gear upon the deck, besides a stack of lumber. -It was a long rope companion ladder with broad teakwood -steps. It was still secured to the down haul -cleats against the ship’s rail near the main mast where -it had evidently been flung by some previous user. And -he dropped it over the vessel’s side, and saw that it -reached almost to the rocks below.</p> - -<p>His view was out over the bay. And from where -he stood he could see his hut perched high on the cliffs, -and, below, the long, low line of the distant beach. He -smiled to himself as he beheld the figure of Sasa busy -mooring his fishing boat. He knew that for all his -rebellious mood, the half-breed would very literally -obey his final orders.</p> - -<p>He turned away. His searching gaze took in the -deck in every direction. It was the same, precisely, as -he had found it on his first visit. The litter of gear -was in evidence everywhere. The stacked lumber. -There was the canvas-sheathed winch with its close-hauled -raking arm. The galley with its steel door ajar. -Then the closely battened main hatch, and, beyond it, -the break of the small poop-deck above, with its two -alleyways, one to the cabin, and one to the half-deck -on the starboard side. Yes. It was all just as he had -left it, and he glanced quickly up at the sky.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> - -<p>There was a thin overcast of cloud, but still without -any threat of storm. Even the restless ocean breeze -had flattened out, and the usually protesting gear above -him was completely silent.</p> - -<p>McLagan had told himself that he wanted to explore -the hundred and one details which he knew must have -escaped him at his first visit. There were the battened -holds. There were those cabins which Peter and the -half-breed had looked into. There were the pantry, and -the half-deck. All these things he had promised himself -to look into. It was his excuse for his visit. But -he knew that in reality they had little enough to do with -his coming now. It was that other thing which had -brought him there. That thing which had inspired -terror in the half-breed’s heart, and—— He moved -over to the cabin alleyway and leant against the break -of the poop. And he stood gazing down the deck in -the direction of the winch as he had stood there once -before.</p> - -<p>For all Sasa’s challenge McLagan’s nerve was completely -unruffled. He was a man of cool courage and -utterly ungiven to vain imaginings. Imagination was -by no means lacking, but it was under the perfect control -of a completely healthy mind.</p> - -<p>He remained for some time in the position he had -taken up, and smoked contentedly for all the expectancy -in his eyes. But after awhile, wearying of his -vigil, he moved away, and squatted himself on the battened -hatch in precisely the position which Sasa Mannik -had once occupied. Here he hunched himself with his -arms locked about his knees, and sat regarding the -long prospect of the littered deck.</p> - -<p>The trend of his thought had remained unchanged. -And the look in his eyes retained its unvarying expectancy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> -even when now and again he turned them skywards -searching the summer shading. Time seemed -to concern him not at all. That presently the flood tide -would begin, and there might be difficulty for Sasa -to bring his boat alongside, did not seem to enter his -thought. He sat there completely preoccupied with the -thing that was in his mind, and luxuriating in the comfort -of his pipe.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he started. And his watchful eyes -changed from expectancy to a flashing alertness. A -sound had broken up the perfect quiet. It was a -sound that had no relation to creaking gear, or the -flap of sail cloth, or the raucous screaming of sea-fowl. -Seemingly it had no relation to anything he understood. -For he remained precisely where he was, waiting, -while his eyes focussed on the spot whence the -sound came.</p> - -<p>It came from nearby to the main-mast. It came -from somewhere just abreast of the carefully covered -winch. There was the galley entrance there, and beyond -that a stack of stowed lumber——</p> - -<p>He started to his feet, and the look in his eyes had -changed again. He was smiling. A head had appeared -over the vessel’s rail. It was a head adorned by a -woman’s modish hat, with, underneath it, a face the -sight of which filled him with nothing but delight. He -hurried down the deck.</p> - -<p>“Why, say, Claire,” he cried. “How did you—— Here, -wait. Get a grip on my hand. You shouldn’t -have——”</p> - -<p>There was a moment of effort while McLagan took -firm hold of the girl’s two small hands. Then after a -struggle, a little breathlessly, she jumped lightly down -from the rail and stood beside him on the deck.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I just had to come, Ivor,” she cried, gazing curiously -about her while she made her explanation. “I -heard about it in town, and set out right away. Mum’s -back there with the car on the hill road, and I came -along down to the beach where I saw your man with -his boat.” She laughed. “He didn’t want to, but I -made him. I asked for you, and he said you were -aboard here. I asked him why, and he said because -you were ‘dam fool white man.’ Then I guess I offered -him five dollars to bring me across, and he nearly threw -a fit. He refused. But I insisted. It cost me ten before -I was through, and the threat you’d beat him if -he didn’t. Even then he tried to dodge it and guessed -you’d beat him if he left the beach. But I got my way. -And——”</p> - -<p>“As you mostly do.”</p> - -<p>McLagan was thinking rapidly and with sudden deep -concern. This girl was all the world to him, and her -presence, her proximity filled him with a wild sensation -of joy that he was powerless to deny, that he made -no attempt to deny. But, of a sudden, he had become -horrified as he contemplated the real purpose of his -own visit to the derelict. In a moment his mind was -made up. By some means he must get her off the ship—before——</p> - -<p>There was no smile in his eyes now.</p> - -<p>“I kind of wish you hadn’t, Claire. I guess I’ll have -to deal with Sasa for disobeying his orders. He was -told not to quit that beach for—anything.”</p> - -<p>The girl looked up into the man’s face and the flash -of hot resentment in her eyes was unmistakable. But -she shook her head and refused the impulse his roughness, -his downright rudeness had stirred in her. Somehow -she always found it easy to make excuse for him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The same. Always the same,” she said impatiently, -for all the smile she forced herself to. “Some day, -Ivor, you’ll wake up and wonder the reason you were -built with a rough tongue and a foolish grouch.”</p> - -<p>The man glanced quickly at the sky. Then he indicated -the main hatch where he had been squatting -and led the way towards it. He seated himself and -left the girl standing. And promptly seized on the -opening she had given him, and sought to drive home -his purpose. At all costs he must get her away before——</p> - -<p>“There’s times when a rough tongue’s needed. -When a grouch is surely dead right,” he said, without -any softening. “Is it right for women to give way to -a sort of low curiosity to look into the trouble and -bad luck helpless folk are up against? You came for -that, Claire,” he said deliberately; “it was a swell drive -out of Beacon to pass an idle time. I kind of wouldn’t -have thought it of you.”</p> - -<p>It was one of those moments when the engineer felt -that somehow he ought to have done better. He -wanted to drive this girl away. And on the spur of -the moment it was the only thing he could think of. -He wanted to get her off that vessel without explanation. -And so he designed to anger her as the simplest, -most direct method of achieving his purpose.</p> - -<p>But the whole thing missed fire for the reason that -Claire was shrewd, and knew him, and because her -reason for coming was something which had far deeper -object than the idle curiosity of which he accused her.</p> - -<p>The blaze of anger he had expected was not forthcoming. -Claire’s colour heightened, and her soft blue -eyes were less wide as she gazed down into his plain, -unsmiling face. Then the corners of her mouth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> -dropped. And somehow her whole expression suggested -distress to the man who so absolutely worshipped -her. She shook her head slowly.</p> - -<p>“Not curiosity, Ivor,” she said. “Not that.” Then -a shadowy smile lit her eyes. “And as for the swell -drive to pass an idle time, I’d have said you knew the -Beacon trail better than that. If you don’t, why, just -ask Mum, and get a look at the tires of our automobile. -If you’d had some one you guessed the sun rose and -set in who was travelling home to you in a ship that’s -never been heard of since she handed out an S.O.S., -why, it seems to me you’d feel like chasing the ends -of the earth to get a look at any old wreck that blew -in on to the rocks from Australia to the Arctic. Curiosity?” -she cried scornfully. “Well, you can call it -that way if you fancy it. I’m here because I couldn’t -live with peace in my mind till I knew this boat wasn’t -the one that should have brought our Jim back to us.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s reply drove a wave of contrition surging -through the man’s heart. He felt as though he had -struck her a blow in the face. He felt as though he -wanted to flee before the gentle reproach he interpreted -in the look in her half-smiling eyes. And -yet—— He glanced uneasily up at the sky.</p> - -<p>“Your Jim’s ship was the <i>Imperial</i> of Bristol, -Claire. You told me that months back,” he expostulated. -“This is the <i>Limpet</i> of Boston. Your Jim -wouldn’t have been aboard a coaster like this. Beating -it from Australia he’d have been on a swell ocean-going -vessel. Goodchurch knew all about this wreck. You -must have got its name. I’d handed him the story -myself and all the details. He should have told you -and saved you from the Beacon trail. Say, little girl, -I’m sorry I handed you that. I didn’t think, or——<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> -You see, I know all your brother meant to you. We’ve -talked about it, you and me, and maybe I ought to have -guessed right away when I saw your dandy face peeking -over that darn old rail.”</p> - -<p>Again he looked anxiously up at the sky as a crack -of the tattered sails warned him that the breeze was -springing up with the flood tide.</p> - -<p>“But I just tell you we daresn’t stop around here. -You don’t know this bay like Sasa and I do. The tide’s -setting in, and in a few minutes ther’ll be no getting -off these rocks in Sasa’s boat or any other. It’s the -most devilish place in the world. It was that current -that caught and drove this poor blamed barge high and -dry. We must get away right—— Eh?”</p> - -<p>The girl had suddenly reached out a pointing finger. -She had clutched his arm violently.</p> - -<p>“My God! What’s—that?”</p> - -<p>The cry broke from her in a low, almost inarticulate -fashion. She was standing facing down the deck, her -horrified gaze fixed on a spot on the deck in line with -the canvas-sheathed winch. Her face had blanched to -ashen whiteness, and the arm held out pointing was -shaking like an aspen.</p> - -<p>McLagan was on his feet beside her, and somehow -her clutching hand had fallen into one of his. He held -it tightly as he, too, gazed down the deck in the beam -of sunlight which had broken through the haze of -cloud which the breeze had stirred.</p> - -<p>“What do you see?” he cried quickly, in a low, suppressed -tone. “Tell me, Claire. I want to know. I -can see it, too. But I want to know the thing you see.”</p> - -<p>“It’s—it’s the shadow—of a man. See?” The girl -was staring straight in front of her and her voice was -faltering. But the arm she still held out had steadied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> -under the influence of McLagan’s presence and touch. -“Oh,” she went on, with a gasp. “He’s coming towards -us. I—I can’t stand it. He’s big, too, and—and—Oh, -God!—for pity’s sake, Ivor, take me away—take -me away!”</p> - -<p>But the man made no attempt to obey her. Instead -his words came gently and full of confidence and encouragement.</p> - -<p>“Stand your ground, little girl,” he urged. “Quit -your scare. I’m right here, and nothing’s going to do -you hurt. It was this I was trying to save you from. -The sight of it. It’ll pass with the sun. It’s just a -queer shadow, and doesn’t mean a thing—to hurt. I’ve -seen it before, and know about it. It’s the sun makes -us see it. But it’s queer. It hasn’t a thing to do with -the gear above. Look. Its outline’s in the air. An’ -its shadow’s on the deck. See? It’s the outline of a -man, a big man. He’s carrying something in two -hands. You can’t see what it is. You can’t see any -face. Just an outline. And he’s walking this way -and don’t come any nearer. Isn’t it queer? What is -it? A spook, or—or a trick of the sun? Say, it’s -queer. Ah!” He drew a deep breath. “Look, it’s -fading out. It’s going with the sun. Look! That’s -better. Now—now it’s gone.”</p> - -<p>The sun had suddenly passed behind the clouds again. -And as it did so the shadow had completely disappeared.</p> - -<p>Claire drew a deep sigh. On the instant the man’s -arm was flung out to her support. But it was unnecessary. -For all the ghastly hue of her cheeks, the utter -pallor of her lips, the girl was not of the fainting sort. -He watched the slow return of her colour with anxious, -troubled eyes.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she spoke. Her eyes were still on the spot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> -where the terrifying shadow had moved so meaninglessly.</p> - -<p>“Let’s—let’s get away, Ivor,” she said, in a low, -hushed tone. “It—it was a ghost—a—I—I——”</p> - -<p>McLagan resorted to the only thing his mind suggested. -He laughed. He felt it was the only thing in -face of the girl’s condition.</p> - -<p>“I guess it’s a mighty harmless spook, anyway,” he -said lightly. “The poor darn thing’s pinned right down -to that spot. He hasn’t moved a yard since I first -located him days back. But maybe you’re right though, -kid. There’s no sort of use standing around gawking -at a fool spectre that hasn’t sense but to stand around -waiting to show himself when the sun shines. He -ought to know better. Moonlight’s his playtime. Yes, -come right along, and we’ll beat it back to your Mum.”</p> - -<p>For all the man’s banter he hurried the girl down the -deck, carefully avoiding the spot where the shadow had -stood. They stood for a moment at the down-haul -cleats, and Claire looked back over the deck. She felt -safer here. There was McLagan, big and smiling. -And there, beside her, was the means of retreat.</p> - -<p>“I guess I’m not brave, Ivor,” she smiled a little -pathetically. “When it comes to that sort of thing I’m -like dead mutton. I’m not scared of a thing living. -But the dead——”</p> - -<p>“Dead?”</p> - -<p>Claire nodded.</p> - -<p>“Sure. Some one was killed right there. A big man. -Do you wonder this vessel blew right in here without -a soul on board? I don’t.”</p> - -<p>She turned to the rail, and the man moved to her -assistance.</p> - -<p>“Can you manage that ladder, Claire?” He had no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> -comment to offer concerning her summing up of the -thing they had both witnessed. His only desire at the -moment was her safe departure from the mystery boat -and its haunting. “Can you?” he went on.</p> - -<p>Then of a sudden he reached out and caught her -slight body in his arms. In a moment he had lifted her -on to the rail and held her safely while she set her feet -on the rungs of the ladder beyond it. He waited while -she lowered herself step by step. He was still holding -her warm, soft hands firmly in his when her now smiling -thankful eyes came on a level with his.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right, Ivor,” she nodded. “Guess I’m safe -now. But, but you’re strong lifting me that way. -You’re coming right along down, too.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said. “Sure I am.” For an instant the -blood surged to his head. The pretty eyes, the sweet -face were so near, so very near to his. But slowly it -receded, and, as the girl passed below the rail, McLagan -drew a deep breath. He turned abruptly. His gaze -was down the deck where the shadow had been. Then -he glanced at the sky. The next moment he passed -over the ship’s rail and followed the girl.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Man from the Hills</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">THE labour of it was tremendous. The sturdy -ponies were a-lather with sweat in the pleasant -warmth of the summer day. Their burden ordinarily -was sufficiently light. A rattling, aged buckboard -driven by the man they had known for nearly five -years. It contained no outfit, no burden of any sort -but the reckless teamster who had literally made the -trail by his own many journeys between his home -and the city of Beacon Glory. But it was the final -stage of the journey. A heart-bursting haul up an -incline steeper than one in four.</p> - -<p>At the summit were rest and feed in plenty. Unlike -other men in the region using horse labour, McLagan -cared for his ponies better than he would care for -himself. He worked them to the limit if need be, -but his care of them was the same. In his undemonstrative, -unsentimental fashion he loved his shaggy, -stocky Alaskan ponies, and saw to it that they knew -it in the fashion they understood.</p> - -<p>Already the crowning plateau of his home was in -view through the gaunt arms of the tattered forest trees -with which the track was lined. A hundred yards or -so more and the labour of it would be over, and the -ardent creatures would snuff the ocean breeze in their -gushing nostrils. The man’s whip lay gently playing -over the ponies’ backs, urgent for their last ounce of -effort. He was leaning forward on the hard sprung<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> -seat as though to spare them weight. It was an instinctive -attitude that was of no real help. It was the -attitude of a man accustomed to the saddle.</p> - -<p>McLagan was more urgent for his home just now -than usual. He had gone into Beacon to meet the -message he expected from his partners and employers. -But that had been excuse. He had, in reality, made -the journey for Claire Carver and her mother. On -their return from the wreck in the bay they had -discovered the girl’s mother in a state of panic. The -automobile had been put completely out of action by -the terrible road over which it had passed. Not a -single one of its tires was standing up. The mother -was helpless. The girl was in little better case. And -McLagan did what he could in the way of repair. But -it was quite useless. The outer covers were wrecked, -and incapable of containing the inner tubes.</p> - -<p>In the end McLagan was able to impress on them -sufficiently the immediate necessity of himself making -a visit to Beacon. He assured them that he had long -since planned it. That his business was pressing. And -the good luck of it was that his buckboard would just -carry the three of them, if they did not mind being -somewhat packed into the seat and badly jolted. They -had by no means minded. And the older woman sighed -her relief as they planned to have a man sent out with -new tires to fetch in the derelict automobile.</p> - -<p>“You know, Claire, girl,” she had said, in her downright -fashion, which no improvement in her fortunes -had been able to modify, “them automobiles is liable to -set folks thinkin’ you’re all sorts of a dame ridin’ -around in ’em. But give me a team of decent mountain-bred -plugs, with a bunch of grain inside ’em. -Maybe they ain’t a blue streak of lightnin’, but they’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> -mostly get you there an’ haul you back, which it’s a -God’s truth is a thing you can only guess about with -one of these oil cans. Ivor’s wise. Maybe his business -depends on his bein’ there to do it. So he gambles -on these dandy four-legged creatures.”</p> - -<p>And she had affectionately patted and stroked the -warm flesh that was ready to help them in their emergency.</p> - -<p>The man had had a better reward than he had looked -for. He had found his reply awaiting him at the mail -office. A reply that he had never hoped to get until -the heads of the Mountain Oil Corporation had held -an important meeting. He realised that it must have -been despatched within a day of the receipt of his -report. It was a clear, definite, decided reply such as -pleased him mightily. It was from the chairman of -the Board of Directors.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Complete prospect earliest possible date. Sailing in ten -weeks. Be with you early fall. Make all preparations for -big forward move. Prospect for large territorial concession. -Prepare everything. Big money.”</p></div> - -<p>The very brevity of the message was its greatest joy -to McLagan. It was, he felt, the message of a big man -unfettered by any smallness of consideration. His interpretation -of it was no less big. To him it meant -go right ahead, grab all you can, and to hell with the -cost. And the engineer, being the man he was, needed -no further urging. So he had spared his ponies on the -home trail less than usual.</p> - -<p>He reached the plateau just as the sunset was at the -height of its glory beyond the bay. The waters were -dead flat, a mirror of liquid fire under the radiant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> -light. Even the ugly, iron-bound coast was rendered -something gracious for once in its ruthless existence.</p> - -<p>He had planned as he came along, absorbed in the -prospect that lay ahead of him. The whole thing was -quite simple. Everything must be got ready. He must -set out on a big trip round with Peter. They must -make a broad survey. He would set out with Sasa -to join Peter at the camp. He would close up his -shanty and quit it for the summer, or, at least, until -the Directors had completed their inspection. Early -fall. They would be with him in early fall to settle the -final details. That was nearly three months from now. -Yes. He could get everything ready for them by that -time.</p> - -<p>Sasa took the hard-blowing team as it drew up at -the log barn, and McLagan walked round the ponies -and helped unhitch them.</p> - -<p>“Turn ’em loose, boy,” he said. “Let ’em get a roll, -and feed ’em hay. Don’t water ’em till they cool. -Then set ’em in the barn and push their blankets on. -Feed ’em corn in two hours.”</p> - -<p>He passed on to the door of his hut. But he paused -on the way. As he stepped out into the open the wreck -of the <i>Limpet</i> came into his view. In a moment he -had forgotten everything else as the memory of his -last visit to the derelict came back to him.</p> - -<p>Somehow the whole episode had been swept out of -his mind by the text of the message he had received -from his own people. It could not have been otherwise -in a man of his temper and purpose. He was at the -threshold of a tremendous achievement which years -of infinite labour had brought to his hand. Peter Loby -was the oil man, the expert creature who dealt in drills, -and pipes, and the immediate localities for his operations.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> -But it was McLagan whose knowledge and -vision searched the territory. It was he who had first -realised the possibilities of that black belt of territory -which he had sent Loby to explore. His whole horizon -was bounded by such prospecting, just as Peter’s was -by oil. Yes, the news that these men of finance were -ready to put themselves and their money behind his -work had completely cleared his healthy brain of the -cobwebs which his last visit to the <i>Limpet</i> had woven -there.</p> - -<p>Now, however, it was different. Just as the other -had overwhelmed every other consideration, the sight -of the derelict flung memory back upon those things -which are never failing in their grip on human imagination.</p> - -<p>He stood gazing down at the queer object and every -vestige of his earlier enthusiasm for the work in hand -faded out of his unsmiling eyes. He had forgotten. -And now he remembered. And so he stood there, for -all he was ready enough for the cooking food which -Sasa had prepared, and which smelt so appetising on -the still air.</p> - -<p>The sun sank lower upon the horizon. It dipped into -the sea and lit a broad path across the bosom of the -waters. The circling gulls screamed out their night -chorus before perching for their rest. And all the time, -deeper and more surely, the fascination of that derelict -below took hold of him.</p> - -<p>At last McLagan stirred. He unfastened the pea-jacket -it was his habit to wear. Then he raised one -hand and the palm of it was passed across his forehead -thrusting back his cap in its gesture. He turned and -called over his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Sasa!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> - -<p>The half-breed came sturdily across to him from -behind the hut. And he stood there beside him following -the direction of his gaze till his own rested upon -the remains of the <i>Limpet</i>.</p> - -<p>“Your canoe. Your kyak. Is she in good shape?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. Him all time same. I mak him so.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll beat it up the river to-night. Get it?”</p> - -<p>The dark-skinned creature looked up into the face of -his boss. Then he turned away, for the white man was -still gazing at the wreck below.</p> - -<p>“You’ll beat it up the river and fetch Mr. Loby -right down here. You’ll beat it quick. You’ll tell him -to have an outfit ready at the camp to go into the -hills. He’ll know just what I mean. But he’s to come -right—No. I’ll write it. I’ll give you a ‘brief’ to -take to Mr. Loby. It’s nearly low water now. You -can ride up on the tide.”</p> - -<p>He turned to pass into the hut. But the half-breed -detained him.</p> - -<p>“Boss, you think dat ship all time. Yes, I know. -I see him in your eye. Dam’ ship no good. Bad. I -go, yes. You not go by dam’ ship with no man? You -not go? No? It bad. So bad.”</p> - -<p>The man’s tone was almost beseeching.</p> - -<p>“You’re a damned coward, Sasa, as I told you before,” -McLagan laughed as he turned away. “You’re -a damned coward about everything but the big water. -You get busy right away. You’ve got to have Mr. -Loby down here early to-morrow. I’ll write that brief -for you.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Alsek River had none of the greatness or splendour -of its southern neighbour, the Lias. But then it -flowed through a far different territory as it approached<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> -its mouth. Its lower reaches were marsh and tundra-bounded. -It was a deep, sluggish channel occupying -the lowest level in the heart of a wide muskeg, some -thirty or forty miles in extent. Higher up, however, -amidst the great hills, where lay the camp of the Mountain -Oil Corporation, it lacked nothing of the scenic -beauty of the hundreds of mountain creeks and rivers -which scored the coast territory of the Alaskan Hills. -In spring, under the fierce freshets, it was a roaring, -blustering watercourse without mercy for any obstructions -in its path. In summer it was a shallow, shoaly -stream of guile and treachery.</p> - -<p>Cy Liskard regretted the river he had made his own -as his light craft passed out of the hill country and -entered upon the flat of muskeg, which would continue -until the barrier hills of the coast were reached. The -Alsek River was not only ugly to him. It was a good -deal more. He knew that the vivid, brilliant green of -this limitless plain was one of Nature’s vilest snares. -It was one vast, treeless swamp, thinly disguised by an -alkali crust, and as bottomless as only a northern -muskeg can be. It was without life, animal or human. -Only was it swarming with wildfowl for whom it -was a never-failing refuge from trap and gun.</p> - -<p>But he laboured indefatigably. He was running -with the stream, his muscles at ease, but with mind and -eye alert and uneasy. He knew the dangers of this -dreary channel. It was deep enough. Oh, yes. He -knew that. At times it was monstrously deep. But -its sodden, reed-grown banks yielded no footing for -landing; there were mud banks dotted throughout its -course; and in its open channels masses of submerged -weed flourished abundantly. So his vigilance was unceasing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> -and he drove a course whose constant zig-zag -suggested incompetence.</p> - -<p>But there was no incompetence in Cy Liskard on -the water. He travelled swiftly and without doubt or -hesitation. For he meant to reach those distant coast -hills with the last of the tide, driven hard by that which -lay back of his mind.</p> - -<p>His search for his quarry about the oil camp in -the hills had been fruitless. He had prosecuted it with -infinite determination. He had lain cached when he -encountered McLagan’s river men. He had well and -truly covered his tracks, when at night he had reconnoitred -the camp itself. Then, when he had ascertained -beyond all possibility of doubt that the man he sought -was not at the camp, he had passed on all undetected, -unsuspected. Now he was on the last stages of his -journey to the coast. The coast and that crazy, high-perched -shanty overlooking the bay.</p> - -<p>Cy Liskard betrayed no outward sign. He looked to -belong to the long trail of the wilderness whose peace -and calm his soulless eyes expressed so well. His outfit -looked to be the outfit of those who live by trap and -gun, and the protruding muzzle of a modern rifle over -the curved bows of his craft increased the illusion. But -his purpose was no less for these things. Perhaps, -even, it was the contrary.</p> - -<p>The miles passed rapidly behind him. They drifted -away on a winding course that flashed and gleamed in -the brilliant summer daylight. But for all his speed, -the outlook seemed to remain the same, the distant hills -to come no nearer.</p> - -<p>But they were approaching very rapidly. And, as the -late afternoon ripened the sparkle of earlier day, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> -last they rose abruptly till their height seemed to overwhelm -the monotonous level of the muskeg.</p> - -<p>Now the watchful eyes became less watchful. The -need was less. The level, sodden banks had given place -to sharp-cut, solid granite, and the widened stream -had slackened and given place to deep, clear water free -of all hidden traps. A sense of ease and safety permitted -the man’s attention to wander to that which lay -ahead and about him.</p> - -<p>The river bent sharply away to the right behind the -first of the foothills and doubled its breadth. Farther -on was a leftward sweep, and as he approached it he -realised that he no longer had the river to himself. A -canoe—an Eskimo kyak—had swung round the far -bend, on the outer circle of it, and was driving like an -arrow against the sluggish stream.