The Lure of the North Part 14

CHAPTER XII

ON THE TRAIL

Thirlwell had been to the railroad settlement, and returning with Father Lucien, camped on the trail not far from the mine. The day had been unusually warm and at noon the pines dripped in the sun and the snow got damp. At dusk it began to freeze and a haze hung about the woods and obscured the moon, but, by contrast with the rigors of winter, Thirlwell sitting by the camp-fire, felt almost uncomfortably warm. Father Lucien had taken off his furs and sat with a blanket over his shoulders on a bundle of dry twigs. Both had hung their moccasins up to dry near the heap of snapping branches. Wreaths of aromatic smoke slowly drifted past and faded in the mist.

"One feels spring coming," said Father Lucien. "We have had a foretaste to cheer us while winter lasts. The sun is moving north, and up here, it always thrills me to watch the light drive back the dark. One could make a homily on that."

"The dark soon returns," Thirlwell remarked, "I hate the long nights."

"There are men who like the dark, in spite of the terrors it has for some."

"I wonder whether you are thinking of a particular example," Thirlwell suggested, remembering a night watch he had kept while the blizzard raged about Driscoll's shack.

"One does think of examples. Perhaps we generalize too much. It is easy to let an individual stand for a type."

"If the individual is Black Steve Driscoll, I hope he's an uncommon type."

Father Lucien made a sign of agreement. "Driscoll was in my thoughts. A strange man; dogged and sullen, with a heart that kindness cannot touch.

Yet one feels he is afraid."

"He was afraid when he was ill; I wonder why. The fellow has no religious or moral code. But he drinks hard and perhaps he's superst.i.tious."

"What is superst.i.tion?" the missionary asked with a smile. "The old atavistic fear of the dark and the mysterious dangers that threatened our savage ancestors? Or is it an instinctive knowledge that there are supernatural powers, able to punish and reward?"

"I don't know," said Thirlwell, who mused and watched the smoke drift past.

The bush was very quiet; he could hear nothing but the crackle of the fire. Now and then a blaze leaped up and pierced the shadows among the pine trunks. A few yards away, the trees got blurred and melted into the encircling gloom. In one place, however, there was an opening, and when he turned his back to the light, he saw a faint glimmer in the mist that indicated the frozen lake. Although he was used to the wilds, he felt the silence and desolation.

"It's easy to be superst.i.tious here," he resumed. "One feels that human power is limited and loses one's confidence. I expect something of the kind accounts for Driscoll's nervous fears. In the city, he would have no time to brood; he'd spend his days in a noisy workshop and his evenings in a crowded tenement or saloon. But if he's scared of the dark and loneliness, why doesn't he pull out?"

"Human nature's stubborn. A man with a compelling object may be afraid and fight his fears."

"I'd like to know what Driscoll's object is. Since the night in his shack, when the fellow was sick, I've wondered why Strange's canoe capsized. Strange was a clever _voyageur_; so's Black Steve."

Father Lucien looked at him curiously and there was a hint of shrinking in his eyes. "I cannot tell; perhaps we shall never know! But if there was foul play, what would Driscoll gain?"

"It's hard to see," Thirlwell agreed. "I could understand it if Steve had afterwards staked a claim, but n.o.body has found the ore yet. There's another curious thing; I don't see what he'd gain by leaving you to starve, as I think he meant to do."

"No," said Father Lucien sharply, "that is impossible! Besides, Driscoll was trapping some distance off."

"A white man stood looking down at you and then stole away, although he saw you had no camp outfit," Thirlwell insisted.

"He may have been short of food and came to borrow. Seeing I had none, he was perhaps afraid to share any he had left with me."

Thirlwell shook his head. "I haven't met a prospector who would let a white man starve; they're a rough but generous lot. In fact, the only man I know who's capable of the thing is Driscoll."

Father Lucien did not answer and presently lay down, but Thirlwell sat for a time, thinking while he dried his moccasins. The missionary was something of an idealist, although he knew the weaknesses of human nature, but Thirlwell was practical. Somehow he had got entangled in the complications that sprang from Strange's supposit.i.tious discovery of the ore, but he did not want to break loose. Agatha Strange needed him; she had admitted that there was n.o.body else to whom she could look for help and advice. So far, he could find no clue to the web of mystery that surrounded the matter and had caught them both, but he meant to search.

When the moccasins were dry, he began to wonder why he was anxious to help the girl, since he was not in love with her. In a sense, it was perhaps his duty, but this did not account for his keenness. He gave it up, and after throwing some branches on the fire lay down and went to sleep.

The fire was low and gave out no light when he wakened. He felt cold and remembered with some annoyance that he had not gathered enough wood to last until morning. He had not brought his watch, partly because he had fastened a small compa.s.s on the chain, but he knew that day would not break for some hours yet. The mist was thinner, although it had not gone, and looking up he guessed the moon's height by the elusive glimmer in the haze. It was about four o'clock, and he imagined he had wakened when the heat of his body had sunk to its lowest; but was not altogether satisfied, since he had slept undisturbed by much keener frost.

For all that, it was a nuisance to get up and look for dead branches in the dark, and he waited, reluctant to throw off his blanket, for some minutes, and then roused himself with a jerk. He imagined he heard voices out on the lake. He glanced at Father Lucien, but the latter was fast asleep. Thirlwell wondered whether he himself had gone to sleep again and dreamed, but half-consciously fixed his eyes on the opening that commanded a view of the lake. He could see it indistinctly; a smooth white plain running back into the dark. The snow caught a faint reflection although the moon was hidden, but nothing broke the even surface.