</p> - -<p>Just for an instant there was hesitation, and the dip -of Cy Liskard’s paddle was less unruffled. Then, seemingly, -the man’s doubt passed and he kept straight on. -He made no attempt to hail the stranger. He never -even permitted his gaze to turn in his direction. But -nothing escaped the search of his pale eyes.</p> - -<p>He had recognised the man in the kyak for what he -was. He had seen him before. Something of an -Eskimo or Indian. A sturdy, squat figure, with broad, -fleshy shoulders and lank black hair, and eyes that -might have been the folds of a crease in the flesh of -his ugly face had it not been for the deep sockets in -which they were set.</p> - -<p>Oh, yes. He had seen him before, and he let him -pass him without word or greeting.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The mouth of the Alsek River from the land side -was a curious and interesting effect of erosion. Even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> -granite, that almost invincible barrier which Nature -sets up against the onslaught of her own fierce elements, -had ultimately yielded. The river on the one -side and the storming seas on the other had beaten upon -the granite anvil till the white flag of surrender had -been hoisted.</p> - -<p>The attacking elements had met through a narrow -gap which had helped to set the scene for the appalling -race of tide which swept in through it. Two gaunt, -barren headlands stood sentry on either side with less -than three hundred yards of water dividing them. -Outside these lay the bay with its guarding headlands -and a multitude of rocky warriors still defending. Inside -was an expanse of water that was nearly a mile -wide. This was no less rockbound than the outer bay, -but it was completely sheltered so that no view of the -bay beyond could be obtained except that which was -visible through the narrow opening.</p> - -<p>It was early morning. The sun had just lifted above -the eastern hills. Nature was astir. The restless sea-fowl -were breaking their fast upon such fare as the -waters provided, and sunrise had brought up with it a -freshening breeze. The night tide was rapidly running -out and the race of water was still fierce and strong -and threatening.</p> - -<p>Cy Liskard was laboriously clambering along the -foreshore of the inner cove. He was moving up -towards the headland guarding the southern shore of -the river mouth. He was searching for the most promising -direction whence he could attack its lofty summit.</p> - -<p>Such was the nature of the shore that his movements -were largely hidden. It was the thing he desired most. -Now he was passing along in the shadow of mountainous -boulders. Now he was full in the open, scaling a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> -barrier impossible otherwise to pass. But he was making -progress, rapid progress onwards and upwards. He -had swiftly realised the danger of passing the gateway -on the open water. It would have been to court discovery -on the instant, to say nothing of the chances of -disaster from the race of the tide, so his boat lay -cached behind him while he confronted the task of -scaling the headland.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The man was standing on the windswept crest of the -southern guardian of the river. He was sheltering -from observation behind a boulder, and from the whip -of the breeze which stung with a wintry bite. The -whole of the great bay lay there below him, calm and -peaceful, and completely inviting. He was gazing -down upon it, but without regard for its austere beauty. -For that he had no interest whatever. The ravishing -shimmer of the summer waters, the tattered magnificence -of the element’s aged battle-ground. These -things were matters of complete indifference to him. -Even his view of McLagan’s high-perched home for -the moment seemed to make no claim.</p> - -<p>His searching gaze was preoccupied with the thing -he had never looked to discover. He was gazing down -upon the wreck of the <i>Limpet</i> lying upon its deathbed -of rocks, which the night ebb had left bare. He -was studying it, searching it, shape and rig and every -detail as might some sailorman who still retains all -his interest for a calling he has long since abandoned.</p> - -<p>For a long time he stood in the shelter of the boulder, -and the fascination of the wreck held him until its spell -was abruptly broken by a thing of more immediate consequence. -Suddenly he became aware of a small boat -making its way from the north shore in the direction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> -of the wreck. And in a moment he understood. He -raised his eyes to the house on the cliffs. He dropped -them again to the beach below. Then they came again -to the moving boat with its solitary occupant.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Cy Liskard had made the great descent. Now he -was standing in the shadow of the vessel lying upon -the rocks, gazing up at the lettering of her name on her -bluff bows. Some distance away behind him lay an -empty dinghy hauled clear of the lapping waters.</p> - -<p>The man had approached the vessel in a mood that -was sheerly exulting. Here, undoubtedly, was his goal -at last. It was a different goal from that which he -had expected. But that was of no consequence. He -had watched the dinghy behind him approach the rocks. -He had seen the man leap out of it and haul it clear of -the water. Then he had seen him approach the derelict -and climb on board it. There was no mistake. He had -recognised that tall, powerful figure on the instant. It -was impossible for him to mistake it, even though it -had been clad differently that night at the Speedway. -He felt that he had his man in a trap, and it was a -trap from which he had no intention of letting him -escape.</p> - -<p>There was a curious look in his pale eyes as he stared -up at the vessel’s name. For once they had been stirred -out of their customary expressionlessness. There was -something almost like a smile in them. But it was -shadowy. It was of the vaguest. And it only contrived -to transform them into something tigerish.</p> - -<p>At last he turned away, and as he did so a harsh -sound broke from his lips. It might have been a short, -hard laugh, only that not a muscle of his face had -stirred. He moved slowly down the vessel’s length<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> -till he came to the rope ladder amidships. Then he -paused. He thrust one hand into the pocket of his -closely-buttoned pea-jacket and produced a heavy -pistol. It was an automatic, and he examined its loading -carefully. Then, with a hunching movement of -his broad shoulders and a quick, frowning upward -glance at the blazing sun, he seized the rope ladder -and set foot on its bottom rung.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Lazaret</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">THE last of the daylight had only just passed. -It was nearing midnight, and the sky was clear -and with every moment the night lights of the heavens -were gaining power. Already a moving belt of Northern -Lights had made its spectre-like appearance above -the horizon, and the rare, clear atmosphere was ideal -for their perfect development.</p> - -<p>It was a wide flat in the hills something removed -from the highway of the Alsek River, and, dotted -about it, were the shadowy outlines of box-like human -habitations, and the litter of a wide-flung oil camp. -Here and there could clearly be seen the upstanding -machinery of the drills with which the earth’s bosom -had already been pierced.</p> - -<p>It was in the doorway of one of the shanties that -the lean figure of Peter Loby was lounging. He was -only partly dressed. He had been suddenly roused -from his blankets, with only sufficient time to haul on -a pair of earth-stained, moleskin trousers. His first -keen resentment at the breaking of his night’s rest had -passed. He had completed the reading of the brief note -which had promptly been thrust into his hands; but his -manner still remained short enough.</p> - -<p>“What in hell made you push this at me now, Sasa?” -he protested. “We can’t start down that darn river -till daylight, anyway. We need all the light if we’re -to get through the muskeg bottom right. What’s keeping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> -McLagan down there? Seems to me it’s dead waste -me going down to the coast only to make back again.”</p> - -<p>His resentful gaze took in the sturdy figure of the -half-breed. But his words were rather an angry expression -of his feelings than an invitation to the messenger -to attempt explanation. Sasa Mannik, however, -took the white man literally.</p> - -<p>“I do as boss McLagan say,” he replied, in his halting -fashion. “He say, ‘I mak this brief. You give it -boss Loby right away; then you bring him right down -quick. Early to-morrow.’ We mak him trip right -now? Then you speak boss McLagan early to-morrow. -The muskeg nothing. Not nothing. I know dis -thing sure. You mak fix all thing now? Yes?”</p> - -<p>The half-breed’s urgency was something more than -his orders suggested. His eyes were wider than their -wont. Altogether the man seemed to Peter to be disturbed.</p> - -<p>“What is it, Sasa?” Peter’s manner was less irritated. -Something he saw in the coloured man’s eyes -left him curious. “Has anything happened that your -boss hasn’t set in this letter?”</p> - -<p>The half-breed looked away behind him in the direction -of the faintly outlined hill behind which lay the -river where his treasured kyak was securely cached. -It was a native mannerism of unease.</p> - -<p>“I not know the thing that ‘brief’ say,” he said -evasively, after a moment’s thought. “Oh, no. You -tell me, then I know. I not read the thing boss McLagan -mak. I know all thing I see. I know all thing -white man do. Oh, yes. The boss say I bring you -down quick. I mak that. It good, too, yes?”</p> - -<p>“What d’you mean?”</p> - -<p>Peter was studying the dark face intently.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I think it good you come—quick.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>The half-breed shrugged. Then his hands moved in -an expressive gesture.</p> - -<p>“One thing. Two thing. I mak think it good you -come quick,” he said. “Boss McLagan go by big ship. -All the devil mans get him, sure. Plenty devil mans by -big ship. I know. I see him. Him call boss all time -so he go crazy, sure. Boss look at him ship. He hear -him call. All time call. So boss mak forget all thing. -Him mak this trip with me this night? Oh, no. Devil -man call him quick. Him listen. It not good. Boss -go right down by big ship, so devil man kill him all -up. Sure. One thing.”</p> - -<p>The worried man raised a lean, dark finger to count -the item. Then he raised a second finger beside the -first.</p> - -<p>“Two thing,” he went on. And now the widening -of his eyes lessened. They closed to slits from which -all his superstitious awe had passed. “I not know -this two thing sure,” he said thoughtfully. “I just -think him. I mak up dis river. I meet canoe. I see -dis man, I tell you an’ boss McLagan. Him dis man -I see one time, two time, by the coast. Him go down -river. I come right here. What him mak go down -river I not guess. He bad man. Much bad. I see -him eye look all time bad. Him eye lak devilfish. Oh, -yes. Bad. Why him go down river? I not know. -Him look all time for some thing. I not know. You -mak this trip right now, quick. Then we mak him -coast so quick this bad man not know us there. No.” -He pointed in a low easterly direction. “Him sun by -that place, then us with boss McLagan sure. I go lak -hell quick.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> - -<p>Peter Loby wanted to laugh at the simple earnestness -of this creature whose benighted mind was so full -of the spectres his forbears had bred into it. He -wanted to deride out of his superiority and enlightenment. -But somehow he refrained from doing so.</p> - -<p>“You say you don’t know this man? Yet you’re -plumb sure he’s bad? Why?” he asked sharply.</p> - -<p>Sasa’s gesture was full of profound contempt for -the limitations of these “crazy white men.”</p> - -<p>“You shoot up fox. You shoot up wolf,” he said. -“You not eat him. Why? Him good meat, sure. -White man not eat him. Eskimo not eat him—only -when he starve. So. You see good man. You say -‘good’! You see bad man. You say ‘bad’! Why? -All man do much thing him not know why. Why?” -The brown finger was raised again, and it tapped the -man’s broad low forehead with its stubby tip. “It -here. This man bad. So bad. I say him. You come -quick.”</p> - -<p>Peter nodded.</p> - -<p>“All right. Get right back to your boat, Sasa,” he -said resignedly. “Get her all ready. I’ll be along -right away. How’ll the tide serve down below?”</p> - -<p>“Him good. We mak him in dead water,” Sasa -said, with a quick, ready nod. His air of relief at -having persuaded the white man was almost child-like. -“I go mak ready right away. I mak dis trip so -dam’ quick.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Ivor McLagan stared about him in the feeble light -of his hurricane lantern. It was the lazaret of the -<i>Limpet</i>. A smallish apartment between decks, with -an entrance through a trap in the deck above, which -was also the floor of the steward’s pantry. He had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> -just descended the ladder and stood gazing upon the -iron tanks with their tightly screwed-down manholes.</p> - -<p>The place contained four of these. Their purpose -was obvious enough even to his landsman’s mind. -They were food containers for biscuit and flour, and -such supplies as must be kept safe from the rats with -which the vessel had swarmed.</p> - -<p>But the place contained other things besides. There -were packing cases, and chests of various sizes littered -about all round him. There were barrels, too, -which he shrewdly suspected contained salted meat, -beef and pork. Some of the chests were empty. Some -were still nailed fast. Each of the barrels was obviously -as it had been originally shipped and stowed.</p> - -<p>He stood there for some contemplative moments. -He had come there to search this place thoroughly as -he intended to search the rest of the vessel. But he -had discovered this storage of food supplies quite -accidentally, and with no suspicion of its existence. -It is even doubtful if he had ever heard of a ship’s -lazaret. While examining the steward’s pantry above -he had observed the trap in the deck, and forthwith -had proceeded with his investigations.</p> - -<p>Now he was considering the best means of examination. -A shaft of daylight came down through the trap -above him and he had his lantern. But the double resource -left the place ill-lit and difficult. After awhile -he found an iron hook suspended from the deck above, -and promptly availed himself of it. He hung his lantern -thereon and instantly appreciated the added illumination -so gained. He moved slowly amongst the -litter. Right at his feet lay two chests of stout make. -They were different from the rest scattered about.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> -They were iron-bound and of dark, heavy wood. Their -iron bonds had been cut and the lids thrown back, and -they were quite empty. He bent down over these and -examined the lids closely. There was no stencilling -upon them to give any clue to their source. There -was no address of any sort.</p> - -<p>He left them, passing on to the rest in deliberate -and careful succession. He had made up his mind -that nothing should remain unexamined. For, he -argued, here were the ship’s stores, and these stores -might give him some clue as to whence they came. -An address. A purveyor’s business name. Anything -and everything of such a nature might surely help -materially in solving the mystery that so profoundly -intrigued him.</p> - -<p>For a while his search was unproductive of information, -although, in another direction it was not without -interest. Each chest he had discovered had had <em>all -markings carefully erased with a scraper</em>. Why?</p> - -<p>It was a curious discovery. It was deeply significant. -To McLagan’s acute mind there was but a single -answer. The whole thing suggested secrecy. Again -why? After turning over the last chest he stood up -and gazed about him, and, in the stuffy heat of the -place, he passed a hand across his sweating forehead. -But his gesture was in reality one of perplexity and -had no relation to the heat. Clearly there was only -one thing to be done. After he had explored the sealed -tanks he must examine the contents of those cases -that still remained full. They might contain canned -fruit or milk. Anyway, something which would -clearly tell him its source.</p> - -<p>Yes. He would first unseal those tanks, and essay -the negotiation of those narrow manholes. Then——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> - -<p>He had started to cross over to the nearest tank -when his eyes chanced upon a portion of an old packing -case lying in an obscure corner. There was a square -of white upon it. In the doubtful light he could not -be certain what the latter was. But it looked like the -thing for which he had been so long searching. It -looked like an address ticket. He stooped and picked -it up.</p> - -<p>It was the thing he hoped. But—— In his profound -amazement he found himself muttering the address -upon it aloud.</p> - -<p>“Capt. Julian Caspar, Sailing Ship, <i>Imperial</i> of -Bristol, Perth, Western Australia.”</p> - -<p>At the bottom of the address card was the name of -a firm of wine merchants in “Perth, W.A.,” and at -the top of it, in block lettering, was the usual “With -Care.”</p> - -<p>He stood gazing at it for a long time. His thought -was travelling rapidly. In a moment he had realised -that this piece of wood belonged to none of the open -cases he had examined. It was probably something -left over from some previous voyage, and, remaining -in its corner, had so escaped the careful obliteration -of address and markings to which the remainder of the -stores had been submitted.</p> - -<p>But the name of the ship on the address startled -him beyond words. <i>Imperial</i> of Bristol. It was -the name of the ship in which Claire’s brother Jim -had set sail for home. How came it on board the -<i>Limpet</i> of Boston?</p> - -<p>Again came that gesture of perplexity. Then of a -sudden his eyes lit. He moved directly under the -lantern and read again the address on the card. This -time he spelt the name of the ship over quite slowly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> -and aloud. Then he began another spelling and it -was the name of the wreck itself.</p> - -<p>“<em>L-I-M-P-E-T</em>,” he muttered. Then after a pause: -“<em>I-M-P-E</em>. Yes. Then ther’s the <em>L.</em> sure. Boston. -Bristol. Gee! Looks like it’s——”</p> - -<p>He broke off with a startled upward glance in the -direction of the hatch above. Just for an instant he -remained listening acutely. Then he dropped the wood -from his hands and it fell with a clatter on the deck -at his feet. He reached up and snatched the lantern -from the hook and extinguished it. There was a -sound. It was the faint stealing sound as of some one -cautiously approaching along the deck above him.</p> - -<p>Who could it be? Loby? Sasa? No. He had no -expectation of their return till afternoon. Claire? -He remembered Claire’s unexpected visit. She was -not likely to repeat it. It would not be Claire. No. -Who then? He remembered the ghostly shadow that -had terrified Claire and the half-breed. And, for the -first time in his life, he experienced that thrill of the -nerves which the uncanny rarely fails to inspire even -in the hardiest.</p> - -<p>Then came the full and unpleasant realisation of his -position. One glance round him in the twilight warned -him of his disadvantage. Here, in the lazaret, he was -like a rat in a trap. He had no idea of who it could -be above. But that which his senses had told him left -him with a feeling of detestation for such a position. -He turned promptly to the iron ladder.</p> - -<p>“You’re covered, McLagan. You’re covered sure -as death. The moment you show your darn head -above that hole I’ll blow it plumb to small meat.”</p> - -<p>McLagan drew back. There was no thrill of the -nerves in him now. It was not the uncanny that held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> -him. He knew that voice on the instant. It was the -voice of Cy Liskard. And he understood that the -man had a score to settle with him, and had come to -settle it.</p> - -<p>His position was desperate. He was armed. His -automatic was fully loaded. But it was useless. Quite -useless. For the man above had not shown himself -in the aperture of the trap.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The man from the hills was standing in the cabin -alleyway with his back to the main deck. He was -facing the door of the steward’s pantry with a clear -view of the open trap of the lazaret. But he, himself, -was sufficiently clear of it to stand in no risk of gun-fire -on the part of the man he had trapped there. His -gun was ready in his hand. No man could hope to -ascend the ladder of the lazaret and get the first shot -in. He knew that. And, for the moment, was quite -content. Now he was talking, and a curious light -had replaced the deadness usually looking out of his -eyes.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t guess to find you here, McLagan,” he -said. “I didn’t think to find this wreck lying around. -But I’ve come many miles to find you, and pay the -thing I owe you. I humped it into Beacon to buy a -‘time.’ I was out to buy it in a fashion you oil folks -don’t guess about. I was there to pay for it in dollars -an’ dollars, and all sorts of gold you never dreamt -about; I wanted that dame, and you jumped in and -smashed my face. It ain’t that smash I’m worrying -about—though I owe you for that. But you cost me -that dame an’ darn near a hangin’. That’s what I’m -here to pay you for. An’ pay you good. I’m goin’ -to kill you right here. Savvy? An’ I guess it’s a good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> -place to get away with it right. They’ll find you lying -around dead, an’ it’ll take all the United States lawyers -to guess who did it. I don’t belong this location. I -ain’t within miles of it. Ther’s no one who counts -knows I’m around. I guess ther’ ain’t a soul to disturb -us. You see, your folks are up the river, an’ -you—I saw you come along over to this darn wreck. -Do you feel like showing yourself, or will I seal up -this hatch an’ fire the ship?”</p> - -<p>The man spoke very deliberately. He spoke without -passion. His manner was quietly confident and satisfied.</p> - -<p>For a moment he contemplated the raised trap as -though measuring his chances of carrying out his final -threat. Not for a moment did he imagine his victim -would be unarmed. He remembered the Speedway. -McLagan had been armed then. He had reason enough -to remember something of the calibre of the weapon -the man had thrust at him.</p> - -<p>His eyes turned again to the aperture in the deck. -Did he know the construction of that narrow lazaret -below? It seemed doubtful. And yet it was impossible -to tell.</p> - -<p>After awhile his voice came again harshly taunting.</p> - -<p>“You ain’t makin’ a lot of fuss, McLagan,” he cried. -“But then you ain’t got a crowd around. You’re on -your own, and don’t feel sure about things. You ken -come right up if you fancy, an’ I’ll give it you fair. -I won’t send you glorywards till your face has had a -peek around at the good daylight you’re goin’ to lose -quick. If you ain’t game for that I’ll sure have to -batten down, an’ start that fire. This vessel’s loaded -down with an elegant cargo of good spruce an’ stuff. -It’ll burn so ther’ ain’t a living soul could get near<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> -it. Then her bulkheads are steel, I guess. Gee! What -a dandy oven that lazaret’ll make.”</p> - -<p>Still no sound came up from below. Still the engineer -gave no sign. And yet he must surely have -realised the desperateness of his case.</p> - -<p>Cy Liskard shifted his position. He was listening -acutely. For all his taunting he was left guessing -while his intended victim remained soundless. He -was thinking very hard. He was puzzled. Suddenly -he raised his gun and looked over its sight. And on -the instant a shot rang out. But it came from the -lazaret and not from his weapon. A bullet struck the -alleyway wall with a spat. It ricochetted off the steel -and tore screaming past the man’s head. Instantly -Cy’s gun replied and a bullet crashed through one of -the iron tanks below with a boom like a drum beat.</p> - -<p>He waited for a return fire sheltered from the pantry -doorway. But none was forthcoming. Then realisation -came to him. There was no means of closing -that trap while the man below still retained a single -shot in his gun. At all costs he must draw his fire.</p> - -<p>So he drew nearer. He stood in view of the trap. -It was only while he fired a second shot. Then he -leapt aside under cover as McLagan’s answering shot -rang out. It grazed his passing shoulder with a hot -slither, and the blood surged to his brain. He moved -a step forward and fired again into the depths. And -again McLagan replied. The shot only missed Liskard -by inches and the man uttered a sound like a -laugh. It was the engineer’s third shot, and he was -more than satisfied. A few more. Only a few more.</p> - -<p>He stood ready. He darted in and fired again -through the trap. Again came McLagan’s retort which -took him in the cloth arm of the thick pea-jacket covering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> -his body. He sprang clear. And suddenly a -furious oath broke chokingly from his almost stifled -throat. An arm had caught him from behind encircling -his bull-like neck. There was a brief struggle -while he tried to turn his weapon on the unexpected -assailant. Then he crashed to the deck undermost, -with his gun-arm held and twisted till his hand released -the weapon.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Cy Liskard was standing just clear of the break in -the vessel’s poop. He was beside the main hatch, disarmed, -defeated, but without bonds to hold him prisoner. -Immediately behind him stood Sasa Mannik -who had sworn never to set foot on the wreck again. -And beside him was Peter Loby, lean, grinning, with -a gun in his hand ready for immediate action. At the -head of the alleyway stood Ivor McLagan still handling -his automatic.</p> - -<p>He was gazing at the gold man speculatively. Somehow -there was far less resentment than repulsion in his -feeling for this man from the hills, who, but for the -timely arrival of Peter and his servant, would in all -probability have achieved his purpose of cold-blooded -murder. He was a dour, hard-looking creature whose -queer eyes fascinated him. And for the moment he -was wondering at the thing lying back of them.</p> - -<p>“Well, what’re you goin’ to do?”</p> - -<p>Liskard had stood the victor’s scrutiny in silence as -long as he could.</p> - -<p>McLagan laughed derisively at the snarling challenge.</p> - -<p>“Do? There’s surely a lot of things I could do,” he -said. “I could have you pitched into that store room, -or lazaret, as I heard you call it, and close it up and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> -fire the ship. Her steel bulkheads would make it a -dandy oven. Then ther’s good yards to this craft, for -all her canvas is mostly blown off them, and plenty of -rope. Then I’ve still got haf a clip of cartridges in my -gun and several more in my pockets. I could easy -pass you on glorywards if I fancied that way. But I -don’t.”</p> - -<p>A sound came from the half-breed behind the prisoner. -It was a native expression of complete disgust. -Peter only grinned more broadly.</p> - -<p>“Ten minutes ago I was yearning to kill as badly -as you,” McLagan went on calmly. “So maybe we’re -fifty-fifty on that. Now I’m not. While I guess you’re -still a hundred per cent that way. I’m going to turn -you free to carry on your pretty work. I don’t feel -like spoiling it by any premature action. You see, -you’ll surely hang one day, and I’d rather it was done -in the regular fashion of the law. You want my -blood, and you haven’t left me guessing why. If you -were a man, and not a brute, I’d say act the sportsman -and take a chance with me. I’d face you just any old -way at any old time. But you prefer the advantage to -be with you all the time. That’s why I’m dead sure -you’ll hang. Now you can get out the way——”</p> - -<p>He broke off. A great spread of sunlight had -flashed down on to the deck. Cy Liskard was no -longer heeding him. With the sunshine a queer look -had leapt into his usually expressionless eyes which -were gazing down the deck. Their stare was horrified. -And something like terror had replaced their -deadness. He was staring at a moving shadow. The -shadow that had once sent Sasa headlong over the vessel’s -side and again had driven Claire Carver into -panic.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> - -<p>The eyes of both Sasa and Peter Loby were held by -it, too. Only McLagan seemed undisturbed by that -shadowy presence. He was watching the prisoner, -and his gun was still ready.</p> - -<p>“You see it, Liskard?” McLagan said, with a derisive -laugh. “We’ve all seen it. And you wanted to -add another haunting to the collection. It’s a big man, -eh? As big as I am. Say, we’d have made a real -dandy pair of spooks, one on the deck and one in the -lazaret—if you hadn’t burned up the whole darn shooting -match. I wonder who murdered that poor devil -like you’d have murdered me. We’ll never——”</p> - -<p>A fierce oath broke from the prisoner. It was more -a cry of real terror than any expression of fury against -the man taunting him. The next moment he was -speeding down the deck, running for the companion-ladder, -while Peter’s gun was levelled at him.</p> - -<p>“Quit it, Peter!”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s order came on the instant and the man -lowered his weapon.</p> - -<p>“Let him go. I want him to go.” Then he turned -to the half-breed. “Over the side with you, boy. You -don’t like spooks, but you can be trusted with men. -You’ve your gun. See to it that darn murdering swine -don’t touch our boats. But don’t dare to kill him up.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>McLagan and Peter were leaning over the vessel’s -rail. Down at the steadily rising water’s edge the half-breed -was standing guard on the boats lying there. In -the direction of the southern headland Cy Liskard was -beating a hasty retreat over the rocks.</p> - -<p>“That pretty feller’s got it in for me, Peter, plumb -up to the hilt of his longest and sharpest knife. I guess -he’s a born murderer. And to me his eyes look that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> -way. He insulted a woman up at the Speedway, and -I beat him on the face and made a bit of a mess of -him. Then the Aurora boys jumped in on him, and -I can guess the thing that happened. It was hard -letting him make a get-away. But I just couldn’t do -a thing else. Besides, I’ve got a notion it’s best. Say, -boy, I owe you and Sasa more than I’m likely to be -able to pay in a lifetime. How’d you manage to get -around on time?”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s thanks were the deeper for the calm -fashion in which they were expressed. Peter nodded -and grinned.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad we got around,” he said simply. “I cursed -Sasa for hauling me from my blankets last night, but -I don’t now. He’s queer, that boy. An’, gee, the pace -he drove us down that creek at! You know he had a -notion things were bad. First it was the darn spook -on this ship which worried him. Then he passed a -feller in a canoe, and reckoned he was bad. It was -that guy, and I’d say he was right. He said he was -the feller he’d seen crawling around the rocks at the -mouth of the Lias he told us about once. Yes. He’s -queer. He reckoned that feller was going down that -creek for mischief, and the mischief was against you. -He didn’t know. He just guessed.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he guessed right, and”—McLagan laughed—“I’ll -have to raise his wages. He’s a good boy. -Say——”</p> - -<p>He broke off thoughtfully and Peter waited. After -a moment he turned from the rail.</p> - -<p>“I got to get a stout turnscrew, and some tools out -of the carpenter’s shop place.”</p> - -<p>“What for?”</p> - -<p>They were moving along the deck.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why, I got a fool notion I’d like to climb over the -stern of this kettle and prise the letters of her name -some. It’s a notion.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>McLagan shrugged.</p> - -<p>“Just bear a hand, an’ after that I’ve got to go right -into Beacon.”</p> - -<p>“But what about our trip?”</p> - -<p>Peter was no longer grinning. He was feeling a -little impatient with this chief who could abandon their -all important work for something he felt had no right -to concern him at all.</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry a thing, Peter,” McLagan said, recognising -the change in the other’s manner. “I won’t let -you down, boy. It’s not my way. But I’m on a trail -that looks kind of hot to me, and it’s pretty near to -the things that really matter in a man’s life. Get me, -boy? No. You don’t. But it don’t matter. I don’t -ever break my word to a friend. I’m not going to let -you down a thing. Our trip goes through—but later.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">Links in a Chain</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">THE full Council of the Aurora Clan was assembled. -The crude accommodation was wholly inadequate. -And many of the members were forced to -stand through lack of sitting room amidst the debris -of the old steam-heat cellar of the ruins of the lakeside -dwelling. But then it was the full Council, and not -the Supreme Executive. And its members numbered -full twenty.</p> - -<p>It was sufficiently grotesque for all the significance -lying behind the gathering of these queer figures in -their burlesque robes of white. They represented a -deadly force in the life of this wide-flung northern -country. It was the inevitable reply of those who saw -and appreciated the problems and needs of their own -existence and were prepared to deal with them without -reference to political visions and principles. It -was reaction to pristine instinct.</p> - -<p>Yes, it was reaction. The fact of it being a council -had no relation to democratic method. The Aurora -Clan was ruled over by one individual who was called -the “Chief Light of the Aurora.” The Chief Light -was the brain and the driving force. He was the -heart, the soul, and head of the organisation. His -rule was despotic. The councillors were his supporters, -and the executors of his absolute will. They were -possibly, even, advisers, in that they were listened to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> -in council. But, bound under oath, they obeyed the -ruling of the Chief Light without question, and under -ruthless penalty.</p> - -<p>The Aurora Clan was an expression of passionate -exasperation. It was an expression of men who saw -no hope in the far off councils of self-interested men, -who spend their lives in talk. They wanted their own -corner of the earth made safe for decent democracy, -and were prepared to purge it without regard to the -rest of the world’s opinions. Laws might be enacted -in those far off councils. They would obey them if -they proved adequate in making decent life possible. -If they proved otherwise, in view of the needs of their -community, they would be simply set aside and other -provision would be made.</p> - -<p>To achieve its purpose the Aurora Clan viewed the -situation with wide-open eyes. It saw things as they -were, and refused to consider them through any -medium that presented the picture in any different -light. It was gazing on the rawest human nature, for -all it was tricked out in the fashions of the twentieth -century. It was the same human nature that had -fought the old-time battle in the darkest ages, unchanged -in the smallest degree. So the Clan had -adopted the method which has always been the ultimate -control when humanity got out of hand. It was -the method of earliest man. And it will be the method -of the last. It was the appeal of Fear. In the opinion -of the controlling mind of the Aurora Clan there was -no short cut to any Utopia, or Millennium, or things of -that sort. There was even no such condition to arrive -at. Life was Self. Simply Self, even if, at times, -thinly disguised. And Self could only be sufficiently -impressed to keep it within the bounds of reasonable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> -decency by the methods of control which had come -down throughout the ages. So the ugly banner of -Terror had been raised. Awe, Superstition, Terror.</p> - -<p>To the humorous mind the grotesqueness of the -gathering must have been without question. Each pair -of eyes gazing through rudely cut eye-holes in those -conical hoods, if their humour were sufficient, must -inevitably have smiled at the sight of the other nineteen -ghostly figures squatting or standing about the -place with pipes and cigars protruding through mouth-holes -in the cloth of their hoods. In this respect these -men-ghosts were not sacrificing their comfort for any -undue regard for the impression they desired to -create. They were there for business. The cellar -was without comfort. They might be there for hours. -Well, tobacco was no outrage of their principles.</p> - -<p>The place reeked with every grade of tobacco smoke. -Rank cigars and still ranker pipes had overridden the -musty dankness of the atmosphere. Decay in any -form was sufficiently abhorrent to the virile youth of -this gathering. So each did his best to mask it under -the fog of smoke which brought comfort to their -souls.</p> - -<p>The sitting had been a long one. All sorts of reports -from individual councillors had been listened to, -voted upon, and upon which the Chief Light, leaning -against the central rusted furnace, had given his final -decision. There was no secretary to take down any -minutes of the meeting. No writing of any sort was -permitted. All the business of the Council was done -verbally. Sentence was passed on any delinquent reported -by the Chief Light, and the work of its execution -deputed by word of mouth. None but the Chief -Light knew upon whom such tasks devolved. Maybe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> -there was recognition in the voices as each councillor -spoke, but that was all. Each member of the Council -was known by a numeral which was inscribed on the -white front of his gown, and, so long as he might -serve on the Council, that would be the only form of -identification permitted.</p> - -<p>Towards the end of the session a stoutish councillor, -with “No. 3” blazoned on the bosom of his cloak, -bestirred himself. He made a sign which conveyed -his claim to attention. It was given without question. -The tall form of the Chief Light was instantly turned -in his direction.</p> - -<p>“‘No. 3’ has a report for the Council,” he said, in -that curious hollow tone which his masking hood gave -to his voice. “We’ll take his report next.”</p> - -<p>He paused for an instant while the eyes behind his -mask surveyed his supporters. Then he went on in -the quiet business-like fashion which marked his conduct -of affairs at all times.</p> - -<p>“There is need for explanation,” he said. “‘Number -Three’ was delegated to certain work at a meeting -of the Supreme Executive which met in emergency -awhile back. Many of this Council were not present -at the time. You need to get it that his work was of -more than usual importance to the general community. -Maybe you’ll all likely remember there was a tough guy -called Cy Liskard who blew into the Speedway on the -night of Max’s celebration, and raised particular sort -of hell there. ‘Number Three’s’ report concerns this -man. This man Cy Liskard is reputed to have made -a big strike of gold way back on the Lias River. -And, anyway, he’s sold big dust at the bank and holds -a credit there. It’s reckoned he’s hugging this strike -to his bosom and we’ve made it our special business<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> -to see, if it’s right, that the field outside his claim is -made available to the folks of our city.”</p> - -<p>There was a slight but definite movement amongst -the Chief Light’s audience. Those who were sitting -turned in the direction of ‘Number Three.’ Those -who were standing gazed round on the sturdy figure -expectantly.</p> - -<p>“We’ll take Number Three’s report.”</p> - -<p>The Chief Light leant back against his furnace support -prepared to listen with the rest.</p> - -<p>“Number Three” plunged at once into his story. He -began formally, but quickly drifted into the vernacular -common to them all.</p> - -<p>“By the will of the Supreme Executive I set out to -investigate under the orders received. Six Clansmen -accompanied me. It was a darn big trip, an’ we were -chasing a wily guy an’ a pretty bright trailman. I -was lucky in having ‘Number Twenty-Six’ with me, -who’s wise to the country of the Lias River. Well, -I don’t guess to worry you folks with the details of -that trip. We made it all right, all right. We tracked -our man right up to his home in the hills. He was -there, an’ we doped him and his dogs quiet so we could -work easy. And a pretty fancy hiding hole he’s got. -It lies well nigh back on the Canadian Border.”</p> - -<p>“Number Three” paused. And a shuffling of feet -and the clearing of throats indicated the deepening interest -of his audience.</p> - -<p>“Say, it’s queer,” the sturdy figure went on reflectively. -“He’s got a claim there all right. He’s got a -swell sluice on a creek, and a big dump of stuff piled -around it. He’s got a shanty on the hillside, and corrals -for his ponies. He’s got a bunch of trail dogs -to carry him anywhere on a winter trail. Then he’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> -got a swell canoe, and all the gear of the goldman. -But—” He broke off and, as he gazed round on his -audience, it was almost as if he were smiling behind -his mask. “—we couldn’t see he’d washed an ounce -of dust since ever he set up his sluice. I want to tell -you right here, folks, if there’s a thing I’m a’mighty -wise to in this darn country it’s washing the yellow -stuff I’ve been chasing twenty years. There’s no guy -on the Lias River can put me wise to any notion I -haven’t got. Well, I tell you right now that boy hasn’t -washed out any gold on that claim ever since it was -staked. He’s set it all out. It ’ud look good to a bum -tenderfoot. Maybe, even, some of you boys ’ud fall -for his show down. But he can’t bluff me a thing. -That claim, and all his fancy gear, is a mighty big -bluff. That’s all. He hain’t worked fi’ cents of gold—there.</p> - -<p>“But he’s passed a big pouch of dust into the bank. -We’re wise to that. Where does he work that stuff?” -The man paused again. Then a sound came from behind -his mask. It was a funereal sort of laugh. “I -ain’t wise. But I went through with the job as it was -ordered. This guy has been seen chasing around the -coast at the mouth of his river. We came right down -the length of that river with our eyes wide open for -any blamed sign.” He shook his cowled head. “He’s -got no workings anywhere along that river. But we -found something. Oh, yes. We surely did. It’s a -tough coast, and hard to chase up right. There’s a -thousand holes an’ corners for a cache an’ that sort -of truck. Anyway we located a sort of creek that was -hidden all up. It was rocks and overgrowth so we -mostly had a hell of a time making our way in. But -we got through. And, cached right away up it, cached<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> -so as only chance could locate it, we hit on a swell -motor boat fit to make a sea trip in tough weather. -Yes, we located that, and located something else. She -was in elegant shape, and we searched her clear -through even to her gasoline tanks. And in one of -her lockers we found two bags, canvas bags such as -I knew as soon as I set eyes on ’em. They were -empty. I turned ’em inside out. There was the remains -of dust in ’em caught up in the seams, an’ I -made a collection of it. Sir,” he went on, addressing -himself directly to the tall figure of the Chief Light, -“that’s my report, and I wait for instructions. Ther’s -a few bits o’ details I ain’t spoken on that I ken hand -you when you got time to go into them. Maybe they -signify some. I don’t rightly know. Meanwhile, -that’s the report I got to hand to this Council.”</p> - -<p>The Chief Light nodded.</p> - -<p>“Good,” he said. “I’ll take those details later. -Meanwhile, you don’t figger this Cy Liskard is on a -strike on his claim?”</p> - -<p>Number Three shook his head promptly.</p> - -<p>“I don’t say all that, Chief,” he said quickly. “The -thing I say is the claim he’s got staked around his -home place is sheer bluff. Maybe he’s blinding us. -Maybe his claim lies elsewhere. That being so it’ll -likely take months locating it.”</p> - -<p>At a sign from the Chief Light, full discussion on -the report of Number Three broke out. It was dealt -with exhaustively. Then the meeting passed on to -such other business as claimed it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Alan Goodchurch was typical of officialdom, but -possessing a leavening of real human interest in the -life of which he was in official control. In Beacon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> -Glory his prestige stood reasonably high, but simply -because of that leavening. In his official capacity as -Commissioner of the district and chief collector of -revenues for the government he represented, there -was no particular goodwill displayed towards him. -But then Beacon Glory had no sort of use whatsoever -for an authority that had its origin so far away that -it required something in the nature of an astronomical -telescope to discover its existence. As a man it was -wholly different. He was a cheery creature outside -his office, alive with kindly sympathy for the difficulties -and troubles besetting his fellow-townsmen and -really eager for the steady progress and prosperity of -the heterogeneous collection of life it was his lot to -endeavour to shepherd in its duty towards its Government.</p> - -<p>He was a youngish man for his post. But then it -was well enough recognised that in this especial locality -his was a youngish man’s work. Beacon Glory -needed a strong official hand and a strong official -mind, and Goodchurch possessed these things arrayed -in a tall muscular frame and a large, lean face with -pronouncedly square jaws.</p> - -<p>Ivor McLagan was on reasonably intimate terms -with Goodchurch. It was his business to be so, for -whatever the general attitude of the men of Beacon -Glory towards their Commissioner, the oil man’s business -demanded official goodwill.</p> - -<p>It was a moment in Goodchurch’s official life when -the human element in him was uppermost. He sat -turned away from his desk, lounging in his swivel -chair, talking to the engineer and smoking a cigar, the -latter a most unusual proceeding in his working hours. -McLagan was overflowing a smaller bare wood chair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> -opposite him, and he, too, was smoking one of the -Commissioner’s best cigars.</p> - -<p>The strong face of Goodchurch was smiling pleasantly, -and his keen grey eyes had lost their usual cold -stare which had taken him years to cultivate. He -shook his head.</p> - -<p>“There’s no such darn vessel registered at Boston,” -he said. “And there’s no owner yearning to claim -anything with a name like the <i>Limpet</i>. That doesn’t -leave me guessing. There’s such a thing as insurance. -In a while, maybe, we’ll be getting word from some -underwriting house. Then the fur’ll fly, and some -one’ll be squealing in the Courts. Anyway, the position’s -clear. Boston’s never heard of the <i>Limpet</i> -and isn’t yearning to.”</p> - -<p>McLagan removed his cigar and flicked the ash into -an immaculate cuspidor. His narrow eyes surveyed -the neat apartment which gave some indication of the -man who presided there. It was Goodchurch’s private -room in the best commercial block in Beacon -which was more than half given up to his staff. He -knew well enough the range of this man’s work. It -was from the highest to the lowest in the realms of -the city’s discipline. And for all the man’s capacity, -McLagan felt like smiling at the thought of the net -result of his labours.</p> - -<p>However, his concern at the moment lay in other -directions. This was his last visit to Beacon before -setting out on a prolonged exploration into the hills, -and he desired the Commissioner’s valuable aid in a -direction in which he knew he could rely on it.</p> - -<p>He nodded.</p> - -<p>“That’s pretty clear,” he said. “What next?”</p> - -<p>Goodchurch shook his head.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There don’t seem to be much to be done—next,” -he said thoughtfully. “After all, what is it? A windjammer -blows in on to the rocks of this abominable -coast. You reckon she’s mostly a cargo of lumber -aboard. Well, lumber’s no sort of use on this coast.” -He smiled. “Gold’s the only thing, or oil, that’s going -to set our folks whooping. There don’t seem to be -a soul yearning to claim that craft. Even the folks -who quit her.” He shook his head again. “No. -There’s not a thing worth doing but what I’ve done. -My report’s gone in. That’s usual. I guess I can -send a couple of boys down to view things, but if we -know anything of the seas beating on this coast line, -the storms that drove her on the rocks are liable to -hammer her to matchwood in a month or so. And -then there’ll be nothing—more.”</p> - -<p>McLagan agreed.</p> - -<p>“It seems that way,” he said, with an assumption -of indifference. “Yet I’ve a sublimely foolish notion -there’s something queer behind that wreck. And the -notion’s got hold of me good.”</p> - -<p>“Queer, eh?” Goodchurch’s eyes narrowed, and he -surveyed the cigar in his fingers reflectively. Then -he chuckled quietly. “Yes,” he went on. “Insurance. -And that’s not in my work—once my report is sent -in to my chiefs.”</p> - -<p>McLagan bestirred himself. He realised the official -horizon of this otherwise excellent man. He stood -up.</p> - -<p>“I told you I’d got a notion,” he said simply. “Well, -I got more. And I’m wondering if you’ll help me -out on it. I’ve an idea, more than an idea—a conviction, -in fact, that the name of that bunch of wreckage -has been changed. It was changed on purpose.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> -Real, desperate purpose. If we can locate the owners -and anyone else interested in the <i>Imperial</i> of Bristol, -we shall get back of a darn ugly story that’s liable -to get your department jumping on a red-hot trail. -That’s why I came along now. It’s to give you that -before I go right up into the country on a survey -that’s going to keep me busy till the summer’s nearly -through. I daresay by the time I get back the storming -will have left nothing of that wreck on the rocks. -It don’t matter. Her story don’t lie in her now. It -lies in the owners and crew who are the folks that -need finding. You broadcasted before for the other -name. Will you do it for this? Will you send it to -the newspapers? And pass it right on to any old -region that can pick it up? I’d be glad, an’—grateful.”</p> - -<p>Goodchurch laughed. He realised the oil man’s -earnestness, but it left him quite unaffected.</p> - -<p>“Sure, I will, Mac,” he said cordially. “How did -you locate the change of name? What’s the story you -reckon to discover?”</p> - -<p>The other shrugged his heavy shoulders as he flung -his cigar stump into the cuspidor.</p> - -<p>“It’s clear enough—with the suspicion of it in your -mind. I got a close look at the painted names on the -boats, and life belts, and anything that had the ship’s -name on it. Mostly the change has been made good. -But, like all things of that nature, it was a long job -and the folks doing it maybe got weary of it. In -two cases, at least, I recognised the old name had been -painted or scraped out—some of the letters, and others -substituted. I’m sure, dead sure.”</p> - -<p>“And the story?”</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head and smiled.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Murder, I’d guess—amongst other things,” he said -simply.</p> - -<p>“Murder?”</p> - -<p>Goodchurch sat up.</p> - -<p>“Sure. And I’m looking to find who did it and -why.”</p> - -<p>Goodchurch whistled.</p> - -<p>“That sort of show gets a man.”</p> - -<p>“Ye-es.”</p> - -<p>“Anything else?”</p> - -<p>“If I told you haf the things in my head you’d -guess I was bug.”</p> - -<p>Goodchurch laughed.</p> - -<p>“I’d need more than that to reckon Ivor McLagan -that way.” He stood up. “Well, I’ll surely do as you -ask, right away. And I guess I’ll take a trip out to -view that wreck myself—instead of sending any of -the boys.”</p> - -<p>McLagan held out a hand which the official gripped -with cordiality.</p> - -<p>“Why, do,” he said. “And make use of my shanty -all you please. My boy’ll be along there if I’m away, -and he’ll fix you right. I’ll leave word. An’, say,” -he added with a shrewd smile as he moved towards -the door, “if you’re not looking for a scare, don’t get -aboard of that craft when the sun’s shining.”</p> - -<p>“What? Say——”</p> - -<p>But McLagan shook his head. “I’m not going to -hand you a thing else,” he said laughingly. “I’m not -yearning for you to get beyond the limits of your -belief in my sanity. Maybe I won’t see you again till -I get through with my trip. So long.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>McLagan hurried down the sidewalk in the direction -of the Speedway. He was thinking with a concentration -that left him oblivious to his surroundings -and with only his objective clear in his mind. Once -he smiled to himself as the thought of Alan Goodchurch’s -remark about his sanity flashed intrusively -upon his preoccupation. He felt sure that it was as -well for his purpose that he had added nothing of the -thing absorbing him now to that which he had imparted -to the Commissioner. No. The thing he had -in his mind must remain there untold until he had -completed the chain of circumstances he saw linking -themselves together. Either he was stark, staring, -raving mad, or——</p> - -<p>He bumped into Victor Burns just outside the -banker’s office, and the collision brought him back to -his surroundings and the realisation of his friend’s -laughing protest.</p> - -<p>“Say, you great unmitigated boob, with your two -yards of meat, ain’t there room for an ounce or two -like me on the same earth?”</p> - -<p>McLagan laughed.</p> - -<p>“Ounce or two? Say—when two folks collide on -the sidewalk it mostly seems to me occasion for discussion. -Who is it has right of way? The feller -using the sidewalk for its original purpose, or the -feller standing around with a figger calculated to set -an oil man yearning? I’ve got five minutes for a yarn -in your office.”</p> - -<p>Burns smiled up into the twinkling eyes.</p> - -<p>“Come right in,” he said. “I’ve mostly got five -minutes any time of day for the man who reckons to -flood Beacon out with oil.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> - -<p>They passed into the bank and to the private office. -McLagan perched his great bulk on the desk and -grinned down on his still standing friend.</p> - -<p>“Just sit around, Victor,” he said, while the other -waited for the purpose lying behind this sudden and -unexpected visit. “I want you to talk, to yarn in your -own sweet way about the darn stuff you’re here to -deal in. I want you to tell me all you know about -the stuff. Its grades. Its colours. And the localities -where the colours are found, or have been found. I -want you to lay bare your golden soul to me the same -as from time to time I’ve told you the juicy details -of the stuff I spend my life chasing. Can you do it -in ten minutes?”</p> - -<p>“Not in ten weeks.”</p> - -<p>“That’s tough. I’ve got just a haf hour.”</p> - -<p>“It was ten minutes last and five before,” laughed -the intrigued banker.</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s get down to bed rock. I can set you -haf-a-dozen questions, and we’ll fix it that way.”</p> - -<p>“Have you made a ‘strike’?”</p> - -<p>McLagan laughed.</p> - -<p>“No, siree! But <em>I’m</em> going to set the questions to -this examination.”</p> - -<p>“I may sit.”</p> - -<p>The banker’s eyes were shining with the humour -of the thing. But he was wondering, too. He had -never known McLagan to have more than a passing -interest in the trade he dealt in. And somehow, he -now seemed to be in deadly earnest for all his lightness.</p> - -<p>“Sure you may,” the oil man said. “And smoke, -too, if you feel that way. It’s good to smoke if you -need to think.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> - -<p>Victor took his place at the desk on which McLagan -was sitting and pushed a box of cigars at his guest. -He sat back in his chair while the other lit up and -regarded him thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“Well?” he demanded, with his hands clasped across -his rotund body. “Get busy with those questions.”</p> - -<p>“There’s more than one colour to gold?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Quite a number of shades in raw gold.”</p> - -<p>“Governed by the locality in which it’s found?”</p> - -<p>“Surely. The formations. Reef gold. Alluvial. -The copperous qualities of quartz. The climated conditions -of the various latitudes in which it is found. -A whole heap of influences affect the shades of -colour.”</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded.</p> - -<p>“Now Alaskan gold?”</p> - -<p>“It varies the same as the rest.”</p> - -<p>“Could you tell Alaskan gold from tropical gold?”</p> - -<p>“It depends on circumstances. Generally, yes. I’ve -got samples here,” the banker went on quickly, pulling -out a drawer beside him.</p> - -<p>He lifted out a leather case and flung it open. It -held a number of small glass bottles each containing -a sample of yellow dust. Each bottle was carefully -labelled.</p> - -<p>“We keep these as a matter of interest. They’re -small samples of each different strike made in the -neighbourhood with which we trade. You see? Examine -them. Compare them. There’s many differ -shades.”</p> - -<p>He sat back again while the oil man picked up each -bottle in turn and compared them one with the other, -and the banker found it profoundly interesting to -note the intensity of scrutiny to which the man whose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> -interests had nothing to do with gold examined them.</p> - -<p>“Do you realise the varying shades?”</p> - -<p>McLagan was holding one bottle, searching its contents -closely.</p> - -<p>“This is pale sort of stuff,” he said.</p> - -<p>The banker looked at the label.</p> - -<p>“Reef gold from the Ubishi Hills. It was a poor -strike and petered out. Crystal quartz. And too hard -to work for the ordinary gold man. It needed big -capital.”</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded.</p> - -<p>“Hardly yellow at all,” he said. “Now this,” he -went on, holding up another bottle. “This has a richer -colour.”</p> - -<p>“Sure. But look where it’s from. The red copperous -gravel of Eighty Mile Creek. I’d say, next to -some of the big Australian finds, that’s one of the -handsomest colours known. Here’s another,” he went -on, thrusting another bottle into his visitor’s hand. -“It’s nigh as red. It’s like as two peas with the -African stuff, and some of the old Californian colour. -It might even be from West Australia. But it isn’t. -No, it’s Alaskan. And it’s creek gold.”</p> - -<p>“Where from?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t rightly say—yet. Maybe we’ll learn in -good time. We generally do. You see, it’s a sample -of the stuff brought in by a boy who’s working along -the Lias River territory. That boy I told you of -awhile back. The feller you beat over the head at the -Speedway the night of its festival. Pretty stuff.”</p> - -<p>McLagan was turning the bottle in his hand. He -rolled its contents over and over, intently examining -its colour and the texture of its grains.</p> - -<p>“It’s cleaner than most,” he said presently. “Looks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> -like it was washed by a pretty expert hand. It’s like -none of the others. Not even the Eighty Mile stuff. -Eighty Mile—that’s on the Canadian side.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.” Burns eased himself in his chair. “No. -It’s not like any of the other. It looks like tropical -stuff, and if I didn’t know better, I’d surely say it -was.”</p> - -<p>McLagan set the bottle down and sat gazing at it.</p> - -<p>“What is there there? An ounce?” he asked, without -raising his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Half, I’d guess.”</p> - -<p>“Can you sell me it?”</p> - -<p>Burns chuckled.</p> - -<p>“Why, I could, but——”</p> - -<p>“Will you?”</p> - -<p>McLagan was gazing squarely into the smiling -round face before him. The banker’s shrewd mind -was thinking quickly. He shook his head.</p> - -<p>“No,” he said. “You can have that bottle, a present -at my expense. I’m glad when a man like you gets -interested in our stuff. Some day, maybe, you’ll quit -oil for the other. But, say, won’t you tell me about -it? You’ve got me guessing.”</p> - -<p>“There just isn’t a thing to tell, Victor.”</p> - -<p>“Sure?”</p> - -<p>The banker’s eyes were looking squarely into the -other’s.</p> - -<p>“Not—now.”</p> - -<p>“I see.”</p> - -<p>McLagan had removed himself from the desk. He -still held the bottle with its sample of gold-dust in -his hand.</p> - -<p>Victor stood up and nodded comprehensively.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, boy,” he said. “If it’s any use,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> -keep that stuff. I’m shipping a mighty big dope of it -away by next mail. You’d be astonished if you knew -how much. Say, how’s that wreck down your way -making out? The folks are all guessing about it. A -lumber ship, ain’t it? Any news of the owners yet?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet,” McLagan replied. “Guess the seas’ll -break her to pieces in a while. Say, Victor, I’m -mighty obliged for our talk—and this.” He held up -the bottle and then set it in an inner pocket. Then -he thrust out a hand in farewell. “Guess I won’t see -you for quite awhile. When I do I’ll have big news -concerning oil for you. Are you looking to get in?”</p> - -<p>“Always.” The banker gripped the outstretched -hand.</p> - -<p>“Right. I’ll do the best I know for you when the -time comes. Thanks.”</p> - -<p>McLagan passed out on to the sidewalk again. Just -for a moment he stood deeply considering, then he -turned away and moved off in the direction where the -best dwelling-houses stood something apart from the -collection of hovels which made up by far the greater -proportion of the city’s home residences.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">McLagan Achieves an End</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">CLAIRE CARVER was alone in the sun-parlour, -which was one of the many small comforts she -had added to the square, frame building which, since -the bettering of her fortunes, had become her home. -She was occupying a large rocker-chair, engaged upon -a task hardly to be expected in a woman whose nights -were spent at the gaming tables of the Speedway, and -whose skill, and nerve, and capacity in holding her own -against the vulture-like flotsam haunting that gambling -hell, was a by-word of the countryside.</p> - -<p>Her busy needle was plying swiftly and skilfully -upon some intimate silken garment, the contemplation -of which gave her the deepest sense of womanly satisfaction. -A small table was near to her hand littered -with all the odds and ends which usually overflow a -woman’s work-basket. She was quite alone with her -work and her thoughts. She was even glad that her -mother was somewhere in the domestic quarters of the -house engaged, as was her wont at all times, upon -matters relating to creature comfort. She knew that -the older woman had found solace in their new life -and she was glad. She had found something like happiness -in the care of her one remaining offspring who -had become all in all to her since those days of her -earlier disaster.</p> - -<p>The afternoon was well advanced. The sun was -pouring out of the western sky, moving on with that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> -speed which ever seems to increase as the day progresses. -It was hot but pleasant. The day was quite -windless, and the hum of mosquitoes and flies was incessant -beyond the netting covering to the range of -open windows with which the place was almost completely -surrounded.</p> - -<p>After a while the girl looked up and her pretty -blue eyes were unsmiling. The satisfaction she had -in her work found no reflection in them. There was -even a suggestion of unhappiness in the preoccupation -of the gaze she turned upon the scene beyond the -netted windows.</p> - -<p>Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps there was weariness -of mind behind her eyes. Her beauty was no -less. There were no outward and visible signs of -wear for all the high pressure of the artificial sort -of life she lived. But the buoyancy, the intensity her -wonderful eyes usually displayed under the shaded -lights of the Speedway’s poker room were utterly lacking -now. It almost suggested that the fierce fires of -the gambler spirit had already begun to burn the youth -out of her.</p> - -<p>The scene beyond the netted windows seemed to -hold her. The city lay there sprawling on the lake -shore. A scattering of small dwellings intervened between -her and the main buildings. It was squalid. It -was as ugly as only a collection of primitive human -dwellings could make it. From where she sat she -could see the pretentious dome of Max’s Speedway, -which was the medium of her fortune. She could see -a flash of the sunlit waters of the lake, and then beyond, -overshadowing all the puny human handiwork, -rose the dark outline of the splendid hills of her childhood.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was the latter that held her, and in a moment the -precious silken garment upon which she had spent -more dollars than a year ago she could have spent -cents, was completely forgotten.</p> - -<p>Her thought had flung back to another life and its -people; folk, who, unlike herself, lived in the open and -the daylight. She was thinking of the rugged coast -with its fiercely alluring bays, its inlets and its upstanding -headlands. She was thinking of the rough, -strong man who lived in a home like an eagle’s eyrie -so that he could gaze upon God’s good world and -revel in those fierce, bracing elements which so appealed -to and matched his own nature. She remembered -that last recent meeting with him on the deck -of the wreck in the bay from which she had fled in -utter and complete panic.</p> - -<p>It was a moment not easily to be forgotten. She -still shrank from contemplating her own display of -weakness, but it robbed her of not one moment’s delight -in the memory of the quiet nerve and calm resolution -with which Ivor McLagan had reassured and -comforted her. Then she remembered the time when -he had deliberately picked her up in his arms and -helped her over the vessel’s side. He had done it without -a second thought, and as though he had been dealing -with some terrified child. And then she remembered -his plain face as it had smiled back into hers -over the side of the vessel as returning courage had -once more restored her confidence.</p> - -<p>He was quite plain and generally unsmiling for all -a certain humour she sometimes saw lying behind his -eyes. Then he was so harshly rough—at times. It -was not always so. And it was mostly manner. Oh, -she knew that, and she smiled softly to herself as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> -thought of the fashion in which he had sought to -drive her from the deck of that vessel. She sighed. -She liked him. She liked and trusted him. Nobody -could help liking him, she told herself. He was so -transparently honest and—and simple. Then she -smiled again, almost tenderly, as she reviewed those -scenes in which he and she had been the only actors. -How many were they? How many times had he -asked her to——?</p> - -<p>Her eyes sobered and her thought passed swiftly -to another man. It was the dark Italian face of Max -Lepende that shut out her vision of the other. The -thing she feared, the thing she had even discussed -with Ivor, was impending. Her woman’s instinct was -deeply perturbed as she thought of a little scene that -had occurred just as she was leaving the Speedway -the night before. Max had approached her as her -game broke up. She had had an especial run of good -luck. He came to her smiling, elaborate, and impressive -in his manner. He had asked her permission to -ride with her in her automobile to her home. There -was a bunch of “toughs” around, he told her. He -had had word of a possible hold-up. She must bank -with him for the night and he begged her to accept -his escort. Then had come the demonstration of the -man’s purpose. In the automobile he had produced a -jewelled pendant of great value. He had craved her -acceptance of it with all the display which his extravagant -manner made so sickening to her. He had almost -forced it upon her. But she had refused, definitely, -even coldly, and she had witnessed the instant -effect of her refusal upon him.</p> - -<p>The girl was more of a psychologist than perhaps -she knew. She had certainly learned to know something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> -of the man who ruled over the destinies of the -Speedway. She had watched Max as he returned the -pendant to its case. Driving the automobile, with her -eyes on the disreputable road, she had still been aware -of the sudden cold, hard light that had replaced the -smile in the man’s dark eyes, and noted the almost -vicious snap with which he closed the case over the -glittering jewels he had offered her. And in that moment -she had remembered her talk with Ivor on the -subject of this man, and was glad of it. It was good -to think of Ivor McLagan, with his plain strong face, -at such a moment. And the more so when the car -had stopped at her home, and Max had alighted and -was taking his leave of her. What were his parting -words? Oh, she remembered them. They were not -easily forgotten, and as much for their tone as their -text. He had spoken with the same old smile she -knew by heart, and which she knew to be as meaningless -as all the rest of his artificialities.</p> - -<p>“I guess the hold-up didn’t mature,” he had said. -“I sort of felt it wouldn’t, Claire, with me around. -You see, the folks of this city mostly have more sense -than to get across me. The toughest of them wouldn’t -take a chance that way. And they’re surely wise. I’m -feeling sore, my dear, you couldn’t feel like handling -that toy I was hoping to pass you. Think it over. -Don’t leave it the way it is. Get a sleep on it and -maybe, like that hold-up, you’ll think better of it.”</p> - -<p>It was a threat and the girl knew it. It was that -moment which she had long since contemplated when -she must choose between this smooth, unscrupulous -creature who had built his fortune upon the human -weakness of those about him, and abandoning the -precincts of the place which had represented salvation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> -to her in her darkest moments. Ivor was right. -“You’re going to get it if you keep on——” She remembered -his words. They were right. She had -known it at the time he had uttered them. And, somehow -she was glad and it comforted her, that it was -he who had uttered them, and begged her to quit the -game at the Speedway. Well——</p> - -<p>She turned her head sharply. She heard voices -talking beyond the parlour doorway. They were her -mother’s and another which she recognised instantly. -It was the voice of the man of whom she was thinking. -In a moment she had bundled the silken garment -in her lap out of sight.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There was no sign to indicate Claire’s mood of the -moment before. She was smiling up into McLagan’s -face, and the man was telling her without subterfuge -the object of his visit.</p> - -<p>“You see, Claire,” he said, “I had to come along -for two reasons. One is, I’m going right up into the -hills for a month or so and won’t be along back in -Beacon till summer’s nigh through and so I won’t see -you in quite awhile. And the other is——” He -laughed in his short, unmirthful fashion, “why—something -else.”</p> - -<p>The mother had left him to make his way to the -sun-parlour while she returned to her interrupted -labours. She was glad enough to do so. There was -never a moment in her simple life that she was completely -without hope of this man as a son-in-law.</p> - -<p>McLagan had sprawled his great body into a protesting -cane-rocker. The table, with its feminine litter -intervened between him and the woman who was the -most precious thing in all the world to him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Seeing there’s two reasons, I guess that’s so,” -Claire said slily. Then her smile lit anew. “But I’m -real glad you came along now, Ivor. I’d just have -hated you going along up to the hills and being away -all that time without seeing me first.” Then she -laughed outright. “Say, what’ll your tame spook be -doing with you away?”</p> - -<p>The man shook his head.</p> - -<p>“I don’t rightly know,” he said seriously. “Maybe -the sea’ll swallow him up. And I’d say it would be -good that way.” Then a deep light grew in his eyes. -“But it’s real kind of you saying that, Claire. I just -had to come along, anyway.”</p> - -<p>The girl wanted to ask him why. There was an -impulse, a quick, hot impulse to challenge him, and -somehow it was an impulse which only a brief while -ago would never have been stirring. But she refrained. -Instead she turned her eyes to the wide-open -windows, and gazed away at the hills of her childhood.</p> - -<p>“You see, I’ve got things to tell you—before I go. -And they’re important,” McLagan went on quietly.</p> - -<p>The girl’s gaze remained upon the hills so full of -memory for her. But suddenly her pulses had started -to hammer in a fashion so unruly that she was horrified -lest the man might be aware of it.</p> - -<p>“You mean about that—wreck?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. About that—wreck.”</p> - -<p>Claire sighed. Her pulses had suddenly sobered. -But the calm that replaced her moment of emotion -had no satisfaction in it. Now her gaze came back -to the man’s face. And the wide blue eyes were striving -for a smile of interest she did not feel.</p> - -<p>“Yes, tell me,” she said, with a pretence of eagerness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> -“It was all very mystifying and horrible. I -haven’t forgotten. I’d say it isn’t easy to forget that -sort of thing. My, I was scared.”</p> - -<p>McLagan began to grope in his pockets.</p> - -<p>“May I smoke?” He was holding up his cigar-case.</p> - -<p>“Surely,” the girl laughed. “Isn’t it queer? You -haven’t always asked that.”</p> - -<p>“No,” the man smiled back. He glanced about the -handsome loggia with its pretty comforts. “It’s queer -the way we change with circumstances.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Smoke up. I like the rougher things best. -Maybe I didn’t always feel that way. I’ve seen so -much of the smooth and shining since I came to Max’s -Speedway that I kind of like to think of the rough -granite I used to know back there in the hills.”</p> - -<p>McLagan glanced out of the window as he lit his -long, lean cigar.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said. “It’s stood up to things since the -world began. Say, kid, I want you to hand me anything -you can about—Jim. I mean, I know the story -you and your Mum handed me at the time. I know -all that, but—— Say, he’d made a real big strike in -Australia and was on his way back to home. Was he -bringing his stuff along? Or was it banked? What -were the plans he’d made? I sort of remember a long -letter he’d sent. Did he hand your Mum details?”</p> - -<p>Claire was startled. She sat up in her rocker and -one beautifully shaped hand was raised and passed -across her smooth brow. Then it rested for a moment -upon her wealth of ruddy hair.</p> - -<p>“We—we don’t know a thing, Ivor,” she said in -a low voice, as she gazed earnestly into his face. “Not -a thing but what you’ve heard from us. He’d made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> -a strike. I—I believe it was a wonderful strike. His -letter conveyed that. And he was on his way home -on the <i>Imperial</i> with the result of it. But whether -in dust or a bank credit I can’t even guess. Then the -ship sank, and he was drowned——”</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Not drowned,” he said.</p> - -<p>For some moments there followed complete silence.</p> - -<p>“But the ship sank. They picked up the S O S. -She’s never been heard of since. It was in mid-ocean. -And Jim—Jim has never been heard of again.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s protest came with swift passionate intensity.</p> - -<p>“The ship didn’t sink. And Jim wasn’t—drowned.”</p> - -<p>McLagan spoke in that queer rough fashion he -never failed to use in moments of deep conviction.</p> - -<p>Claire stared at him with questioning eyes. A -surge of emotion was driving through her. There -was such conviction in the man’s tone and manner. -Jim was not drowned. The <i>Imperial</i> did not sink. -Suddenly she leant forward.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, Ivor?” she urged in a tone -almost as rough as his. “Tell me. Tell me quick. -I must know. Jim’s alive. The <i>Imperial</i>——”</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think he’s alive. And the ship——”</p> - -<p>“You mean he’s dead—killed—maybe——”</p> - -<p>“Murdered for his stuff.”</p> - -<p>Again there fell a silence and the man watched the -face of the girl through the smoke of his cigar. Her -breath was coming quickly, and she was struggling -for composure. At last she steadied herself.</p> - -<p>“Ivor, tell me. Oh, tell me all you know. Don’t -keep me in suspense. I know. I see. It’s—it’s something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> -to do with that wreck and—and the shadow——” -She flung out one delicate finger, pointing, “That figure. -It—it—was—Jim’s—shadow. Oh!”</p> - -<p>The girl’s intuition had leapt. There was excitement, -passion, horror in that final ejaculation and the -man saw that it was no moment for delay. There -was a dreadful look in the beautiful eyes that were -gazing wildly into his. He removed his cigar.</p> - -<p>“Get a grip on yourself, little girl,” he said quickly, -and in that tone of gentleness he only rarely used. -“I’ll tell you what I know. It’s not a deal. But it’s -enough to say—to my mind—that Jim was murdered. -The wreck down on my coast is your Jim’s ship. That -I know beyond doubt. And that shadow—I don’t know -how it comes there, I don’t know the meaning of -ghostly shadows, but I guess I’ve convinced myself I’ve -recognised in that shadow a crazy sort of outline of -your Jim. Jim was a mighty big man and he had a -walk I’d recognise dead easy. Do you remember, kid, -that ghost, or whatever it was, was moving. It was -a queer figure of a man walking—towards us. Do you -remember? But of course you do. Do you know I -sort of recognised Jim’s walk in that thing’s movements?” -He shook his head with a puzzled, far-off -look in his eyes. “Guess, maybe, it’s fancy. Maybe -I’m all wrong. But, anyway, the notion’s back of my -head. Jim died right there on that deck. He was -killed—murdered—<em>while he was walking aft</em>.”</p> - -<p>He went on at once as the girl remained silent.</p> - -<p>“Who killed him? And why?” He shrugged his -great shoulders. “That’s the thing I’m going to find -out. Where’s the skipper and crew of that ship? -They quit her in fair weather. Why? Who changed -her name? Why? Why kill your brother? For his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> -wad? Sure. Not for any bank credit. Where’s his -partner, that boy, Len Stern? He’s not showed up.”</p> - -<p>Claire was listening to his every word with close -attention. Such was her intensity that her lips moved -as though she were repeating to herself the things he -said. The instant he ceased speaking, sharp and passionately -came her challenge.</p> - -<p>“You’ve more than that to tell, Ivor!” she cried. -“Tell it me. You must. Oh, you don’t know all this -means to me. You don’t know the ugly thing you’ve -raised up in me. Ivor—Ivor—! I think I could kill -the man who murdered our Jim with my own two -hands. He was my brother. He hadn’t a thought but -for us. There’s not a thing in all the world I wouldn’t -do to—to hand those folks who murdered him the -justice they need. It just frightens me the way I -feel. Tell me.”</p> - -<p>“There isn’t a thing more to tell now, Claire. There -surely isn’t. I don’t know a thing yet but what I’ve -told you. But I mean to know.”</p> - -<p>“And then you’ll come to me—and tell me?”</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Ther’ll be no need.” The man sat forward in his -chair, and reaching out one hand it closed over -the slim hand of the girl, which, in her urgent emotion, -had been laid upon her work-table. His whole -manner had softened from his threat against those he -was seeking. And, listening to him, the girl grew -calm under the influence of his gentle tone of supreme -confidence. “Say, Claire, I’ve asked for the right to -fix things for you. I’ve asked, and you’ve always refused. -Well, I’m asking nothing now. I’m just telling -you. Jim was your brother. Well, I’m just taking -to myself the right to get after the folks who’ve killed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> -him. You can’t stop me. No one can. And when -I’ve located ’em, when I’ve got ’em where I need ’em, -they’ll be dealt with, sure as God, in the fashion they -deserve. It’s my right which you can’t deny me. Jim -was a friend of mine and I love his sister better than -life. No,” he went on, in the same gentle tone, as the -girl released her hand from his. “I’m making no -break. I’m not asking a thing. I’m just telling you the -straight fact, and assuring you of the thing my mind’s -fixed on. Maybe I’ve made you angry. I can’t help -it. I don’t want to. There’s not a thing farther from -my mind. I want you to get the fact I’m claiming a -right the world, and you, can’t deny me. Now I want -you to try and forget all about it.”</p> - -<p>“How can I forget it all?”</p> - -<p>The girl shook her head. The trouble in her eyes -was almost painful. But through it all there was something -gazing out upon this big plain creature which -anybody but he must have interpreted without a second -thought.</p> - -<p>“To you Jim has been dead nearly a year,” McLagan -said. “It’s just as it was. Only the circumstances are -different—now.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t mean that.”</p> - -<p>“What did you mean?”</p> - -<p>The man was startled. In an instant a flush dyed -his weather-stained cheek. Then it paled abruptly. -He turned and flung his cigar at an open window. It -hit the netting and fell on the floor. He sprang up -and collected it again and turned to the girl sitting with -her face turned away so that he only beheld the charm -of its profile.</p> - -<p>“Claire?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Ivor?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Would it worry you if I made another bad break?”</p> - -<p>The girl shook her head.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so, Ivor.”</p> - -<p>The man smoothed back his unruly hair.</p> - -<p>“Here, I want to get it clear. There’s just one sort -of break I feel like making.”</p> - -<p>His tone was rough and contained nothing of his -real feelings.</p> - -<p>The girl inclined her head and her eyes came frankly -to his face. She read the doubt there. She read a -whole lot more.</p> - -<p>“I only seem to remember one sort of break,” she -said, with the dawn of a smile that was irresistible.</p> - -<p>“Thank God!”</p> - -<p>In a moment all doubt had passed out of the man’s -eyes. He was smiling with all the transparent happiness -of a schoolboy. He came over to the girl’s chair, -and, reaching down, took possession of both her yielding -hands. She stood up, tall and slight, and infinitely -beautiful in her pretty afternoon frock.</p> - -<p>“Now the right is doubly mine, little girl,” he said. -“And, by God! there’s no one on this darn old earth -going to rob me of it. Mine, eh? Mine at last!” And -caught her up in his arms.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">McLagan Returns from the Hills</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">McLAGAN surveyed the litter strewn about the -beach. It was a queer collection. There were -two upturned boats with their white seams smeared -and daubed heavily with tar. They were hardly recognisable -as the well-painted lifeboats that had once stood -on the boat deck of the wreck lying on the far shore -of the bay. A wealth of ship’s ropes sprawled upon -the shingle. Ropes collected as a result of sheer covetousness -rather than from a point of view of utility. -Many of them were great hawsers and of no use whatsoever -in the sort of sailing that Sasa Minnik undertook. -Then there were heavy cable chains, and ship’s -buckets. There was a great store of tumbled ship’s -canvas. There were pots and pans and tools of every -description. There were an array of lumber, too, and -blankets, and plates, and knives and forks and dishes. -It was an amazing collection of sheer loot which only -the undisciplined mind of the half-breed could have -prompted. And it had been amassed in the two months -and more that McLagan had been away on his trip -up into the hills.</p> - -<p>For some moments the white man regarded the collection -with frowning eyes. Then his gaze came back -to the sturdy figure of his servant whose dark features -were screwed up into that which the other interpreted -as a grin of sublime predatory satisfaction. His own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> -eyes were deadly serious for all the smile lurking behind -them.</p> - -<p>“Sasa,” he said quietly, “you always were a rogue -and a thief and a liar, but I never guessed you were -a bigger rogue than coward. The temptation of all -this loot was too much even for your scare, eh? -You’ve been aboard that wreck, and you’ve looted it -from end to end. I guess I ought to beat you. I surely -ought. But I’m not going to. No. It kind of seems -to me your low-down thieving nature’s knocked something -that’s even worse out of you—your rotten scare -of that ship. And that’s surely to the good. For me -you can keep your junk. But I don’t know what’ll -happen when the big Commissioner knows the thief -you are. Maybe he’ll have you hanged by your neck. -You helped save my life when that guy wanted it bad. -But I don’t see how I’m going to butt in when the big -Commissioner gets busy on you.”</p> - -<p>The half-breed was undisturbed by the threat. -The creases on his ugly face only deepened and he -shook his head.</p> - -<p>“The big man, Commissioner, not say nothing, boss,” -he said. “He come by ship. I tak him by ’em. Oh, -yes. An’ I say him: ‘Dis junk. It not nothing bimeby. -The sea all have ’em. Why not Sasa have ’em?’ An’ -him big man say: ‘Sasa have him all much plenty what -he darn please.’ So I tak ’em all dis thing much. -An’ bimeby plenty much more. Maybe bimeby I mak -’em good trade. Oh, yes.”</p> - -<p>“I see. Boss Goodchurch has been around?”</p> - -<p>“Sure, boss. He come with him mans two. Him -look an’ look. Him see all thing plenty, but not the -devil spirit. Oh, no.” The man’s eyes widened at -the mere memory of the terrible shadow he still feared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> -so dreadfully. “Him no sun when big man come. -Him not see. No. Then Sasa think big much. Sasa -say: ‘No sun, no devil spirit.’ It good. Sasa go by -ship when no sun. He wait. The sun him go down in -sea. It good. Bimeby Sasa get all thing that way. -Yes.”</p> - -<p>McLagan laughed, and the half-breed grinned back -at him.</p> - -<p>“You’re all sorts of a scoundrel, anyway, Sasa.”</p> - -<p>“Sasa much wise man.”</p> - -<p>The man’s final retort was quite unanswerable, and -the white man left it at that.</p> - -<p>He glanced out over the grey, cold-looking waters. -The whole bay was more than usually desolate and -bleak now that the height of summer had spent itself. -The fall lay ahead. It was already in the atmosphere. -That swiftly passing fall, when days shorten mercilessly -and the nights grow in length with the coming -of the fierce season when the interminable northern -light makes life a burden hard to bear. His absence -of ten weeks was a slice out of the northern summer -that left little enough of a season in which the heart of -man can rejoice.</p> - -<p>He had completed his work—that urgent work -which meant so much to his Corporation, and to himself, -and those who shared in his labours. But he -knew that the importance of it by no means ended -there. In the end it would mean the complete establishment -of the whole region, and the well-being of -those adventurers who had made it their hunting -ground. It had been ten weeks of enthralling labour -crowned by a success of which even he had hardly -dared to dream. All he had suspected, hoped for, all -the astute Peter Loby had assured him of, had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> -proved beyond any element of doubt. The greatest -coal and oil belt the world had ever known had been -definitely discovered.</p> - -<p>It ran right back from within sixty miles of the -coast sheer through the hill country across into -Canadian territory. And beyond that it was almost -impossible to say how much it occupied of that chaotic -region. The work had been hard. There had been -times when breaking trail by river and portage through -well-nigh unexplored regions was almost fierce. But -nothing had deterred, nothing had deflected his purpose. -His investigation had been as complete as the -time permitted. And now he had returned to his home -on the bay with a rough draft map sufficiently detailed -for the purposes of obtaining at Washington and Ottawa -the coveted concessions.</p> - -<p>But his return had been an even greater triumph -than that. After all, the work of survey had been -something prospective. It was a wide searching forward -for the future. It was something appealing to his -engineering mind, and would doubtless appeal to the -men of finance supporting him. But it would mean -infinitely less to those folk in Beacon who were yearning -for the immediate. The appeal of the immediate -was awaiting his return to camp.</p> - -<p>The great news reached him on the river fully three -days east of his oil camp. It came by a special river -man who had been despatched to locate his outfit. The -man had been sent with an urgent recall. For the -lesser men in the camp, in the absence of their chiefs, -found themselves incapable of dealing with the amazing -situation that had arisen. A gusher had broken -out at “Number eight” drill. It was a tremendous -gusher at a drilling that had given no sign of the oil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> -they were about to strike. It had come in a flood that -looked like thousands of barrels a day, a stream for -which their preparations were wholly inadequate. So -the urgency of the despatch.</p> - -<p>That was more than a week ago now. They had -speeded home in a delirium of anticipation. And even -their anticipation failed to approach the reality. The -thing was infinitely greater than the fancy of the messenger -had painted it, and the difficulties of its control -were immense. But their presence was a tremendous -spur, and the genius of Loby did the rest. At length -order was achieved out of chaos, and all chance of -permanent disaster was averted.</p> - -<p>Now McLagan was on his way to Beacon with his -amazing news. All sorts of urgent work lay before -him. But on one thing he was fully determined. Whoever -else must wait, Claire should be the first person -to learn of the triumph in which his work of this drab -grey coast was about to terminate.</p> - -<p>His mood was a happy one in which to greet the -henchman who served him so faithfully. Little wonder -then there was a smile behind the eyes witnessing -the half-breed’s demonstration of human cupidity. -Even he found it difficult to administer the necessary -chiding. In a few hours’ time he would be in Beacon -with his sensational news that would send the stocks -of his Corporation soaring sky high. He would be -gazing into wonderful eyes which had been one long -tantalizing dream to him during the week of his labours. -He would be holding Claire’s fair slim body -in a tight embrace, and telling her of the great things -Fortune had cast for them. It was all so very, very -good to contemplate.</p> - -<p>It was really all too good to permit of the obtrusion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> -of lesser things. But McLagan refused to yield to his -natural excitement. There were other things which -must not be ignored. And the sense of their importance -was the more deeply impressed upon him as he -contemplated Sasa Mannik with his collection on the -beach, and the desperate shape which had befallen the -pitiful wreck lying at the far side of the bay.</p> - -<p>Even from the distance the inroads of the storming -tides were discernible. The battering of the vessel’s -hull was pathetic. There were added gashes in the -poor thing’s sides where her lumber cargo somehow -contrived to protrude. There was no longer a stitch -of canvas upon her yards to scare the sea-fowl with its -whipping in the chill wintry breeze blowing in off the -ocean. Whether or not this was due to Sasa’s depredations -it was impossible to tell. It might be. All her -gear was limply adrift, and her yards were lying sadly. -She was leaning at a perilous angle, and the tides had -driven her farther up on to the rocks. One real great -storm and anything might happen to her.</p> - -<p>McLagan turned again to his henchman.</p> - -<p>“Well? What you been doing besides loading down -the beach with all this junk?”</p> - -<p>“I fish by the Lias.”</p> - -<p>The half-breed had lowered his tone significantly. -And McLagan sought to penetrate the close mask of -immobility which seemed to have settled upon the -man’s features.</p> - -<p>The white man permitted a shadowy smile.</p> - -<p>“Did you make a swell catch?”</p> - -<p>“Maybe, yes. Maybe, no.” Sasa shrugged. “I mak -big look for the man who mak shoot you all up. I -think big. Plenty big. I say, this man. Maybe I find -him. Yes. Boss all say plenty Sasa big coward. Him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> -frightened of fool jack-rabbit. I mak find this man. -Then I show him. I kill him all up dead.”</p> - -<p>McLagan laughed.</p> - -<p>“But you didn’t find him,” he said slily.</p> - -<p>Sasa shook his black head.</p> - -<p>“No,” he said simply. “So he live. But I find -some thing. Yes. I mak find cave. Oh, yes. It -camp for man. I know him. It all mak clean not so -as an Eskimo camp.”</p> - -<p>He chuckled quietly. “Him all swep clean. So. -An’ so.” He took his cap from his mane of hair and -a sweeping gesture illustrated his words. “Maybe -him camp this man. Oh, yes.” He returned his head-gear -to its place. “I watch him. Long time. Yes. -No. He not come. An’ bimeby I go. Yes.”</p> - -<p>“That was the ‘some thing’?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. An’—another some thing.”</p> - -<p>“Ah.” McLagan’s tone was interested but he -glanced away seawards. Then, quite abruptly, he indicated -the house on the cliff. “We’ll get right back -to home,” he said. “You can hand me your yarn as we -go. You’ll have to get food right away. I’m beating -into Beacon as soon as I’ve eaten. You’ll need to stop -around this bay till I’m through an’ get back. Guess, -since the Commissioner doesn’t kick, you can go right -on collecting your junk till the beach is like a ship’s -store. I don’t care a curse what you do so you don’t -quit it. See? The fish can wait.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>McLagan’s journey into Beacon was made at his -usual reckless speed. But unlike his usual habit he did -not drive straight to the Plaza Hotel. It might have -been expected that bearing such news as he was conveying -to the city he would have sought out the one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> -place whence its circulation would have been the most -rapid. Then there was Claire. A wild desire was -urging him to go straight to the square frame-built -home that had now become almost the whole focus of -his life. But he resisted it. For once in his life he -entered the city almost secretly. His speed had been -furious, and his ponies were well nigh tuckered out, -as, in the wintry cool of the evening he drew up outside -a remote livery barn that stood on the farthest -outskirts of the city.</p> - -<p>The man’s plans were clearly designed. There was -no hesitation. There was no deviation from the line he -had marked out for himself. It was dark when he -turned his spent team over to the proprietor of the -barn. He gave strict and minute instructions for the -care of the weary beasts. Then he set out on foot, -and the darkness swallowed him up.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It would have been difficult to associate shadows -with Claire’s smiling blue eyes, raised as they were so -happily to the rugged face of Ivor McLagan. His -embrace showed no signs of yielding. It was an embrace -that expressed all the pent feeling of those weeks -of absence which haunting memory had so desperately -prolonged. Yet only a moment before his coming a -deep depression had reigned where now there were -only happy smiles. So it had been for much of -the time of his absence.</p> - -<p>The girl gently withdrew herself from his arms. It -was as though the riot of her own feelings was such -as to demand restraint. She laughed happily. And -she strove to hold a torrent of questions in check.</p> - -<p>“Why, Ivor,” she cried almost reproachfully, “I -hadn’t a notion you were within miles of the city.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> -When I heard your dear old voice laughing and jollying -Mum in the hall-way, I could have shouted for joy. -I surely could. When did you get through? When -did you get in?”</p> - -<p>She moved to a big rocker chair and pulled it forward. -She led him towards it and McLagan dropped -his big body into it with a content that was shining in -every line of his plain face. Then she drew up her -own chair near to him.</p> - -<p>“Why, last evening.”</p> - -<p>“Last evening?”</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded, and his smile deepened at the -girl’s tone of reproach. He spread out his hands in -a gesture that was meant to disarm.</p> - -<p>“It had to be that way, kid,” he said. “It just had -to be. I could have beat it right along to here. But -if I had I’d never have quit to fix all the stuff that -helped to bring me along back here to you. Say, I -hadn’t a minute till now that I haven’t been on the dead -run. And when I’ve told you you’ll be glad. I wasn’t -getting around here till I could sit and bask right along -in the only smile that makes a feller’s life worth while.”</p> - -<p>He eased himself in his chair. Then he reached -out and possessed himself of the arm of the girl’s -chair. His great hand closed over it, and, with consummate -ease, he drew it up to his. They were facing -each other, and so close that the polished arms of the -chairs touched side by side. He glanced quickly round -the sun-parlour. The door into the hall-way had been -discreetly closed by the mother, whose fondest hopes -had at last been realised. She had beaten a retreat to -the domestic quarters which conveniently claimed her.</p> - -<p>The place still contrived to trap all the sunlight of -the late summer day. The full heat of the season had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> -long since passed. The wide open windows were no -longer netted, for the not infrequent night frosts had -done much to banish the torment of flies and mosquitoes.</p> - -<p>Claire’s reproach had vanished. She was content.</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” she said eagerly. “I’m just crazy for all -that’s—happened. It’s been so long, Ivor.” She -laughed a little self-consciously. “Oh dear, you know -I just hated the weeks till they’d passed.”</p> - -<p>“They didn’t worry you worse than me,” the man -returned. “And yet, I don’t know. Maybe they did. -You see, you hadn’t the thing I had to—say, kid.” -He sat up in his chair. He leant forward. Reaching -out he took possession of the slim hands lying in her -lap, those hands he had so often marvelled over in their -deft manipulation of the cards in the Speedway’s -poker room. “I’ve hit the biggest thing this world can -show a feller in the work that’s mine. Gee!” he -breathed deeply, while his eyes narrowed as they gazed -into the beautiful eager face before him. “I’m through -with it all. I’m through—almost—with Beacon. -We’re going to get right out. You and me and your -Mum. We’re going where we can live in sunshine all -the year round, where there’s no skitters and blizzards, -and no muck. Do you get me, little girl? It’s right -up to you to hand the word. We’re going to get married, -you and me, just as soon as you say it. And for -the sake of all that’s merciful, let it be before the winter -closes down.”</p> - -<p>Claire laughed happily.</p> - -<p>“I guess you’ve fallen plumb off the main trail!” she -cried delightedly. “You—you—great big, queer old -thing. Now, you sit right back in that chair. My -hands are good an’ comfortable in my lap. You’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> -got to sit around the same as if I was your most important -director, and, as my official mining engineer, -hand me your report so I can pass it on to the shareholders -and keep them good—tempered. Now begin.”</p> - -<p>McLagan laughed. It was the laugh of a man whose -delight was sheer obedience to a woman’s will. He -obeyed her literally. He released her hands reluctantly -enough and sat back. Then his smile faded out and -Claire fancied she detected weariness in his serious -eyes.</p> - -<p>“It’s easy making that report to you. You won’t -need the maps, and those figures a real director needs. -Here it is, kid. We’ve hit a belt of territory with a -world’s coal and oil supply in it. We’re in first and -we’ll have the concession before a news sheet can grab -a detail. That’s that. Coal? There’s hundreds of -miles of mountains of it within a hundred miles of the -coast. Say, in two years’ time, there’ll be a railroad -from here to our territory, and from here to the coast -where the mail boat only stands off at present. In a -few years there’ll be a city twice Beacon’s size right -down there on the coast where now ther’s only a fool -sort of landing and a bunch of longshore guys. But -that isn’t all, kid. No. That’s all to come. The real -thing, the big thing that’ll set Beacon whooping crazy -is right there at our borings. ‘No. 8’ sprang a -gusher on us. They’re capturing thousands of barrels -of the stuff. It’s the biggest oil flood I’ve seen -in fifteen years of a life mussed up in oil. Do you -get it?”</p> - -<p>The girl nodded. A light of real excitement was -shining in her eyes and her oval cheeks were flushed to -something of the hue of her beautiful hair. She -breathed deeply.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, I think I understand. Surely I do,” she cried, -and her hands clasped each other tightly. “It’s the big -thing of your life, Ivor. It’s your triumph. It’s all -you’ve been patiently working for. I know. We’ve -often talked of it. Work. Always work. Disappointment. -Always disappointment. And then—oh, yes, -I know. And Beacon. That city that’s always been -in your mind. That ‘muck-hole,’ as you’ve always -called it. In one bound you—you will have lifted it -right up to a swell prosperity where there won’t be any -need for the conditions you’ve always hated to see -lying around. It’s your complete triumph. Your big -thing.”</p> - -<p>“It should be.” The man laughed without mirth.</p> - -<p>“Should be? It is.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s enthusiasm was met with a shake of the -head.</p> - -<p>“I thought that way, little girl. I guess the notion -set me nigh crazy. The sort of junk I handed up to -the gods of fortune would have set you laffing if you’d -seen into my head when I knew about the thing we’d -hit. That was at first. Then I came along down to -home and stood up on that hill and took a peek below. -There was the wreck. It’s the wreck of the ship that -was bringing your Jim home. And then I guess the -gods for fortune must have got worried. I hadn’t a -notion of handing ’em up any more junk. The whole -darn thing left me cold. I told myself right there -ther’s bigger things in life than simple success. Much -bigger! And amongst ’em, and maybe biggest of ’em -all is the woman who reckons to move along down the -trail of life with you, and all the things that go to -make up her life. Her sufferings are yours, her joys -and sorrows, and—and—no, little kid, the sight of that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> -wreck got me right away. And I knew that the other -didn’t matter. I wasn’t through with my work. I’d -still got it to do. And so I came along. And that’s -why I didn’t get around, for all I was crazy to, until -now.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s eyes had grown very tender as she listened -to the queer rough tones of this man as he unconsciously -laid bare his soul to her. There was no -smiling response. Only a nod. But it told McLagan -all he wanted to know. She, too, was caught again in -the terrible tragedy that had robbed her of a brother.</p> - -<p>“You’re the first to hear these things,” he went on -quietly. “Not a soul else in Beacon knows a thing. -Not even Victor, at the Bank. No, I kept it for you. -And you’re going to keep it close till I say. I’ve been -on the dead run. I’ve been so busy ... but, there, -little girl, there’s things I can tell you and things I -can’t. Maybe there’s some things you’ll never know. -It don’t matter. The thing I want to hand you right -away is we’ve had word from Len Stern. Goodchurch -sent out word about that ship. He asked about it. -And the authority told him she was supposed lost in -mid-ocean. That was that. We knew. We’d got that. -But we were playing big. I guessed our only chance -of things was a hope of the message getting to Len -Stern, if he was alive. It did. The news sheets took -up our inquiry and it found him in Perth, Western -Australia. He cabled Goodchurch he was sailing just -after I’d set out for the hills. Two weeks back Goodchurch -got word from Seattle. The boy would be -along up right away. We figure he’ll be at the coast -to-morrow and I’m going right down to meet him. I -want his story bad. I want it. And when I got that, -maybe——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> - -<p>He broke off, and a deep, almost savagely brooding -light was shining in his contemplative eyes as he -surveyed the table that still contained the litter of the -needlework with which Claire passed so much of her -leisure.</p> - -<p>“Won’t you tell me, Ivor? Can’t you?” The girl -had reached out, and, for a moment, one of her hands -rested on his, supported on the arm of his chair.</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head and the girl’s hand was -withdrawn.</p> - -<p>“Leave all this to me, Claire,” he said with something -of his old brusqueness. “I’m right or I’m wrong. -If I’m right——”</p> - -<p>Again he broke off. And Claire saw the muscles of -his clean-shaven jaws constrict. Somehow the sight -left her with no desire to press him further.</p> - -<p>“No, my dear,” he went on, with added gentleness, -“you carry right on. This thing’ll be through in a few -weeks now, one way or the other. All my own work -is fixed. When the other’s cleared up, then ther’s only -to close up my shanty at the coast and come right -along in to wait for my folks—my directors. After -that, we’ll beat it from Beacon. And my work at -Washington and Ottawa ’ll help to hand us quite a swell -honeymoon. Does that fix you? Will you——”</p> - -<p>The girl nodded, and the man leant back again with -an air of great content.</p> - -<p>“That’s fixed sure,” he said. “You’ll just carry right -on at your beloved Speedway.”</p> - -<p>The girl shook her head.</p> - -<p>“The time’s come for me to quit,” she said quietly.</p> - -<p>Claire was smiling, but somehow her smile was unconvincing. -McLagan was sitting bolt upright. His -eyes had suddenly narrowed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>It was a throw-back to all that was roughest in him. -Again the girl shook her head.</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>The man’s tone was unchanged. It was compelling. -For another moment Claire hesitated. She remembered -the fashion in which he had hurled himself to -her defence before, and the thought of the thing he -might do caused her hesitation. It was the simple -truth, or complete denial. The latter was impossible. -She laughed a little mirthlessly.</p> - -<p>“It’s the thing we once talked of,” she said.</p> - -<p>“You mean—Max?”</p> - -<p>Claire nodded.</p> - -<p>“What is it? Tell me?”</p> - -<p>“It was the night before—before I saw you last.”</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded. His eyes were almost savage.</p> - -<p>“He told me there was word of a hold-up for my -automobile. He offered to accompany me. He assured -me no ‘hold-up’ would happen with him there. -It didn’t. In the automobile he offered me jewellery. -I refused it. Then he said something. Do you want -what he said?”</p> - -<p>“Every word.” There was a grim clipping to the -man’s words.</p> - -<p>Accustomed as Claire was to fend for herself; accustomed -as she was to think and act without reference -to anything but her own judgment and inclination, there -was something that excited and thrilled her in the simple -act of yielding to this man’s will. It was something -so new—something which, for all her independence, -appealed to the woman in her. He was so strong. He -was so ruthlessly rough. But for all her delight in -him a queer apprehension lay back in her mind.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It was when he left me at the door here,” she said -slowly. “What was it? Yes, I remember.” She -laughed. “It isn’t easy to forget. ‘I guess the hold-up -didn’t mature. I sort of felt it wouldn’t, Claire, with -me around. You see, the folk of this city have more -sense than to get across me. The toughest of them -wouldn’t take a chance that way. And they’re surely -wise. I’m feeling sore, my dear, you couldn’t feel like -handling that toy I was hoping to pass you. Think it -over. Don’t leave it the way it is. Get a sleep on it -and maybe, like the hold-up, you’ll think better of it.’”</p> - -<p>“It was a threat?”</p> - -<p>The set of the man’s face was a match for his tone. -There was anger, hot anger in the eyes which Nature -had designed so admirably for frowning. The girl -nodded.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. And I remembered our talk. And I -knew it was quitting time. I thought and thought. -Oh, I thought so hard. I didn’t want to quit. I -wanted to—to fight it out. You know, Ivor, I’m foolish -that way. I’d got all the money I needed, but it -was the thought of quitting because of—because I’m a -woman and he’s a man. I didn’t quit. No, I went on. -But I refused his jewellery. I refused his every advance. -And then I realised. Things seemed to change -somehow, I can’t tell you how. The rest of the women -acted differently. The servants in the place. Oh, the -boys didn’t. And then one day Jubilee forgot to say -fool stuff. He didn’t say much, but it was characteristic. -He said, ‘The Queen is dead. Long live the -Republic.’ I turned on him at once. I said, ‘You -mean she’s deposed.’ His face was dead serious for -once. He said: ‘Same thing or worse. They’ve a way -of beheading deposed monarchs.’ Then his queer eyes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> -followed Max as he moved about the dance-room for -a while, and then he looked round on me. He said, -‘Say, Claire, why not quit with the boodle? It makes -a revolution sick to death when anyone gets away -with the stuff they reckon to handle for themselves.’ -I guess I managed to laugh, but there wasn’t a laugh -back of my mind. I thought of you, Ivor. And—two -days later I got a queer note. Here it is. You can -read it.”</p> - -<p>She took a folded paper from the bosom of her frock -and passed it to the man whose curious silence and -seeming rigidity while she told her story set a feeling -of apprehension stirring in the girl. McLagan took -the paper and unfolded it. And his unsmiling eyes -perused its contents:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>You don’t need to worry. The Light of the Aurora is -shining, and by its light all things are seen, all things are -known.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">For The Chief Light of the Aurora, </span><br /> -A Lesser Light.<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>McLagan passed back the paper without a sign, without -a word. And the girl went on.</p> - -<p>“You know that note’s given me a notion, Ivor. Oh, -I haven’t worried since I got that. And not a thing -has happened. I haven’t even seen Max. But I’ve -seen the boys one way and another. Those boys who’ve -never failed to be good to me. They’re just the same. -But to my mind there’s just one feller could have -worded that note that way. It’s Jub—”</p> - -<p>McLagan stirred.</p> - -<p>“Leave it at that, Claire,” he broke in quickly. “It -don’t matter who wrote it. But I’m kind of glad for -that note, seeing I was away. But I’m right here now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> -and you belong to me.” He stood up. He moved to -an open window. For some moments he stood there -with his back turned silently gazing out on the distant -dome of the Speedway.</p> - -<p>Claire watched him. His square shoulders seemed -to fill up the whole of the window opening. He was -so big and strong, and——</p> - -<p>“Ivor!”</p> - -<p>Her voice was low but urgent. The man turned -after a moment and Claire drew a sharp breath. His -face was almost livid with a consuming rage. He -came back to her and stood before her chair.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to settle with Max,” he said, through -lips that scarcely moved. “No,” he denied, as Claire -was about to protest. “It’s up to me,” he went on -harshly. “That dirty Dago swine threatened you and -would have carried out his threat if those Aurora boys -hadn’t jumped in. Don’t you see? I do. Max would -have put a bunch of sharps on to you. He’d have got -at you by every trick of his dirty Dago mind until he’d -got you skinned of your last dollar and were ready -to squeal for mercy. Then, utterly helpless, he’d—— By -God! he’s going to pay. He’s going to pay me. -He’s fat and rich out of the weaknesses of the poor -folk of this city, is he? We’ll see. We’ll——”</p> - -<p>“No, no, Ivor!” Claire sprang from her chair. Her -hands were held out in appeal. The terrible purpose -shining in the man’s eyes frightened her. “Don’t do -a thing. My dear, my dear, there’s been no harm -done. Think of it. Thanks to those folk of the Aurora -Clan, I’ve a complete laugh on him. I’ve a fortune, -almost, in Victor’s bank. What does it matter? -Sure it doesn’t, and then—and then in the fall we’ll -be married and away from Beacon. No, no, Ivor,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> -don’t look that way! Don’t act that way. You scare -me. Besides, he’s powerful. He can buy up the toughs -of this place. You might get—— No, boy, I can’t -spare you now. I can’t! I surely won’t! Ivor, promise -me.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s appeal was not without effect. The man’s -ferocity seemed to ease. And she almost fancied a -smile was somewhere back of his eyes. He shook his -head.</p> - -<p>“Max will have to pay—me,” he said grimly. “You -don’t need to worry for me, Claire. Max can do -nothing to hurt—me.”</p> - -<p>“But he can. He will. He——”</p> - -<p>The girl’s protest died weakly away. She caught -her breath. A flash of thought swept through her -mind as she gazed into the stern, strong face she had -learned at last to love so deeply.</p> - -<p>Then the silence was broken. And it was she who -was speaking again.</p> - -<p>“Ivor,” she said, in low, gentle tones, but in a -manner which plainly displayed her resolve. “If anything -happens to Max through what I’ve told you, I’ll—I’ll -never forgive you. I know what I’m saying—I’m -saying it for you. Do you understand, dear? My -love for you is so big that I won’t have you fall for a -personal animosity. No, no! I won’t stand for it. -I want you to remember, too, that but for Max and his -Speedway I’d still be doing our rags of laundry down -on Lively Creek. Remember that. I’ve beaten the -game and I’m going to quit.”</p> - -<p>The man raised a hand and passed it over his hair.</p> - -<p>“You mean all that, Claire?” he asked.</p> - -<p>The girl gazed squarely up into his hot eyes.</p> - -<p>“I surely do, dear. There will be no——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Don’t say it, little girl.” The man’s smile had -broken out at last. “I know. There’ll be no marrying -me in the fall. But there will.” He reached out and -caught her in his arms. “There will be, my dear, because -Max can go clear for me. I’ll not do a thing -since you ask it, since you order it. No, little girl, -don’t look questions at me, an’ don’t ask ’em. I can -see them back of your dandy eyes. I just love you -to death, and I want you to feel the game of life as -I see it needs to be a straight one. I’m quitting now. -I’ve still got things to do. To-morrow I’m going to -pick up Len at the coast. He and I’ll have big work -for maybe a week. After that I’m through, and I’ll -bring him right along to tell you of your Jim. So -long, little Claire. I guess that note’ll still stand good. -You’ll be safe till I get along back.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The daylight was passing as McLagan left Claire’s -home. He hurried away down the unmade road leading -back into the eastern purlieus of the city. He came -abreast of the Speedway which had so many turbulent -reminders for him. But he passed it by, and thrust -from him the leaping anger the sight of it inspired. -He crossed over to the Plaza Hotel where he ate a -hurried meal. Then, later, he passed again out into the -night and his way lay westwards where the moonlight -waters of the lake shone still and cold.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Last of the Moving Shadow</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">McLAGAN was nursing his team. For once his -driving speed was moderated. But then he -knew the call he had yet to make upon his ponies. -They had already made the journey from Beacon to -the coastal harbour, which, one day, in his dreams, -he visualized as a flourishing seaport, the rail base of -a fresh route to the great interior radiating about -Beacon Glory. Miles away to the West lay the port -of Seward where the Government railroad, cutting in -to the heart of Alaska, began its hopelessly unprofitable -career towards Fairbanks. But no thought of -such a failure attached to the railroad in his mind. -Oil and coal would preclude all possibility of that. -Furthermore the vast capital of his Corporation lay -behind him. And lack of capital was the thing which -had so far made a failure of the Alaskan peninsula -which had at one time been known as “Seward’s -Folly.”</p> - -<p>Now he was leaving the coast behind again, and -beside him, on the spring seat of his buckboard, was -the bronzed creature he had come in search of. The -man’s baggage was enduring the violent joltings of -the trail on the rack behind them as the two men -talked of the thing which had at last brought them -together again.</p> - -<p>“It sort of seems like yesterday I was in Beacon,” -Len Stern said after awhile, gazing out over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> -broken hill country through which they were driving. -“Say, I mind the landmarks as if I’d never quit. You -know, for all it’s a tough proposition it’s my home -country in a way. I don’t mean I was born here. -No! I’d hate to think that. But—Gee! I was glad -quitting Perth. Man, I’ve had heat enough to make -a feller need blankets in hell.”</p> - -<p>There was a smile in the dark eyes of the man who -had journeyed thousands of miles to answer the call -which the other had sent out on the sound waves. -Perhaps his answer had been the more ready for the -fact of those memories stirring now.</p> - -<p>McLagan shook up his ponies.</p> - -<p>“Well, we could do with some of it around this -territory in winter, Len. But it’s a queer sort of -‘come-back’ for you. Maybe it’s tough. I don’t know -how you’re fixed. We haven’t had a deal of time to -talk that sort of stuff. But I fetched you along, and -I want to say right here, if it makes things better for -you, you’re my guest all the way from Perth to here -and back again, if you want to go. I want to tell -you I’ve hit a trail that’s likely going to set your eyes -wide, and make you guess you’re dreaming. But you -won’t be dreaming. No. You’ll be wide awake looking -on some of the worst dirt lying back of human -nature. I’m taking you right out now to get a look -at the <i>Imperial</i>, the ship your poor dead partner -sailed for home in, and never reached. She blew in -on this coast without a soul on board, and with her -name changed. And with—— But we’ll leave it that -way till you’ve set your two eyes on to her. And -meanwhile you can hand me some stuff I’m yearning -to hear about. After we’re through with this trip -there’ll be some more for us to do. But that can wait.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> -Then I’ll run you right into Beacon where maybe -you’ll be glad to hand the story of things to a lone -mother, and the sister who’s still mourning a dead -brother.”</p> - -<p>The dark face of the man from Australia was -turned on his companion. McLagan had always been -a dominant personality to him in the old days. It -was the same still. His eyes were questioning, but he -remained silent. Now that he knew this old friend -was at the other end of the thing that had called him -back to Alaska he was content to await developments. -And McLagan went on in that direct fashion which -was so characteristic of him.</p> - -<p>“Before I get your yarn I fancy handing you mine. -You see, the obligation’s all on me. I’m marrying -Jim’s sister this fall, and maybe that’s partly where -I come in on your play. But it isn’t all. No. This -thing had got me before I knew about that. Jim was -always a friend of mine, as you know, and when I -learned his ship had gone down, and he’d been -drowned it hit me for myself as well as for Claire -and his mother. Then when this ship blew in, and -I located that it was the <i>Imperial</i>, and she hadn’t -gone down in mid-ocean, it took me guessing hard. -Now the thing I want of you is identification. It was -you who chartered the vessel, I guess, and you’ll know -it again. And maybe you’ll know the skipper again—if -you were to see him. That’s what I want of you. -I’m reckoning Jim was aboard that ship with a big -wad of dust. I’m reckoning the skipper feller knew -about the dust and yearned for it so that murder -looked good to him.”</p> - -<p>Len Stern’s eyes were on the sturdy backs of the -ponies. They were hard, relentless, as they contemplated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> -the sweating brown coats where the trail dust -lay caked upon them.</p> - -<p>“He sailed with more that haf a million dollars of -dust,” he said quickly. “And the plan was he’d trade -it where he could, touching in at ports where best it -could be done, without too many questions. Julian -Caspar was the shipmaster and owner, and he stood -on a swell commission. He surely knew of the -stuff.”</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded, and drew his team down to a -walk as they mounted a sharp incline towards a wide, -windswept plateau.</p> - -<p>“So, feeling that way, murder might well look good -to him?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes. Feeling that way. And Jim not guessing.”</p> - -<p>“What like was this boy, Caspar?”</p> - -<p>“All sorts of a hard seaman.”</p> - -<p>Len sniffed at the fresh fall breeze which seemed -so good to him, as the buckboard cleared the incline -on to the plateau. An immense view opened out. It -was a broad, treeless expanse with a wide front of -purple hills in the distance.</p> - -<p>“Say,” he went on after a moment, “I made the -deal with him. I collected him in Perth. And I’d say -he was a boy to fix himself right on to a man’s -memory. He was quite a chunk of a man, broad, and -strong and medium in height. He was clean-shaven -and rough. But the thing standing out in my mind was -his eyes——”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>Len looked round sharply.</p> - -<p>“Have you seen ’em?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Maybe.” McLagan nodded. “Blue. Pale, queer -blue, like the eyes of some sort of dead fish.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That’s the boy. Ther’ ain’t two pairs of eyes like -his in the world. You surely have seen ’em.”</p> - -<p>“Yep. I guess I must have seen ’em.”</p> - -<p>McLagan whipped up his ponies and set out across -the plateau at a steady gait.</p> - -<p>“Now, Len,” he went on, “we got twenty good -miles to make before we reach my shanty. And we -can do a heap of talk between this and that lay out. -It don’t seem to me that we can do better than hand -each other our two yarns. Maybe you’ll be glad to -hand me all you can of the things that happened after -you quit here with Jim, till you got along now. Then -I’ll hand you the whole story I know. But before -you begin I want to say one thing. It’s this. That -half a million of dust, or the bulk of it, is coming right -back to you as the one partner left. It’s lying now -where no harm’s likely to come to it. Jim’s gone. -There’s no guess to that. So the stuff’s yours. And -that’s just between you and me. You understand? -Claire don’t need any. Nor Jim’s mother. Those -folks are my care. Now you can start right in with -your talk.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The two men climbed out of the lazaret. They had -explored the wreck from end to end. Now they -passed out of the alleyway under the break of the -vessel’s poop, and came to the main hatch. McLagan -seated himself upon it and beckoned his companion to a -seat beside him. Curiously enough the seat he invited -Len Stern to was the exact spot where once Sasa -Mannik had seated himself, and from which he had -ultimately fled in terror.</p> - -<p>Len sprawled himself upon the hatch which was -lying over at the sharp angle of the vessel’s perilous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> -list. And his attitude left him in full view of the -litter of the deck which had resulted from the half-breed’s -raids upon the vessel’s gear.</p> - -<p>There was a tremendous change for the worse in -the wreck. More than two months of every condition -of weather had made desperate inroads. The vessel’s -whole position had been detrimentally shifted. The -seas, playing on the broken hull at high tide, had -wrought havoc, and she looked to be only hanging -together awaiting the final belabourings which would -ultimately complete the work of her destruction. -Every removable article of her gear that had appealed -to the predatory instincts of Sasa Mannik had been -carried away. And she looked now just what she -was, a poor tattered thing awaiting her dismal end.</p> - -<p>McLagan was scarcely concerned for the change in -her. There was no sentiment about him in the matter -of this ugly relic of a bad story. He would be glad -enough to see the last of her—now. She had lasted -sufficiently long for him to complete the work he had -set his hand to. No. The oil man was concerned for -other things. And now, as he sat beside his companion -on the hatch, his searching gaze was turned -skywards.</p> - -<p>At the moment no sun was visible. But then the -sky was full of loose cloud that came and passed -under a high top wind. Just now a heavy cloud had -obscured the sun. It would pass. It was passing. -And then—</p> - -<p>“It’s all like yesterday to me,” Len Stern said, as -he gazed out over the litter. “You see, Mac,” he went -on, with a comprehensive movement of the arm, “I -lived with all this days coming up the coast from -Perth. This is Caspar’s ship all right, all right. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> -was more than half crewed by Chinks. I wonder -what’s become of ’em. There were two officers, and -a third that was a promoted seaman. I doubt any -of ’em having officers’ tickets. I’m surely wondering -about them. Say, in that cabin there was only a meal -for one.”</p> - -<p>His dark face frowned in concentrated thought. -After a moment he went on again.</p> - -<p>“Those two empty chests in the lazaret are the -chests our bags of dust were stowed in. Jim and I, -and Caspar stowed ’em there ourselves. Ther’ wasn’t -a soul else wise to them. No. That was our play. -We couldn’t afford to take chances with a crew of -Chinks. I wonder. But the motor launches are gone. -Both of ’em. They cost me a pile in Perth. They -were sea-going craft for Jim and Caspar to use in -making their trade. You see, they could be run without -any of the crew. We meant leaving those darn -toughs without a guess.”</p> - -<p>“I see.” McLagan’s eyes were full of thought as -they watched the slowly passing cloud. “You had -two launches? I’d wondered. You see the lifeboats -had been left intact. I didn’t guess there was a second.”</p> - -<p>“You located one?”</p> - -<p>Len’s question came alertly.</p> - -<p>“Yes. Where were they stowed?”</p> - -<p>“On the poop-deck. They were kept aft for convenience -and safety.”</p> - -<p>“I see.”</p> - -<p>Len stirred and sat up.</p> - -<p>“Tell me, Mac. You reckon sure Caspar murdered -Jim?”</p> - -<p>“Sure.”</p> - -<p>“What about the—crew?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> - -<p>McLagan shrugged.</p> - -<p>“We’re going to get that—later. I’d say anything -might have happened them. Maybe they were reckoned -in his murder schedule. Maybe they were glad -to get away easy in the second launch. But we’ll locate -all that—later.”</p> - -<p>There was a curious grimness in McLagan’s emphasis -on his final word. And he glanced quickly up -at the sadly drooping yards as they creaked under a -puff of stirring wind. The cloud bank had nearly -passed, and the prevailing gloom was steadily lightening.</p> - -<p>“I don’t just get how you located he’d murdered -Jim,” Len went on curiously. “Was it sort of circumstances? -He knew of the gold. You’ve seen -Caspar and know the sort of tough he is. You’ve -located the gold. Maybe there’s more back of your -mind than you’ve told.”</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head. Then he flung out a -hand pointing down the deck. The sun had broken -out, and the wreck was bathed in its generous light.</p> - -<p>“No, boy,” he said. “Look right down the deck -there. You’re asking the way I know Jim was murdered -by Caspar. It’s there for you to see, and I was -waiting on it. Am I crazy? Are we all crazy? Is -that real or imagination? What is it, anyway? -There’s Jim, right there. That queer fool shadow -that’s trying its best to walk along towards us and -don’t ever get nearer. That’s Jim. I’ve seen him -before, and I wanted you to see him only I wasn’t -sure the sun would shine right. You see that poor darn -thing only haunts this deck when the sun shines. See, -boy. You can see it? Eh? It’s a queer shadow. -It’s the outline of a big man as plain as the eye can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> -see. And it throws another shadow right on the deck. -Am I wrong? No. I’m not wrong. Could you mistake -that big, tall body and gait, you, who’ve worked -alongside Jim Carver? No. Jim was done right up -on that spot. Maybe folks ’ud guess it’s a crazy notion. -But it’s so. I’m dead sure. And now you’ve -seen it you’ll be dead sure, too. Say, get a good look -and we’ll get back up to my shanty and eat. And -tomorrow we’re beating it right up into the hills -where—Come on, boy.”</p> - -<p>But Len Stern was in no hurry to quit. His dark -eyes were held fascinated by the queer shadow. Could -he see it? Of course he could; it was there plain -enough for anybody to see. There was no question -in his mind. The thing was what McLagan had said -it was. There could be no mistaking it. He was -without any superstitious qualm. There was wonder, -amazement in his eyes, but none of the panic which -the vision had inspired in others. So he sat there -fascinated. That was all. And McLagan was forced -to urge him again.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was a little backwater hidden in a rift in the -granite hills. Its mouth opening on to the waters of -the Lias River was a ten foot split in the sheer face -of bald rock. But inside it was quite different. -Within a few yards of the absurd opening it widened -abruptly, with sloping, funnel-like sides that were graciously -clad by a wealth of spruce growing up the hillsides, -and staunchly protected from the devastating -winds above. It was a remote, stuffy spot, humid and -dank, and a tangle of undergrowth profusely crowded -the water’s edge.</p> - -<p>How far the widening stream ran back would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> -been difficult to determine. Maybe it was one of the -many little hill streams which went to feed the great -river at the time when the Spring warmth transformed -the winter snows. Again it might easily have been -one of those tiny recesses which have no other meaning -than the impulse of Nature in the remote years -of the world’s birth. Almost on the instant of entry -upon the widening water the ultimate was obscured by -the jutting of a hill slope. The course of the water -swung away round a sharp bend, lost amidst the -flourishing vegetation that looked to make its navigation -impossible.</p> - -<p>Cy Liskard was standing on the bank at the water’s -edge. It was at a place where the undergrowth had -been laboriously cleared. The ground was a-litter -with fresh stumps where the cut had been made, and -young shoots of new growth were already seeking to -repair the human damage inflicted.</p> - -<p>His boat was lying in the water at his feet. It was -moored fast to a tree stump. It was laden with his -outfit for a prolonged journey. But the man was -gazing about him with a queer look in his pale blue -eyes. It was a look of puzzlement, of incredulous and -angry surprise. It was the look of a man whose mind -has become well-nigh paralysed by the realisation of -a disaster of appalling nature.</p> - -<p>He gazed out over the water searching stupidly in -the depths of the crowding vegetation. His gaze -wandered to the outline of the jutting hill which hid -the beyond. It turned back to the opening on to the -river in the same hopeless fashion. Then it came -again to the narrow landing upon which he was standing.</p> - -<p>At last he bestirred himself. He moved back to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> -higher ground and sat down on a boulder. And his -eyes were turned upon the soft soil in which his own -feet had made such deep impressions. He followed -his own footprints to where he had first stepped -ashore from his boat, and quickly realised that there -were other footprints. Many others. A perfect -maze of them.</p> - -<p>He drew a deep breath. It was the first sign he -had given beyond the curious expression of his usually -expressionless eyes. He was staring at a deeply -driven stake within a yard of the water’s edge. A -hemp rope was lashed about it. It was securely -knotted in a fashion he knew by heart. But the rope had -been severed, and its end lay close by on the ground. -The thing that it had held had gone. Vanished. And -he knew now that others had found this remote spot, -others had ventured up that narrow rift in the rocks. -Others had located the hiding place which had served -him for so long. Who? Who were those others? -And the mind behind his queer eyes was searching the -possibilities of the thing that had happened.</p> - -<p>He remained seated for minutes that were rapidly -prolonged. It was more than half an hour before he -again bestirred himself. And in that half hour he -had searched every avenue of explanation that presented -itself to him.</p> - -<p>He came down to the water’s edge again. He deliberately -cast off the moorings of his canoe and took -his place at the paddle. Then he headed the sturdy -vessel inland and vanished round the bend.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The day was well advanced when Cy Liskard reappeared -on the highway of the Lias, and turned the -nose of his vessel towards the sea. For an hour he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> -paddled feverishly at a speed that flung even the ebbing -tide high against the bows of his little craft.</p> - -<p>His destination was definite in his mind. It was a -picture that now loomed full of foreboding since the -thing he had discovered in his long concealed hiding -place. He came to the rockbound landing he knew by -heart. He swung his boat out. Then with all the -power of his body he struggled with the tide race. -Slowly, foot by foot, he gained way. The sturdy vessel -nosed into the stream making tremendous leeway. -But finally his efforts were rewarded. He drove up -to the landing and leapt ashore.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The man had vanished within the narrow entrance -to the cavern that lay back in the granite wall of the -cliffs. His boat was moored fore and aft to the familiar -boulders. The tide race held the moorings taut -and wearing upon the harsh surface of the stones. -But the little vessel was secure. Soon the last of the -ebb would have spent itself, and the period of dead -water would relieve the strain.</p> - -<p>It was a silent world which the presence of the boat -made no impression upon. The air was alive with -circling sea-fowl whose mournful note only served to -increase the sense of utter loneliness. Grey and bleak -the wide expanse of the river mouth looked to be the -very gate of Desolation.</p> - -<p>An hour had passed since Cy Liskard’s landing. -And in that time the sky had changed its aspect from -the brilliant light of early fall to the grey overcast -which the coming flood was bringing up with it. A -ruffle of wind stirred. It came chill and keen off the -far ocean, and a few driven raindrops splashed on the -bosom of the waters. It was a passing phase. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> -that queer atmospheric effort which so much suggests -that in every changing of her mood Nature knows the -pangs of labour.</p> - -<p>Of a sudden the man re-appeared. He came hastily. -He came almost as though he were reeling under a -physical shock. His soulless eyes were strangely -alight. They were frigidly ablaze with a light that -transformed them into a furious expression of the -mind behind them. His weather-stained face was -almost ghastly in its sickly hue. The lines about his -mouth were grimly drawn. He was breathing hard, -and the great hands that swung at his sides were -clenched with the force of a man about to strike.</p> - -<p>At the cavern entrance he paused with an abruptness -that was almost a lurch. He turned and gazed -into the shadowed vault behind him. Then, of a -sudden, he raised this clenched fists above his head in -a terrible gesture of impotent threat. Then they came -slowly, slowly to his sides again. And in a moment -he started towards his boat.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">Julian Caspar at Bay</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">CY LISKARD was squatting on his rolled blankets. -The interior of his log shanty was disordered. -For all the man’s physical roughness, for all -the conditions of the life he lived, his hut on the hills -above the Lias River had always been something -scrupulous in its neatness. Now its interior was completely -dishevelled. It was an atmosphere associated -with final departure, with absolute quittance.</p> - -<p>But it was something more. It was as if the man -had searched it completely with a view to the destruction -of everything that could leave a clue to the identity -of its occupant. There was a pile of stuff lying -upon the hard-beaten earth floor awaiting destruction, -and outside the door a large fire was doing its share -in the work of concealment. Then, too, down on the -creek below there was a great smouldering heap which -represented the complete destruction of the elaborate -sluice box and the general gear of the gold worker’s -craft that could not easily be otherwise removed.</p> - -<p>The man had done his work systematically and -without apparent haste. And now he sat on his blankets -gazing out through the open doorway on the devouring -flames of his fire. There was the pile on the -floor yet to be consumed. There was the removal of -his blankets and kit. Then there was the shanty itself -to be disposed of. After that——?</p> - -<p>The man’s dead eyes were more than usually expressionless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> -for all the teeming thought of his brain. -He was lost in one of those fierce trains of thought -which leave the body completely relaxed, inert.</p> - -<p>He had returned from the river mouth at a speed -that rarely drove him. Apprehension had pursued -him every mile of the way. But it was not physical -fear. No. It was something deeper, more abiding -than that. He was beset with concern for an invisible, -intangible threat that seemed to be enveloping him. -A threat that was clear enough in its work of despoliation -without a sign of how or whence it came. Fury -was driving him hard. Fury, and that other thing -that left him groping for the thing he must do.</p> - -<p>Now as he sat waiting for the fire outside to do -its work, he was contemplating the courses that were -open to him. And his mind and brutish nature, being -what they were, looked first and foremost for some -method of retaliation upon an unseen, unknown, but -not wholly unguessed agency that was operating for -his hurt.</p> - -<p>No. It was not unguessed. Two agencies sprang -to his mind. There was the memory of those “fool” -figures in their hooded white cloaks who had surrounded -him while a rawhide rope dangled before his -eyes. For all he derided their methods they were not -easily forgotten. Then there was that other. The -man he had sought to kill, and who, through his -friends, had contrived to outwit him. A queer desperation -was driving. He knew he must act quickly, -at once. But even the feeling of desperation and the -uncertainty of the thing about him could not rob him -of his lust for vengeance. His lust to kill.</p> - -<p>His plans had been urgently completed. He knew -he must quit his mountain retreat. He must defy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> -everything and reach Beacon with all speed. His -credit was lying at Victor Burns’ bank. That was his, -which he believed no power could rob him of. He -must collect it at once. It was all that had been left -to him. And with that in his possession he would be -free to devote himself to the vengeance which looked -a thousand times more desirable to him now.</p> - -<p>He rose from his seat and replenished the fire outside -with the collected heap in the shack. It was the -last. He had destroyed the last of his makeshift furnishings, -and only his camp outfit and his treasured -weapons were left to encumber his journey. And now -he sat again, having closed the door to defend himself -against the fierce heat and the smoke of his fire.</p> - -<p>Yes. Beacon must be his first objective. It would -be easy enough. At the bank he was just an ordinary -customer. There was, there could be no doubt about -his credit there. He was wholly unknown except as -a gold man from the hills. There was nothing against -him except for the sentence of that absurd bunch who -called themselves the Aurora Clan. They were powerless -to interfere—— He stirred uneasily.</p> - -<p>No. He would give them no chance. He would -give no one any chance. He would descend upon the -bank at the busiest time of the day, and be gone with -his cash before a soul was wise to his presence in the -city. Then——</p> - -<p>He dismissed Beacon from his mind and his thought -was caught and held where a wrecked ship that was -lying on the rocks at the mouth of the Alsek River. -And curiously enough the mental vision of it robbed -him of something of the even train of his urgent -thought. A queer feeling took hold of him in the pit -of the stomach. It came of a sudden, and he stirred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> -uneasily, and strove to moisten his lips with a tongue -that had somehow become almost dry.</p> - -<p>The stare of his dead eyes displayed nothing of his -emotion. They looked and looked squarely at the lateral -logs of the wall in front of him. Even the flutter -of the torn cotton which covered the window directly -above where he was gazing drew not a vestige of his -attention. And it was not until the loose cotton ripped -with a screaming tear that his gaze came back to the -things about him. He looked up with a start to find -himself gazing into the ominous ring of the muzzle -of a heavy gun. It was thrust through the aperture -of the windows where the cotton had been torn away.</p> - -<p>“Sit right there, Julian Caspar. Don’t move a little -bit. Not a finger, boy, or you’re as dead as Jim Carver -you murdered for his gold.”</p> - -<p>It was spoken quietly, almost gently, in a voice -whose tones startled the man on his blankets and left -him utterly unmoving. His queer eyes were fixed on -the dark face peering in at him through the aperture -of the window from behind the threatening gun.</p> - -<p>But the whole position underwent a change on the -instant. The door was flung open and Ivor McLagan -thrust his way in.</p> - -<p>“Up with those hands, Caspar!” he cried roughly. -And his own levelled gun enforced the sharp order. -“Right up—this time. That’s better. You didn’t do -it right at the Speedway. You’re learning manners. -No. Keep ’em up. Len Stern’s here and is yearning -to sift his hands through your pockets. Get busy, -Len. I’ll watch his monkey tricks.”</p> - -<p>The man on the blankets gave no sign, and his eyes -helped the illusion of submission. His hands were -thrust above his head while he watched the man he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> -hated most in the world. But Ivor bulked large and -fiercely threatening behind the deadly automatic he -was gripping. And the other had reason enough to -know there was no play-game where McLagan was -concerned.</p> - -<p>In less than a minute the work was completed. Len -Stern, relieved of his hold-up through the window, -came to his task on the run. The man was deprived -of his gun and a pocket full of cartridge clips. The -rifle leaning against the wall was unloaded and put -out of harm’s way. And furthermore, a long, razor-like -sheath knife was transferred to the keeping of the -man from Australia.</p> - -<p>“That all, Len?” McLagan spoke in the harsh tone -of a man without mercy. “We’re taking no chances -with the feller who’s done up a ship’s company. Is -he harmless?”</p> - -<p>“As a babe.”</p> - -<p>Len Stern left the man and moved clear. Then -he waited, leaning with his elbow propped on the -window framing while McLagan lowered his threatening -weapon.</p> - -<p>The engineer’s quick eyes took in the details of the -dishevelled interior.</p> - -<p>“Making a quick getaway, Caspar, eh?” he -snapped sharply. “Making a break for the open -where the thing lying back of you’s not going to come -again.” He shook his head. “You can’t escape that, -boy, not as long as you live. And when you’re dead, -I guess you’ll get its consequences. Say, a feller can’t -commit cold-blooded murder without it leaving a hell -of a stain, if it’s only on the brutal mind that designed -it. Can you guess why we’re here? Can you guess -why Len Stern’s come all along from Perth in Australia?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> -Sure you can. But I tell you, in case you -don’t guess right. Len Stern’s got along to make sure -you swing by your darn neck for murdering his partner, -and goodness knows how many more. You can -drop your hands.”</p> - -<p>The man lowered his arms and it was noticeable -that his fists were tightly clenched. His eyes displayed -nothing but cold contemplation as they looked -back into McLagan’s face. Those looking on, observing -his every movement with the closest scrutiny, were -not without a feeling of appreciation for the sheer -nerve he was displaying. But they were neither of -them deceived. A storm lay behind those cold eyes. -It was raging, consuming. And it was expressed in -the two fiercely clenched fists.</p> - -<p>The man shook his head.</p> - -<p>“You’re wrong,” he said calmly, with a shrug. -“You’re dead wrong. I’m not worried a thing with -any memory of murder. I don’t have to be. I don’t -know this feller you call Len Stern. And as for his -partner I can’t guess the thing you’re talking. I’m a -gold man scratching over the dirt of this creek. And -my name’s Liskard—Cy Liskard. You’ve a hold-up -on me for, I suppose, the stuff you reckon to get out -of me. You’ll get not an ounce. I’m quitting for the -reason the show don’t pay. Well?”</p> - -<p>It was consummately done. It was too well done. -McLagan laughed coldly.</p> - -<p>“We’ll cut all that right out,” he said. He -dropped back to the door framing and leant his big -body against it, but his gun was in his hand ready for -instant use. “This isn’t any old game of bluff. It’s -just cold business that’s going through as we fixed -it. You can keep that junk for the law courts where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> -you’ll stand up to answer for your play. For the -moment the things concerning us are toting you right -in to Beacon, and handing you over to Alan Goodchurch. -Then you’ll be passed on to Fairbanks. I’m -not wise if they use an electric chair there or hang -a boy like you right out of hand. It don’t signify, -anyway. They don’t treat murder easy in Fairbanks, -which makes me feel good passing you along in that -direction. Your ponies are fixed for your journey. -You’ve set things that way, and I’m obliged. We’ll -be able to travel the quicker. You can get up off -those blankets. You’re going to start right away. I -can’t give you even blanket room on the journey. -You see, we’re going to make Beacon quick.”</p> - -<p>But the man who had been called Julian Caspar -made no attempt to obey. He stirred where he sat, -but that was all. McLagan was watching. He was -watching with every faculty alert. He was looking -to read behind that baffling mask which was his victim’s -greatest asset.</p> - -<p>It was that slight shift of position that betrayed. -It was an unconscious movement impelled by some -inner qualm, a qualm similar to that which had assailed -him when he had thought of the wreck at the -mouth of the Alsek River. And a feeling of satisfaction -warmed McLagan as he waited for the reply -he saw coming.</p> - -<p>The man spoke harshly, but without any sign of the -fury that was driving him. He had himself under -a control that rarely enough gave way, and was -strongest in emergency.</p> - -<p>“You’re talking a whole lot, McLagan,” he said, -“but you’re not talking the way of a feller who’s dead -sure of the thing he’s putting on the other feller.” He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> -shook his head. “Try again. Maybe that way you’ll -make me feel like the boy you’re reckoning to make -me believe I am. A hold-up’s generally got more behind -it than seems. You see you’re not a sheriff, or -a law officer. You’re just an oil man. I haven’t seen -a sign of any warrant for my arrest. Do you get -me?”</p> - -<p>McLagan smiled at the shrewd retort. He was -more than prepared for it. He signed to Len Stern, -while his gun was raised ever so slightly covering his -man.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, Caspar,” he said. “I’m not worrying -for details. You can think the thing you -please. We won’t waste time in discussion. Just fix -those bracelets right on his wrists, Len, and then go -fix his ponies ready for the start. No, Caspar. Don’t -move. Not a move. As sure as God I’ll fix you right -here. And I’ll fix you better than the mess you made -of things down at my home place. I told you then -you’ll hang, and that’s sure why I’m here now. That’s -it, Len,” he went on, as the irons were clipped on the -man’s wrists. “Now go and see to his plugs while I -look to him.”</p> - -<p>The two men remained watching each other in silence -after Len Stern had passed out of the shack. It -seemed as if a tremendous silent conflict of will was -raging. The hard face of Julian Caspar was apparently -unyielding under the hate that no power of his -seemed able to abate. The eyes of the other were -harshly compelling, and kept the queer dead eyes of -his victim unblinkingly observing him. McLagan’s -decision was clear in his mind. It was impossible to -judge of the thing passing in the mind of the other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> -as he sat with his shackled hands resting on his -drawn-up knees.</p> - -<p>At last the prisoner shook his head.</p> - -<p>“You’re needing something, McLagan,” he said, his -face slightly relaxing. “Maybe I can guess the thing -it is. Well, if you’re ready to hand out the price I’ll -sell what you need.”</p> - -<p>McLagan drew a deep breath. Quite suddenly a -curious feeling of admiration stirred within him. The -man’s words and manner inspired him with a sense -of his own inferiority. His shrewdness and nerve -amazed him. He felt he had been read like an open -book. He failed utterly to realise that this man was -fighting for something he treasured above all else—his -life. And knew full well that it was forfeit unless his -wit should adequately serve him.</p> - -<p>He nodded.</p> - -<p>“I surely do,” he said quietly. “And when a murderer -is captured, and the irons are fixed right, there’s -only one price he can ask. That’s freedom.”</p> - -<p>“That’s so. Well?”</p> - -<p>The relaxing was gone from the man’s face. McLagan -read the anxiety lying behind that final interrogation.</p> - -<p>“I let you go once before, Caspar,” he went on -coldly. “I told you then you’d hang, you were born -to hang. That’s why I let you go. I’m still sure -you’ll hang. That’s why I’m ready to let you loose -on this hill country again. But if you want me to do -that, why, you’ve got to hand me the story of your -ship the <i>Imperial</i> from A to Z. There’s no lies’ll -serve you. Len Stern and I know enough to check -you up all the time. You can only get away on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> -truth. In return we’ll release you now, right here. -There’s the hill country back of here, and the Canadian -border beyond. It’s a dog’s chance. You’re -tough, and maybe you can get through. I don’t know -and don’t care. It’s a chance of a respite before that -hanging which is coming your way.”</p> - -<p>McLagan ceased speaking and the sound of Len -Stern passing outside came in the silence that followed. -Then Caspar cleared a throat that was dry -with fierce anxiety. And suspicion lurked behind his -expressionless eyes.</p> - -<p>“Why d’you need that story? What’s the dirty -game behind it? When a feller like you gets his -hands on a man he reckons to have done murder, why, -for a story, is he ready to hand him a getaway?” -He shook his head. “The price is right, McLagan. -But ther’s a snag somewhere. It looks like your case -is bad. It looks like you’re maybe a bad payer. It -looks like ther’s things to you you ain’t yearning to -have around in the light of open court.”</p> - -<p>Again he shook his head.</p> - -<p>But the challenge left McLagan quite unruffled. -His smile was derisive as his answer came on the -instant.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, Caspar,” he said. “It can look -just as it pleases you to make it look. I don’t care a -cent. The only thing is Len’s coming right back. I -can hear him. And so can you. The ponies, I guess, -are fixed. Well, we’re starting for Beacon right -away, or we aren’t. You can please your darn self. -The price will be paid or not, as you choose. But -you’ve only five seconds to choose in.”</p> - -<p><ins class="corr" title="Transcriber's Note—'Casper' changed to 'Caspar'">Caspar</ins> stirred.</p> - -<p>“You swear to get out an’ leave me free?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> - -<p>“On those terms, yes.”</p> - -<p>“Then you can have the yarn.”</p> - -<p>“The simple facts?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—curse you!”</p> - -<p>The malevolent fury in the man’s final curse was -the epitome of all his pent feeling. McLagan was his -one object of insane hate. And he was driven to bend -before his will. He knew the desperate nature of the -thing he was doing. He knew the risk of it all. The -evidence he was about to put into his hated enemy’s -hand. But he knew, being the man he was, and with -shackles on his wrists, that it was his only chance. So -he yielded. But his yielding had only come with his -recognition that the shackles holding him were the -official shackles of the United States Government, and -must clearly have been put into the hands of these -men for their present purpose.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Julian Caspar was still sitting on his piled blankets. -McLagan was still leaning against the doorway with -his gun in evidence. Len Stern was propped, as before, -where the cotton hung loose from the window -framing. The monotonous tones of the prisoner’s -voice broke up the stillness of the atmosphere of the -place. He had been talking for some time. He was -not looking at his captors. His dead eyes were on the -log wall in front of him. And his gaze suggested a -mind reviewing in sequence a series of pictures which -gave him not a moment of mental unease. He was -transferring his stock at a price. And only was it the -payment of the price for which he was concerned.</p> - -<p>“It was too easy,” he was saying, with a sound that -was perhaps a mirthless imitation of a laugh. “It’s -queer ther’s such darn fools running around loose.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> -That boy, Carver, and Stern, here, surely needed wet-nurses -before they set out to handle a bunch of dust -the way they thought. Why should I stand around -on a lousy commission with the stuff lying safe under -my hatches, and with only a bum crew of Chinks, an’ -a few poor whites to deal with.” He shook his head. -“Not on your life. I’d have stood for equal share. -I’d have let that boy live for some other guy to do -up later. But he guessed to hand me commission. -Me, who was the only thing that could help him -handle his stuff right. No. My mind was fixed the -moment Stern an’ me signed our charter. There was -haf a million of stuff to trade, and I guessed I knew -who would do the trading.”</p> - -<p>He paused and shifted his position. His audience -remained unmoving but watchful.</p> - -<p>“I got him in the doldrums south of the line,” he -went on, after a moment. “It didn’t need argument -how best I could fix him. He was soft in his foolishness. -It was in the night. There wasn’t any darn -moon, and a thin cloud hid up the stars. There -wasn’t a breath of wind, an’ it was as hot as hell. I -guessed a walk along the deck would be better than -blankets on a night like that, and he guessed that way, -too. Then I’d got another thought back of my head. -You see, I knew the monkey tricks of the sailorman, -whether Chink or white. In the doldrums, without a -breeze, you can never keep a watch on deck out of -their blankets at night. The midnight watch came on -deck an’ the others went to quarters. Then us two -folks started pacing the main deck for cool. You see, -the moment the watch had changed they’d oozed off -for’ard and rolled into their blankets, and we were left -to the main deck where even the man at the wheel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> -couldn’t guess the thing happening. There was only -the officer of the watch. I waited for him. He went -below to get a drink, I guess. That was my time. -That boy and me were away up near the winch. I -jerked that long knife of mine in through the neck of -his thick peacoat. It went deep and far, and he -dropped in my arms without a sound. It’s the Indian -trick of skewering a man’s heart, and comes easy with -practice. I heaved him to the rail and dropped him -over, and the thing was done without a mess, and in -a few seconds. Then I waited for the officer. I -treated him as he came out from the cabin, and got -rid of him, too. It was not because he knew a thing. -But I looked to make an atmosphere for those who -were to learn things later. Then I dealt with the boy -at the wheel, and left the ship with a loose helm. -After that I went below and waited. The thing I -guessed happened. The ship yawed and was set flat -aback. And in awhile I was shouted for by one of -the watch. I cleared from my bunk and raised hell -till he’d told me the thing that had happened. It was -a play game to me. It was an elegant show. I mustered -the watches, and looked for the absentees. I -located the first officer was missing. Then I got wise -that Carver, too, was nowhere around. Then I raised -every sort of hell a feller born to the sea knows about. -And in the end had the second officer log a scrap. A -‘hold-up’ by one of the Chink crew—identity unguessed. -And it worked smooth and easy, as I knew -it would when dealing with a bunch of sailor toughs -without sense between ’em the size of a buck louse. -Maybe it was—too easy.”</p> - -<p>There was a moment of reflective silence before the -man spoke again. McLagan made no attempt to urge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> -him. A queer nauseation affected him deeply as he -watched the man, who, now that he had embarked upon -his story, seemed rather to enjoy dwelling on the hideous -incidents of it. Len Stern was less calm. All the -youth in him was aflame. The cold satisfaction of -Caspar in telling of the slaughter of his partner drove -him almost beyond his powers of restraint.</p> - -<p>“The game was only at its start,” Caspar went on -at last. “I’d got it clear cut in my mind. We were -coming up through the big islands, and at first I -thought of running for the China coast. But it didn’t -take long to show me it was liable to be a bad move -with twelve Chinks aboard out of a crew of eighteen. -I changed plan right away. I’d run for Alaska where -gold is found. I’d deal with the crew one way or -another, and abandon ship, and run the gold inland -by motor launch where its presence wouldn’t set a -flutter stirring. From the start luck ran with me, but -it was only later I was to learn how well it was running.”</p> - -<p>“My next move was obvious to a feller looking to -lose himself and his bunch,” he continued, with his -queer eyes lighting unwholesomely. “I was my own -wireless man. It was mostly a hobby with me, and -I’d set it up myself. I got busy and sent out a distress -signal. I sent it out telling the darn fools who -picked it up I was foundering a thousand miles from -where I happened to be sailing. I kept sending it to -make sure, and I guess it didn’t let me down. As a -result my craft was fathoms deep in the South Pacific. -That left me free with leisure to fix the crew -when, and the way, I wanted ’em.”</p> - -<p>He drew a deep breath and once he raised his eyes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> -derisively to the frowning dark face of Len Stern. -Then he went on at once.</p> - -<p>“I wanted that crew for awhile. We’d a mighty -big piece of sailing to do before I put the rest of my -plan into operation. It’s queer, now I think of it, how -my luck stood by. We steered E.N.E. after we’d -cleared the islands. And it came on to blow hard. -But it was a fair breeze, dead on our quarter, and I -carried on every stitch of canvas we could spread. -There were times when those darn Chinks groused. -They came aft an’ once looked ugly. But I didn’t -let go. No. I needed ’em yet. The only feller I -didn’t need was the second officer. Well, I took council -with the Chink steward I carried. He was a boy -who knew me good, and who’d worked for me since -ever I’d held a master’s ticket. He was handy. I -guess he was quicker with a knife than any yeller -mongrel I’ve ever seen. Well, it was blowing hard -and a dead black night, and when morning came and -the wind eased there was a dead officer overboard and -only the boy who acted as third and me to run the -ship. And so we came along up towards the fifties, -where we ran into elegant fair weather like spring, -for all it was dead winter. I guess the Pacific’s well -named.</p> - -<p>“Then the thing that made me feel real good—at -first—happened. It happened at change of watch midday. -The bunch were waiting amidships to take over, -standing around smoking and chewing like the lousy -crowd they were. The sun was beating down fine on -the litter of lumber stacked on the deck. I was on -the poop deck watching those boys and guessing about -things. And in the midst of it I saw them boys take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> -a hunch to themselves peeking down the deck. I -looked too. An’ then—Say, you’ve seen it, McLagan. -Yes. It was there. Right at the spot where -I jerked my knife under his collarbone. It was there -just as crazy a thing as I ever see. But it was there, -and stayed there, just as long as the sun shone. I -wanted to laff. Then I didn’t. Then I thought hard -an’ waited, and pretended I hadn’t seen.</p> - -<p>“It was two days later the play began,” he went on, -his manner becoming harsher. “They came aft. The -whole darn bunch. An’ I kind of knew the thing -coming. I was ready for ’em. I saw my whole play -in a jump. That queer thing had been there each -day, an’ all the time the sun shone. Oh, it made me -sick, their fool slobber. But I listened. You see, we -were near to the coast, and the weather was elegant -for my plans. So I listened. The darn ship was -haunted. That was their stuff. They were plumb -scared, the whole bunch, except three cold-blooded -Chinks who’d the nerve of the whole flock. I listened -and I agreed. I told ’em I’d seen it too, and was just -as badly scared as they were. But I wasn’t a darn -fool and wasn’t yearning for an open boat for the -sake of a crazy shadow. Then I pretended savage -and told ’em to get right back to their sennit an’ holy-stone, -or I’d dose their darn guts with lead. It acted -the way I wanted. They tried to rush me. I had -Jim Shan, the steward, with me. A sign from him, -and the other three Chinks lent a hand. They turned -on the bunch. And I unloosed. There was a tough -scrap, but we beat ’em back. When they were rightly -cowed I handed ’em the thing I’d do. They could -have one of the launches. It was a hundred miles to -Seattle. They could have the vittles and get. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> -went. And the darn third officer went with ’em. And -next day it blew a howling winter gale. I guess they’d -as much chance as cordite in hell. I was left with -four Chinks which included Jim Shan.</p> - -<p>“We had a mighty tough time for two days. But -we were quit of that shadow. There were four of us -to handle wheel and sail, and one was a cook. But -the boys had shortened down before they went and -we had to chance the rest. Anyway we got through. -And after that the weather set dead fair and we -crawled up the coast. But the shadow came again -and somehow it worried me. Then I played my last -trump. I told Jim Shan the story of the gold, and -promised him equal shares with his friends if we got -it through to the coast. Say, those boys. Ever see -a Chink with the yearning for gold looking out of his -queer, snake eyes? It’s not good to look at.</p> - -<p>“Do you need more?” Julian Caspar shook his -head as his queer eyes searched the implacable face of -McLagan. “But of course you do. You’re the sort -to want every ounce of your pound. Well, you can -have it. I’m looking for that dog’s chance for more -than one reason.”</p> - -<p>He passed his manacled hands up to his shock of -hair, and tried to run them back over it. Then they -dropped again to his lap.</p> - -<p>“The rest was easy—in a way. I set right in to -work to change the vessel’s name, and it took me -guessing hard. I had to think like hell not to leave a -clue. Those boys helped me, and Jim Shan was the -neatest hand with paint and a brush I ever located. -He did it all right. And the vessel was sort of reborn -the <i>Limpet</i>, an’ the name amused me. But it -was the waiting around and watching those Chinks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> -Say, ever waited around with a bunch more used to -knives than Bibles? Gee! Then there was that -cursed shadow. Say, I’ve got nerve. But there’s -things to break the best nerve if you only locate ’em. -It was that shadow. There wasn’t a day I didn’t sit -at that cabin table, with the alleyway facing me, that -I couldn’t see that shadow traipsing—traipsing—Psha! -I could have shut the door. I could have sat -elsewhere. But someway I hadn’t the grit to do it. -No, I had to keep an eye on that shadow all the time—and -on those Chinks.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it don’t signify now. I’d got it all fixed -ready. We were making our getaway that night. -Then I was eating my food. I’d been sitting watching -the crazy antics of the shadow in the sun, and -sudden I got sick in the pit of the stomach. I quit. -I quit right there and hailed the Chinks. Well, those -boys lasted long enough to crowd on every stitch of -canvas. They lasted long enough to launch the motor -with the gold and vittles stowed. They lasted long -enough to clear the vessel’s side and head for the coast. -Then they died quick. All four got lead poisoning, -and I dropped ’em over the side. It was them or me, -and I knew it. I wasn’t yearning. So I pumped ’em -plumb up to the plimsol full of lead, and set ’em where -their knives couldn’t reach me. Then——”</p> - -<p>“You ran for the mouth of the Lias,” McLagan -broke in. “You ran in and cached your stuff in a cave -you didn’t reckon folks ’ud locate. And stowed your -launch where you didn’t see anything but sea-fowl -nosing.”</p> - -<p>“You swine!”</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” he said, straightening himself up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> -“Don’t worry for compliments. That’s not in the -story. Yes. I’ve got your gold. There’ll be embargo -on your credit at Victor Burns’ Bank. And the launch -is away up on the Alsek River where its use in my oil -workings’ll keep it in shape. But you’ve got your -dog’s chance. I promised that, and you’re going to -get it. It’s a hell of a poor-bred dog’s chance. Loose -those irons, Len. I’ll hold him covered so there’s no -monkeying. He reckons he’d like to translate his -opinion of me into something more active. But he -won’t. Loose him——”</p> - -<p>“But—Say, you’re not going——?”</p> - -<p>Len Stern, with his whole mind and body seething -with the horror of the thing he had listened to, stared -at the engineer incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Loose him? What——?”</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded.</p> - -<p>“Yes. Loose him, boy. I promised him that. I -promised him a run for it. It was the price of his -yarn. Leave it that way, boy. Loose him, and let’s -get out into God’s pure air. This place is foul with -the stench of his rotten soul.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They were out in the open where the air was pure, -and the full daylight was pleasant to contemplate after -the contaminated atmosphere of Julian Caspar’s quarters. -The latter was somewhere behind them, free to -undertake anything his evil mind prompted. But McLagan -felt no concern as they moved down the slope -to the mouth of the Creek debouching on the broad -waters of the Lias River. It was left to the more hot-headed -Len Stern to concern himself.</p> - -<p>“I don’t get it, McLagan,” he said urgently. -“You’ve let that rotten murderer free for the sake<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> -of his darn story. You’ve let him free after murdering -poor Jim. Claire’s brother! The brother of -the gal you’re to marry this fall! It’s wrong. It’s -crazy. He——”</p> - -<p>He broke off to gaze back up the hill at the shack -that was still in full view.</p> - -<p>“I can’t stand for it, Mac!” he went on hotly, a -moment later. “We came here that that boy should -swing for the thing he’s done. You said that. -You——”</p> - -<p>“He will swing, Len. He’ll swing within twenty-four -hours.”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s tone was cold. His manner was inflexible. -And somehow the other remained silent.</p> - -<p>They rounded a broad bluff of woodland that -mounted the hillside, and all view of Caspar’s hut -was obscured. Now the great waters of the Lias -came into view. Its wide valley opened out in a -splendid picture of forest, and hill, and the smiling -sheen of the river’s waters.</p> - -<p>“You beat me, Mac,” Len went on, in a tone of -puzzlement. All his protest had died out of his manner. -“How? He’ll hang in twenty-four hours? Will -you tell me?”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s pace increased. He was gazing away -down at the great river. And suddenly a hot light -filled his eyes, and left them frowning.</p> - -<p>“Len, boy, cut it all out!” he cried irritably. “What -sort of white-livered bunch of craziness do you take -me for? What have I been working for these weeks, -an’ months, but to hand that boy his med’cine? Say, -if you’d been here months back and seen that poor -mother woman’s grief, that poor girl’s grief, you’d -have known some of the thing I feel. Those two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> -gentle souls are mine. One of ’em’s going to be my -wife, to live with me through the years of our lives. -That boy’s going to die the only right way for a -feller of his sort. He’s going to hang—just as sure -as God.”</p> - -<p>He laughed mirthlessly.</p> - -<p>“I can’t bring that poor feller Jim back alive,” he -went on. “But I can see that feller hangs. Why, I -owe it him anyway for myself. If he lived he’d get -me one way or another. No. He’s going to swing, -as I say.”</p> - -<p>The landing on the river was in full view when Len -put his sharp question. Sasa Mannik was down there -with his canoe waiting watchfully his boss’s return.</p> - -<p>McLagan turned. His face was unsmiling.</p> - -<p>“That’s not for you—yet. Someday you may learn -things. Meanwhile get a holt on this. You’ve my -word of honour as a man the thing’s as I say.”</p> - -<p>Stern nodded.</p> - -<p>“That surely goes, Mac,” he said. “But tell me. -You see, you’ve got me badly guessing. Why for -did you send me out of that shack to—fix his ponies? -We’re on the river. We’re travelling by water.”</p> - -<p>McLagan laughed.</p> - -<p>“That’s easy, boy. The talk of ponies was bluff. -I didn’t have a notion of running that feller into -Beacon. Not a notion from the start. You see, I -didn’t let you know the thing in my mind because of -the questions I didn’t feel like answering. No. I left -you thinking he was passing right into Beacon. I sent -you out to fix his ponies because I had to make a talk. -And I didn’t want a chance of you getting hot with -the things I said and queering the game. <em>I had to get -that boy’s yarn.</em> You see, the thing I reckoned to fix<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> -was justice, not revenge. Well, it would have been -justice handing him over to Goodchurch. But I -didn’t fancy that. The law’s queer and slow. It -would have been a worry to Jim’s mother, to Claire. -To all of us. It would have stirred up memories for -those women folk, and would have hurt ’em. So I -looked for better, quicker, surer means. But I’ve a -queer sort of conscience that wouldn’t be satisfied with -circumstantial evidence. I had to hear of the thing -he’d done out of his own mouth. So I offered him a -run for freedom to hand me his yarn. It was wiser -than it looked. You see, I knew the man. He knew -the thing he’d done. And he guessed what it would -mean going on to Fairbanks. Given a run, he’s confident -of making his getaway. His life’s more precious -to him than the chance he takes handing out his -story. I felt that—knowing him. My promise to him -was a run for freedom, and he guessed it was good -enough. You see, he didn’t know the thing I know. -Now the thing’s sheer justice. He’s condemned himself. -And the thought of his hanging leaves me without -a qualm or—scruple. Let’s leave it that way, boy. -I’ve given my word to you. Now we’re going to -make my home place to hand over your gold to you, -and to close up my shanty. Then for Beacon.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I learn for sure—when it’s done?”</p> - -<p>McLagan smiled gently as they paced down the hill. -He understood the other’s feelings. He realised how -hard, without further explanation, it must be for this -man, who had been absent so long from the country, -to accept his assurance. So he laid a reassuring hand -upon his arm.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Len. And,” he added, “believe me, his hanging’s -as inevitable as that the sun’ll rise to-morrow.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Quitting</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">“ARE you satisfied, Len? Does it make you feel -good?”</p> - -<p>McLagan was observing the dark, mobile features -of the younger man. They were alight with the look -he knew so well. It was the expression he had seen -time and again in those men of Beacon whose whole -horizon was bounded by gold and all it meant in their -lives. It was a similar expression to that which had -played in Len Stern’s features at that time when his -strong fingers had raked through the heaping gold dust -spread out before him at the far-off camp on the Australian -coast.</p> - -<p>McLagan was more than interested. For the man -was gazing upon the goodly pile of smallish canvas -bags lying on the earthen floor against the log wall of -the hut overlooking the mouth of the Alsek River. At -that moment humanity was uppermost in the engineer. -A goodly satisfaction was stirring in his heart. And -his manner had lost much of that roughness which -was so characteristic of him.</p> - -<p>Len nodded, his eyes remaining fascinated by the -thing they were gazing upon.</p> - -<p>“That don’t begin to say the thing I feel,” he said -awkwardly. He raised a strong, sunburnt hand and -passed it back over his forehead. Then he laughed. -It was a short, jerky laugh that was an expression of -some feeling he had no words for. “Do you know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> -how a shipwrecked feller ’ud feel when his feet find -solid earth again?” He shook his head. “That’s how -those darn bags of dust make me feel. That, an’ -something else. Yes, I feel I want to say all sorts of -stuff how I think of you. But I can’t.”</p> - -<p>McLagan brushed aside the man’s desire to express -his gratitude.</p> - -<p>“But you weren’t—shipwrecked?” he said quickly.</p> - -<p>The other’s reply came with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“It cost me all but my last thousand dollars to answer -that message you sent out, and—get around.”</p> - -<p>“But you were on a big strike? You and poor -Jim?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. The biggest in the world—on a fever-racked -coast that I don’t guess I’ll ever get near to again. -The fever got me. I only got away by the scruff of -my neck. And the stuff I took out did little more -than satisfy the dope merchants of Perth who did their -best for me. I guess I was shipwrecked both ways. -Physical and financial. Man, you’ve done an almighty -glad thing.”</p> - -<p>McLagan sat himself on the cabin trunk just behind -him, and Len Stern flung himself into the chair which -usually stood against the table where McLagan was -accustomed to work. The small wood stove, radiating -a pleasant warmth in the chill of the late summer air, -stood between them. And Len Stern mechanically held -out the palms of his hands to it.</p> - -<p>There was physical weariness in him. It was the -same with the hard-driving engineer. The voiceless -waste of desolate muskeg with its surface of shaking -tundra lay far behind them now. So with the wearisome -portage to the Alsek River meandering through -its coal-laden, oil-soaked territory of hills. The gateway<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> -to the ocean had been reached and passed only -that morning. And now they had gained the shelter of -McLagan’s home overlooking the bay, ready for the -last stage of that effort which had been crowded into -days that should have been weeks.</p> - -<p>It had all been a whirlwind rush from the moment -of Stern’s landing until this return to McLagan’s -home. Stern was the least weary of the two. But then -he and Sasa Mannik had had the blessed break of a -day’s complete rest up at McLagan’s oil camp, while the -engineer endured an added gruelling in the work that -was his. He had spent the time with Peter Loby in -completing preparations for the time when the men of -finance behind him should arrive to set the seal of their -approval upon his achievements. It had meant a swift -change of effort for him from that which had been an -expression of a man’s deepest emotions to the sheerly -mental aspect of those affairs which represented the -material side of his life.</p> - -<p>They had eaten the midday meal with which Sasa -Mannik’s indifferent skill had provided them. And the -whole place was a-litter with books, charts, papers, and -clothing, hopelessly mixed up with the utensils of the -meal of which they had just partaken. They were in -the midst of the preparations for McLagan’s final quittance, -which was to take place that day. It was a portentous -operation regarded without optimism by the -engineer. And Len Stern, while ready and willing, -found himself of little service.</p> - -<p>McLagan lit one of his long, lean cigars, glad enough -to abandon his labours for a few minutes. Stern lit -and drearily sucked his charred old briar. The contemplation -of those bags of gold dust, that never in his -most fantastic dreams had he hoped to see again, had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> -warmed his heart and eased the strain he had laboured -under.</p> - -<p>It was all very amazing, and McLagan himself was -the most amazing thing of it all. It was all mystifying, -too. And as he sat luxuriating in the reek of his pipe -the man from Australia found himself marvelling at -the mystery in the midst of which he had found himself -so suddenly plunged.</p> - -<p>He knew now that McLagan had been responsible -for the message Goodchurch had sent out. Even its -enticing wording. At the time he had read it in the -local news sheet in Perth he had not seriously considered -it beyond the reply he must make. Then had -come his arrival at the coast on the tubby mail boat -on its way to Seward. Then his meeting with McLagan, -and his instant whirling off on a breathless rush -that was only just about to terminate. He had been -asked very little and told less. McLagan had relied -on visual rather than verbal demonstration. He had -seen the <i>Imperial</i> again after believing the vessel to -be fathoms deep at the bottom of the ocean. He had -gazed upon some weird, supernatural demonstration -upon her deck. He had been hurried off to help in -the capture of the man who had murdered his partner, -and robbed them of the fruits of their labours. The -capture had been achieved and a confession extracted. -Then he had been called upon to agree to the murderer’s -release. True, he had the assurance of McLagan -that the murderer would not, could not escape. -But——</p> - -<p>And now he was sitting in McLagan’s home gazing -on the wealth of gold dust that he and poor Jim -Carver had washed out on the fever-laden coast of -Australia. It had come back to him. And McLagan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> -was the man who had recovered it. How? How? -How had it all been achieved? How had McLagan -discovered in the <i>Limpet</i> of Boston the foul tragedy -of his friend’s death, and recovered for him the gold -that had been stolen? The mystery of it all; McLagan’s -refusal to enlighten him; these things were utterly confounding. -In his own phraseology he felt the whole -thing was just “one darn mystery after another” and he -wanted to fling up his hands in complete helplessness.</p> - -<p>But there was no outward expression of these feelings. -He sat gladly regarding that small, comforting -pile of wealth which McLagan had told him was his.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you’ve told me that, Len.” McLagan’s -smile was almost gentle. “We haven’t told much, have -we?”</p> - -<p>“No. And sometimes I feel it ’ud be good to tell—things.”</p> - -<p>Len Stern’s eyes came back from the pile of gold. -It almost seemed as though McLagan had broached -something of a deeper interest for him.</p> - -<p>“Maybe it would. Well, ther’s Claire and her -mother’ll be yearning.” McLagan laughed. “And I’ll -be there, too.”</p> - -<p>“Which is just another way of saying you haven’t -a thing you’re going to tell.”</p> - -<p>Len grinned into the other’s face and shook some -juice out of his pipe stem on to the stove.</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t mean just that, boy,” McLagan said.</p> - -<p>“No?”</p> - -<p>Len waited. Then he went on.</p> - -<p>“See, McLagan, you’ve done a swell thing. Sure -I don’t want to say a thing to hurt. You’ve left me -guessing, an’ I’m content to go right on guessing if it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> -suits you. You see, I’m just thankful. But maybe -you won’t mind saying ‘Why,’ if you object to ‘How.’ -The only thing that finds me worrying is leaving that -swine Caspar free.”</p> - -<p>McLagan removed the cigar from his strong mouth. -He rolled it between his fingers which seemed to crush -it unnecessarily. He shook his head.</p> - -<p>“I’m not yearning to tell ‘why’ any more than -‘how,’” he said, with a return to his rougher manner. -“It wouldn’t hurt a thing telling it, except for the -laugh it’s liable to raise. You see, boy, I’ve a head full -of notions. Some of ’em some folks might reckon sort -of crazy. But they aren’t. They’re just a throw back -to something that’s in us all. The only thing is I’ve -given way to ’em, and they’ve got so that I have to -hand ’em best. One time I felt the only thing in life -was to make good. I’m older since then. I still guess -that making good needs to be done, but I get tired beating -the other feller. It kind of seems waste of effort, -unless the other feller needs beating. I’m glad for poor -old Jim, who’s Claire’s brother, to be able to hand you -back his dough. Then it’ll make things better for you. -You two boys were swell triers taking a Chink yarn -for gospel. Good luck, boy, anyway. Handle that -stuff right when you get it into Beacon.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll do the best I know, Mac. Say—That oil play -of yours? It looks like beating every other feller. It’s -big. It’s big for Beacon, an’ the folks around.”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s smile deepened.</p> - -<p>“Sure,” he said simply. “It means so much I can’t -just see it all. This’ll be a swell country after awhile. -It’ll get oil-crazy when I let my story go.”</p> - -<p>“They don’t know yet?”</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> - -<p>“They will when I get in this time. And I want it -that way. You know this country’s got right into my -guts. I want to set the decent citizens lying around it -whooping with the things that make life easy, and -pass ’em a time that won’t leave ’em yearning to muss -themselves with the dirt lying back of human nature. -What’ll you do? Quit for the sun places?” He -glanced down at the gold bags significantly. “With -that bunch a wise guy don’t need to worry beyond this -coast.”</p> - -<p>“That’s so.”</p> - -<p>Len was thoughtfully regarding his treasure. He -looked up with a grin.</p> - -<p>“Maybe I’ll do what I know to get into your proposition.”</p> - -<p>McLagan laughed.</p> - -<p>“You’ll need to do it on the jump. In a month ther’ -won’t be money enough in the world to buy our stock. -You haven’t seen a circumstance of what’s to come -later. Gee! I must get on with all this truck.”</p> - -<p>McLagan rose with a sigh of real weariness. He -flung open the trunk on which he had been sitting, and -passed over to a pile of folded suits. He stood for a -moment contemplating them. They were clothes he -had never worn since he came to the coast. He picked -some of them up, and came back to the trunk. Len -rose to aid him. He moved over to pass him the rest -of the piled clothes. He picked up some of them, and -revealed a folded white garment underneath. It caught -and held his attention. It was voluminous. And, at -first glance, appeared to be some sort of bath robe, -or dressing gown. But the top fold of it had three -cut holes in it, which looked like the eye and mouth -holes of a mask.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> - -<p>McLagan came to his side and Len heard a deep-throated -chuckle.</p> - -<p>“Guessing, boy?” the engineer said quietly. Then -he added: “I’d forgot that, sure.”</p> - -<p>Then he reached down and picked it up. He let it -drop to its full length, and held it out by its arms. -Len deposited his garments and gazed at it, grinning.</p> - -<p>“Some suit,” he said.</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded.</p> - -<p>“Sure,” he said. And surveyed the conical, visored -hood hanging down, and the many rust stains that besmirched -its otherwise immaculate surface.</p> - -<p>Then he, very deliberately, refolded it and looked -squarely into his companion’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“Makes you want to laff, Len, eh?” he said. “Don’t -you do it, boy. Ther’s no feller needs to laff who sees -that.”</p> - -<p>Then his own eyes became less serious, and a twinkle -of humour looked out of them.</p> - -<p>“It’s just one of my notions. I designed it myself. -And I keep it by me to remind me. I guess it won’t -mean a thing to you, ever. Maybe it’ll just add another -guess to the things worrying you now. Set it -down a bath gown which you wear when you’re either -clean or want to be clean. But it’s another meaning, -another significance. It’s a symbol. That darn white -gown tells me every time I look at it that human nature -can’t ever be run right by academic theory or -sentimental slobber. The feller that guesses to persuade -human nature by argument is only one degree -better than the boy in the bughouse. The notion that -human nature is predominantly good is plumb busted. -It hands me a story of the unutterable weakness of the -modern methods by which human nature is trying to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> -govern itself, and warns me that the only thing to -bring about better conditions is to scare it plumb to -death first, and beat it over the head with a club after. -I didn’t mean you to see that thing, boy. But you -have seen it and I don’t figure it matters any—now. -Still if you reckon you’re obliged to me, why, just -forget you’ve seen it. Let’s pack up all this darn -junk. Gee! Ther’s a hell of a lot of it.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Departure from the bay was delayed longer than -McLagan had designed. It was delayed until the following -morning by reason of one of those fierce, late-summer -storms of tornado-like force, which at times -descended upon the tattered coast.</p> - -<p>It started with a rush of wind sweeping down off the -hills. It came with the force of a hurricane, and set -the hut creaking and groaning under its spasmodic -pressure. For half an hour it battled furiously, shrieking, -howling, and crashing its way through forest, and -valley, and over hill-top. And then, as suddenly as it -had leapt, it abated into an ominous calm.</p> - -<p>The respite was illusive. It was sufficiently long for -the men in the hut to interpret the conditions. The -sudden darkening of the whole of the western sky was -sufficiently indicative. Then the real storm broke. It -broke in from the ocean with the rising tide, driving -in direct opposition to the land wind. An electric -storm, it came with sub-tropical intensity, and a fury -of wind. The play of lightning was blinding; the -thunderous detonations were merged into an incessant -roar; and the suddenly opened heavens poured a deluge -of rain upon a darkened world.</p> - -<p>The storm raged for hours. It raged far into the -night. And deep under the fury of it all the voice of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> -the sea came up from below like an angry roar of a -monster lashed and goaded to savage anger. It -boomed, it thundered, its echoes playing from cliff to -cliff, magnified and terrifying.</p> - -<p>Clad in an oilskin, at the height of the storm, McLagan -sought the open. He stood out on the plateau, -and instantly his great body seemed to become the -centre of elemental attack. But he gave no heed. He -forced his way in the blinding rain as near to the -precipitous edge of the cliff as he dared approach it. -Then he stood there swaying to the buffets of the -storm while he strove to penetrate the grey pall with -which the rain enveloped the world below him. It -was useless. And so, at last, he returned to shelter, -and the exercise of such patience as he could command.</p> - -<p>Dawn saw a complete reversal, a complete transformation. -A keen crisp northwest wind had set in, -and the furies of the night had been wholly swept -away. The sun rose glorious in a cloud-flecked sky, -and the world of the coast was as nearly smiling as -Nature ever permitted.</p> - -<p>But the smile of Nature meant nothing to the men -who, ready to set out on their run into Beacon, stood -gazing down upon the bay. The wreck of the <i>Imperial</i> -was gone. Completely, utterly vanished. A -few baulks of timber had been flung high up on the -rocks at the foot of the southern cliff, but of the wreck, -in its familiar form, not a sign was to be discovered. -The ebb of the tide was at its lowest. The rocks on -which she had lain were bare. The vessel had gone -as she had come, on the race of the tide. But with the -difference that her shattered hull had been carried off -piecemeal by the victorious adversary she had defied -so long.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p> - -<p>McLagan was the first to turn away. Sasa Mannik -was standing by the ponies hitched to the laden buckboard. -He moved over to him and in silence climbed -into the driving seat of the ramshackle vehicle. Then -he called to Len Stern, who was still gazing down -upon the cemetery of that poor restless shadow of the -man who had been his friend and partner.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h2 class="no-brk p4"><span class="fs60"><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</span><br /><br /> - -<span class="fs95">The Passing of the “Chief-Light”</span></h2> - - -<p class="drop-capy1">REBECCA CARVER was primly seated at one -end of a well-upholstered couch. Her slight -form was very erect, very much supported in garments -that seemed somehow strange to it. Her dark eyes -were steadily fixed upon the work in her hands, and the -expression of them was carefully concealed. Her -greying hair was neatly dressed for the occasion, and -she looked to be holding herself schooled for the moment, -and the unaccustomed surroundings in which -she found herself.</p> - -<p>It was a seat she rarely enough occupied. But then -the parlour of her frame home had no appeal for her. -She somehow felt she belonged to other spheres, to -another life than that to which the adventurous genius -of her daughter Claire had so suddenly elevated her. -Still, she did her best staunchly enough for all there -were times when she wondered, times when she had -been almost terrified at the thought of the crash in -their fortunes which must inevitably come. But perhaps -the greatest strain of all was her thought for -Claire herself, her dread for her moral undoing. Hers -was the mother’s lot when the reins pass from her -hands, and advancing years bring the slow decay of -her authority.</p> - -<p>Her black silk gown left her feeling wholly self-conscious.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> -Never in her hard-lived life had she possessed -anything quite so splendid. And somehow the -rustle of it was pleasant to her simple mind, and she -hoped fervently that a prolonged sitting would not -completely “muss” it. A silk workbag was beside -her on the couch, and her hard-worn hands were -busily plying knitting-needles whose homely click afforded -her no small measure of encouragement.</p> - -<p>Len Stern was talking from a highly polished chair -opposite her. He had been talking for some time, and -seemed to be addressing her particularly. The play of -his dark eyes was vividly expressive of the thrilling -details of the long story he had had to tell to the -mother of his dead friend, while the two others in -the room seemed, for the time being, to have no claim -upon him.</p> - -<p>Ivor McLagan was standing at a window with his -back turned, labouring under a feeling that his presence -was something of an intrusion upon that which -should have been sacred to the bereaved mother. But -he knew he must be there for clear and definite reasons, -and so he persisted. Claire was near to him. -There could be no question of her greed for the story -she was listening to. Her blue eyes were wide with -almost painful interest. Her hands, those slender hands -which were the admiration of all at the Speedway, -were tightly clasped in her lap. She was leaning -forward eagerly, and hanging intently upon every word -the man uttered.</p> - -<p>Len Stern had told all the story of the gold discovery, -and of the drear life of that fever-ridden coast. -He had told of his desperate journey to secure a man -and a ship to serve their purpose. He had told of the -great day when the shipment was made, and he bade<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> -farewell to the loyal creature, who was thrilling with -the thought of all that their wealth would mean to his -women-folk at home, and had reached the point of -his narrative where he was standing on the beach -watching the breaking out of the vessel’s sails as she -put to sea.</p> - -<p>“It was a great day, ma’am,” he said, with a smile -that was deeply reminiscent. “You just can’t think the -greatness of it. That boy, he was good grit. Gold? -Yes, he wanted that gold, his share. But it was only -for the folks at home. The mother and the sister he’d -left behind. His whole thought, ma’am, all the time -was for you.”</p> - -<p>The mother sniffed violently, and a work-worn hand -brushed aside a tear that blurred the stitches of her -knitting. The next moment the click of her needles -came more rapidly.</p> - -<p>“I got back to work—alone,” Len went on. Then -he drew a deep sigh which ended in an expletive. -“Gee! How I worked.” He laughed. “It’s queer -how hard a boy can work when he’s alone, an’ trying -to keep from going crazy. That’s how it was with -me. Why, I must have got out an’ washed a million -dollars of stuff before it happened. Gold? Why, the -whole of that river bed was gold from end to end. -There’s the gold of the world there, an’ one day some -bunch’ll get around and clear out the fever, and just -snow the world’s market right under with the stuff. -But it wasn’t for me—or Jim. That fever hit me -within two weeks of Jim’s quitting. It came slow, -it made me sick, and I was wise to it. You see, the -Chink had told us. Well, it didn’t take me two jumps -to reckon the thing I must do. I knew I must get out -right away. I must beat it in that shell of a smack of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> -ours down the coast to Perth, the same as I’d done -before. I’d just have to get there and wait around for -Jim to get back. It was a big chance, I was getting -sicker every hour. But I had to take it. So I loaded -all the dust I could take, cached the rest, stowed my -kit, and—drove out to sea.”</p> - -<p>He drew a deep breath as the memory of things -stirred him. McLagan had turned regarding him. -Even Claire, who had sat almost immovable, stirred -restlessly. Then he went on to the accompaniment of -the click of the mother’s needles.</p> - -<p>“Maybe it saved me. I don’t know. Y’see, the sea -air’s clean, and likely it helped. Anyway I was full -of fever and pains, and wanted to lie around all the -while, but I didn’t. I had to make the course I knew, -and the will of it all drove me. I can’t reckon even -now how long it was, or how I ever reached Perth -right. But I reached it in the end after storm, and -calm, and sickness. But I’d lost a big bunch of my -stuff. You see, I had to fight myself as well as the -weather. I was swamped out and nearly plumb -wrecked a dozen times. When I did get in I was -nigher dead than alive, and they set me right into hospital.</p> - -<p>“It was tough. And before they were through with -me it had cost me most of my stuff. Still I wasn’t -worried with that, there was plenty more, and, when -Jim came back and I was feeling good, why, it would -be easy. Quite easy for all I was scared to death of -that coast.”</p> - -<p>He passed a hand back over his dark hair.</p> - -<p>“But time went on an’ I never heard a word. And -then—and then came word of—Jim’s ship. It set me -nigh crazy. I waited, and thought, and worried. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> -never got another word. Then I thought to send you -folks word. Then I was scared to do it. Ma’am, you -don’t know the way I felt. Jim gone——”</p> - -<p>“Drowned. Drowned right in mid-ocean.”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s voice broke in harshly, and Len glanced -round quickly. Claire, too, turned. She looked up, -a sharp question in her eyes.</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded.</p> - -<p>“It hit you, Len boy, to know Jim was—drowned. -It hit us folks, too.”</p> - -<p>Len turned again to the mother who was gazing at -him from behind a mist of tears.</p> - -<p>“Say, ma’am, it hit us all bad, to know Jim was -drowned with the sinking of that ship in mid-ocean. -It hurts me now to think of it. An’ God knows the way -it must hurt you folks. But I didn’t get along to stir -up bad memories. I came to tell Jim’s mother of the -wonderful boy Jim was, and make her feel pride in his -grit, an’ honesty, and—and the hell of a fine partner he -was to me. He was plumb gold all through. Bright -shining gold. He’d got just one notion in the world, -ma’am. It was for his mother and his sister. After -them came his partner. You know, ma’am, someways -I feel, and I’d be glad to know you feel it, too, Jim -came by his death doing one great big act. He’d -sweated and laboured, and he was carrying home all -the fruit of the love of his big heart to his—mother. -Does it make you feel good? Yes, sure it does. I can -see——”</p> - -<p>The mother had flung her knitting aside. Her work-worn -hands were thrust up covering her tear-streaming -eyes. She sprang to her feet and stood sobbing -for a moment. Then Claire came to her side, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> -with one warm arm flung about the older woman’s -shaking shoulders, she led her from the room.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Claire and McLagan were walking down the dusty, -unpaved road in the direction of the city’s main highway. -Len Stern had already departed to transact his -business at Victor Burns’ bank. The mother had gone -back to the work that always claimed her, comforted -far more than she knew by the revelation of the staunch -devotion of her dead son.</p> - -<p>Once clear of the house Claire raised her wide questioning -eyes to the face of the man beside her.</p> - -<p>“Why did you jump in while Len was talking?” she -asked abruptly. “Why did you remind him that Jim -was—drowned?”</p> - -<p>McLagan’s reply came on the instant.</p> - -<p>“Because he wasn’t drowned, and—Len knows it.”</p> - -<p>“Murdered?”</p> - -<p>“Sure.”</p> - -<p>“Then why not say it? Why——”</p> - -<p>“Say, Claire,” McLagan broke in with that roughness -she knew so well, “do you think I’d brought Len -along to tell your Mum that Jim was foully murdered -and robbed? No. I know it. You know it. We’re -young and strong, and it’s not going to hurt us, seeing -poor Jim is dead anyway. But she’s his mother. -Think, my dear, just think. Len and I fixed it up to -say that. I jumped, scared he might blurt out the -truth. Jim’s mother is some one we both love. Right -deep in her heart now is the swell thought of all that -boy was trying to do for her. He died doing it. To -her there’s no picture of a foul murder with the murderer -standing over him and robbing him. Don’t you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> -see? Sure you do. For all her tears I guess we’ve -left Jim’s mother a mighty happy woman. An’ she’ll -never be told the thing that really happened.”</p> - -<p>The girl made no reply. Somehow the man’s -harshly spoken rebuke thrilled her as no word of his -had ever thrilled her before. Her love for him rose -to something like worship as she regarded his plain -face and thought of the world of kindly sympathy -lying behind it. Her next words were almost humble.</p> - -<p>“And the murderer?”</p> - -<p>“Is dead. Hanged by the neck, and—dead.”</p> - -<p>The intensity, the biting ruthlessness of the man’s -tone, was in flat contradiction of his recent mood.</p> - -<p>“Then what you thought—what you hoped of Len’s -coming—proved out?”</p> - -<p>“Surely.”</p> - -<p>“Does Len know? Did he—help?”</p> - -<p>“Len has my assurance. That’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Will I ever know the whole thing—you know?”</p> - -<p>McLagan smiled upon the dingy habitations about -him.</p> - -<p>“Maybe some day,” he said. “But—not right now. -It’s a bad story.”</p> - -<p>They had turned out of the side road, and on to the -sidewalk of the main thoroughfare. It was still within -the business hours of the place, and as Claire gazed -about her a certain unusual movement was observable -among the people. She drew a deep sigh.</p> - -<p>“Sometimes I think it awful in me,” she said, a -little desperately. “He’s dead. Hanged. The man -who murdered Jim. I’m—glad. Yes,” she went on -a little defiantly, “I’m glad. And Jim’s gold?”</p> - -<p>“Recovered—most of it. And passed to the feller -it rightly belongs. Len Stern. That boy needs it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> -You don’t, Claire. Your mother don’t. You’re both—my -affair.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. We don’t need it—anyway.”</p> - -<p>McLagan smiled at the little touch of independence -in the girl’s words.</p> - -<p>They were approaching the Plaza with its balcony -and its loungers. He could see the face of Jubilee -Hurst leaning out gazing in their direction. And he -knew the thing that was coming.</p> - -<p>Jubilee’s challenge came on the instant of their approach. -It came full of all that irresponsible lightness -which masked the real seriousness of the man.</p> - -<p>“Ho, Mac!” he cried. “Is it true? Is it real, or -have I got a bad nightmare? I’ve turned over a couple -of times but it’s still the same. I can’t get away from -the messy sight of crude oil streaming all through the -streets of Beacon. Is it true? Or are you yearning -to see us poor folk plumb bug?”</p> - -<p>Claire and McLagan smiled up into eager face. -They realised the presence of the others on the veranda. -There was Abe Cranfield. And Burt Riddell -was gloomily inquiring as he leant over the rail beside -his partner.</p> - -<p>“It’s all true.”</p> - -<p>It was Claire who replied. She nodded laughingly. -And in her eyes was a gladness that illuminated her -whole countenance. Then she indicated the man beside -her.</p> - -<p>“You see, Ivor’s got the close habit, and I guess it -isn’t easy for him to say ‘yes.’ Maybe now I’ve saved -you getting bug he can hand you the rest.”</p> - -<p>McLagan nodded.</p> - -<p>“I guessed you’d be wise in a half-hour. That’s why -I chose Doc Finch to hand out the news. He’s better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> -than a hundred telephones. Yes, boy, it’s all true. -There’s oil enough to float a ship. Get in, if you’ve -two cents to buy with. Maybe there’s weeks of grace -while my folks play the market. So get in, or our -stocks’ll jump sky high. You’ll find it more profitable -than a hand at Claire’s table.”</p> - -<p>Jubilee eyed the girl. He realised the wonderful -light shining in her pretty eyes. But it was the sad -voice of Burt Riddell that answered him.</p> - -<p>“Maybe it’s more profitable. But me for the hand -at Claire’s table. Say, you ain’t going to rob us of -that?”</p> - -<p>McLagan laughed outright.</p> - -<p>“When it comes to guessing I’d say you’ve Jubilee -beat a mile.”</p> - -<p>“What d’you mean?” Jubilee looked from one to -the other and grinned. “Burt got me beat guessing?” -He shook his head. “Not on your life, Mac. I didn’t -have to guess. I—knew. Say, it beats hell. My best -to you both, Claire. The Speedway’ll be hell without -you, but—Gee, I must go count my cents. It don’t -seem right, buying oil with ’em when I’m yearning to -hand you a swell bouquet. Say, look down the sidewalk. -See the folks? Doc’s sure been busy. Well, so -long. Will you be around at the Speedway to-night? -‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Bon</i>,’ as we used to say in France,” he cried, as the -engineer nodded. “It’ll beat Max’s festival to the -bone. Come on, Burt. Let’s get a look at our cents -and see how best we can roll Victor to help things -out.”</p> - -<p>Claire and McLagan passed on, and the sight of the -engineer caused a commotion and excitement that had -been unknown in Beacon since the early days of the -boom. It was as McLagan had said it would be. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> -town was already oil-crazy. The man’s progress was -something in the nature of a triumphal procession. -There were smiles, and greeting, and handshakes, almost -every step of the way, till McLagan felt something -like serious regret that he had utilised the -rotund doctor as a medium for disseminating his -news.</p> - -<p>As they came to the bank, McLagan’s patience had -well-nigh exhausted itself.</p> - -<p>“We’ll get right inside for shelter, kid,” he said in -desperation. “This popularity makes me sick. This -darn handwagging with folks I don’t know from a -bunch of fence posts couldn’t be worse if I was President -of the United States. Say——”</p> - -<p>He laughed as he discovered that Victor Burns was -standing in the doorway of the bank obviously waiting -for him to come up.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They were safe for the moment in Victor’s private -office. The banker was sitting behind his desk while -Claire was occupying the most comfortable chair the -place afforded. McLagan was propped on the corner -of the desk listening to the thing the banker had to -tell.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad for you, McLagan,” he said. “I’m glad -for Beacon. And it didn’t take me two seconds to -guess my own feelings the moment Doc blew in and -handed me his story of an oil flood that nearly -wrecked your camp. I’ve a private bunch of dollars -that’s going to be changed into your Corporation’s -stock right away. Yes, boy, I’m glad, but I’m worried.”</p> - -<p>“How?”</p> - -<p>“How?” The banker looked from one to the other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> -Then he raised a clenched fist and brought it heavily -down on his desk. A frown of unusual ill-temper had -suddenly depressed his pleasant face. “It’s this boy, -Cy Liskard, a customer of mine, you’ll remember him. -It’s that guy with the gold I showed you awhile back. -The feller that you spread out on the Speedway floor -on the night of the festival. They’ve hanged him, -they’ve hanged him clean out of hand. It’s these boys, -the Aurora bunch. And they ticketed him with their -fancy label with the signature of the Chief Light.”</p> - -<p>He snorted as he sat gazing into McLagan’s face. -Claire sat up in her chair, a startled look in her eyes -as she watched the unsmiling face of the man she -loved.</p> - -<p>“That don’t seem a thing to worry for,” McLagan -said coldly. “Where did they hang him? What -for?”</p> - -<p>“Where? What for?” The banker shook his head. -“They hanged him right here just beyond the town -limits on the lakeside. What for? I haven’t a notion, -unless it was a hold-up for his stuff. Here, you don’t -get me——”</p> - -<p>“It hasn’t been their way to hold a boy up for his -stuff,” McLagan broke in quickly. “Was he coming -in with a bunch of dust?”</p> - -<p>The banker shook his head. He spread out a pair -of helpless hands.</p> - -<p>“I can’t say a thing,” he declared peevishly. “Here, -I’ll tell you. Goodchurch came along this morning; -he jumped in on me and I asked him things; -he said he was guessing as badly as I was. One of -his men come in and brought him word a feller was -hanging under the spread of a Western Cedar, and -was labelled by this precious bunch. Looked like he’d<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> -been hanging there days. He sent out to investigate -and found it was this boy from the Lias, who’s been -toting dust in since last fall. He asked me what I -knew, and I told him of his credit here. He’s set a -government ‘hold-up’ on it, and went off cursing these -Aurora folk in a way I’d hate to repeat before a lady. -I’m sick, I’m good an’ sick. I’m not worried for the -boy. He was a sure tough, and I’d say he’s the sort -to be a deal safer off the earth. But it’s the trade. -It’s the stuff. He was reckoning to bring more along. -Say, Mac, does it look good to you? I’ve heard you -say you’d a hunch for these boys, setting out to clean -things up. Well? Is this cleaning up? Or is it the -thing I’ve been scared of right along—a hold-up?”</p> - -<p>McLagan shook his head. His face was mask-like -in its seriousness. Claire, watching him, felt at that -moment she would have given much to read the thing -passing behind it.</p> - -<p>“You can’t rightly tell, Victor,” he said. “But I -wouldn’t reckon that way without knowing more. -There was sure something queer about that boy. And -he was a tough, anyway.” Then he smiled, “It’s -queer, here I bring you word of such wealth coming -to Beacon as no gold can ever hand it. I’m showing -you how to get in and help yourself, yet you’re worried -for a bunch of dust that won’t be a circumstance -in Beacon when we open out.”</p> - -<p>He turned to the girl, who was regarding him so -earnestly.</p> - -<p>“You know, kid,” he said, “these men who handle -gold can’t see a thing but gold. They just love it to -death.”</p> - -<p>He turned again to the banker.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t worry with the Aurora bunch, Victor,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> -he said. “The oil boom coming is going to clean up -most things. Maybe they’ll go along with the rest. -You see, when the government realises the thing -Beacon can hand them there’ll be no room for white -shirts and hanging bees.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Outside the bank the girl made no further effort to -restrain the questions that were flooding her mind.</p> - -<p>“Tell me, Ivor,” she cried, the moment they reached -the sidewalk again. “This man? This Cy Liskard? -Oh, I remember him. I’m never likely to forget him, -and the way you smashed him that night for his insult -to me. Who is he? Why did they hang him? I’ve -got to know things now. Is he——?”</p> - -<p>“The man who killed your brother Jim. The man -who murdered and robbed him. Julian Caspar, the -man who was trading Jim’s gold into that bank.”</p> - -<p>Claire drew a deep breath. They had turned into -one of the almost undefined side roads, which was -little better than a track, in order to avoid the crowd -on the main street. They were making their way in -the direction of the girl’s home again. McLagan observed -her closely. Then a half smile lit his eyes.</p> - -<p>“It’s time you knew things,” he said. Then he -asked gently, almost anxiously: “What does that just -mean, kid? Are you worried?”</p> - -<p>Claire looked up. Her gaze was full of trust, full -of confidence, full of pride in the big creature who -had laboured so hard to capture her heart. She shook -her head.</p> - -<p>“No, dear, I’m not worried—now,” she said. Then -a smile full of radiant love replaced the seriousness -in her eyes. “Like you, I’ve a hunch for those white-robed -folk. I sort of feel there’s no harm in them for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> -those running straight. There’s no ‘hold-up’ in them. -But I’m wondering. When your folk have got along, -and you go down country——”</p> - -<p>“We go down country,” the man corrected.</p> - -<p>“When we go down country, how’ll they get on -without their—Chief Light?”</p> - -<p>McLagan threw back his head in a great, unrestrained -laugh. He suddenly took possession of the -girl’s arm, and patted the hand that, for the moment, -rested in his.</p> - -<p>“Guess they’ll need to elect a—new one,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Jubilee?”</p> - -<p>The girl’s eyes were shining with the delight it gave -her to show this great creature how deeply she had -penetrated his secret.</p> - -<p>“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know, and—Psha! -So long as I’ve got you, kid, I don’t care a darn.”</p> - -<p class="pfs120 p2">THE END</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<div class="transnote"> - -<p class="center">Transcriber’s Notes</p> - - -<ol> - -<li>Removed duplicate title and author’s name at beginning of the book in HTML version.</li> -<li>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been -maintained, i.e.: up-standing/upstanding, get-away/get away, etc.</li> -<li><a href="#Page_28">Page 28</a>, Period added after “ordinary sort of engineer”.</li> -<li><a href="#Page_142">Page 142</a>, Period added after “faithful servant, too”.</li> -<li><a href="#Page_298">Page 298</a>, “Casper” changed to “Caspar”.</li> - -</ol> - -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Saint of the Speedway, by Ridgwell Cullum - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SAINT OF THE SPEEDWAY *** - -***** This file should be named 62533-h.htm or 62533-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/5/3/62533/ - -Produced by ellinora, Susan Carr and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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