Then Thirlwell got up abruptly, for he heard a shout. It sounded as if somebody had given an order, and he felt disturbed. There was, he knew, no ground for this. The few white trappers and prospectors who now and then entered the wilds were, for the most part, good-humored, sociable men; the _Metis_ and Indians were friendly. Indeed, the proper line was for him to invite the strangers to share his camp, but he hesitated. He had got suspicious since he promised to help in the search for Strange's silver, and trappers and Indians did not travel at night.

As he pondered the matter, a dark object came out of the misty background on the lake. It was indistinct, but by its height and slow movements he knew it was a man. It vanished presently where the pines cut off his view, but three others followed after an interval, two apparently hauling a loaded sledge. They crossed the stretch of ice that Thirlwell could see, and when the trees shut them out he forgot to gather wood and lighted his pipe.

The hazy figures had an unsubstantial, ghostly look; he might have imagined he had not really seen them had he not heard the leader's shout. Then it was hard to see why they were traveling in the dark, since they must leave the ice soon and the trail was rough. He thought their leader knew the country, because their coming down the lake indicated that they had taken a short but difficult line from the settlements. But one would expect a man who knew the country to make for and stop at the mine, which was not far off. Thirlwell hoped to reach it next day, and wondered whether the others meant to pa.s.s it at night. If so, it would indicate that they did not want to be seen.

When he had smoked out his pipe he gathered some wood, and then, as Father Lucien had not wakened, thought he would look for the others'

trail and see which way they had gone. They were traveling north, but two routes the Indians used started from the head of the lake. He found the marks of the sledge-runners, and then noted with a thrill of excitement that there was something curious about one of the men's tracks. The steps were uneven; one impression was sharper than the other.

Imagining that the party would camp soon, Thirlwell determined to follow and presently came to a rough slope where the trail left the ice.

Caution was now needed, because he could not see far and might be heard if he made much noise in pushing through the bush. The silence that brooded over the woods indicated that the others had stopped. The pines were small and tangled, but he could see where the sledge had gone and when he reached the summit a gleam of light sprang up in the valley below. Thirlwell thought the man who made the fire had chosen the spot well if he meant its light to be hidden.

The wood was thin on the slope he went down and it was difficult to keep in the gloom. The glimmering moonlight was brighter and his figure would be visible against the snow as he crossed the openings. When he was some distance from the fire he stopped and studied his line of approach.

The men were moving about on his side of the fire. Their figures were distinct, but he could not see their faces, and if he crossed the belt of rather open ground, the light would fall on him. If he could creep up on the other side, the fire would be between them and, shining in the men's faces, prevent their seeing far. The trouble was, that the wood behind the camp looked tangled and thick, and he doubted if he could get through without making a noise. Something, however, must be risked, and stealing across the opening to the next tree, he presently reached a belt of thicker wood.

He could not be seen now, but he made a circuit round the fire before he began to approach it from the other side. His progress was slow and he felt anxious, because it was possible that the men had moved round the fire while he struggled through the bush. Still he thought they had not done so, because he had seen one throwing up a snow-bank behind which they meant to sleep. They would probably cook their meal and sit down on that side in the shelter of the bank. When he left the thick bush he saw that his reasoning was good, but he had yet to get near enough and the fire was burning well. There was not much wind, but the red blaze leaped up and sank, throwing out clouds of sparks, while a trail of smoke drifted about the camp. The resinous wood, however, crackled fiercely and he hoped this would drown the noise he made.

There was nothing to hide him for some distance, and then a patch of juniper scrub and some willows ran towards the camp. If he could reach them he would be safe, and he crawled across the open s.p.a.ce and lay behind the first juniper while he got his breath. There was nothing to indicate that the others had heard him, and a few minutes later he stopped again at the edge of a gap where a fire had run through the scrub. He could see the men, though he could not distinguish their faces. One seemed to be looking in his direction, and Thirlwell felt his heart beat but did not move. He had a background of dark bushes and it was wiser to keep still than drop into the snow.

Presently the man stooped, as if to pick up something, and Thirlwell, stealing forward, sank down among the willows. They rustled as he crept between their stems, but the fire was snapping furiously and after he had gone a few yards he thought he was near enough. Rising nearly upright, he pushed the dry branches aside. Since they broke his outline, it would be hard to see him by the unsteady light.

The flames tossed and wavered, throwing a fierce red glow about the camp. Pine-trunks and snow-bank stood out sharply from the shadow, and faded again. The light played on the men's faces for a few moments and then left them blurred and dim. Thirlwell waited until one threw on some branches and a blaze and cloud of sparks sprang up. The glare touched the fellow's face and Thirlwell thrilled with excitement as he saw it was Driscoll.

He did not know the others, but one had a rather pale color, as if he had come from the cities, and his fur-coat looked new and good. The sledge carried an unusually heavy load, and among the provision bags he noted some iron drills and a small wooden box such as giant-powder is packed in. It was a prospecting party and he had seen enough.

Creeping back into the scrub, he set off for camp. When he got there Father Lucien was asleep, and when they resumed the march next morning Thirlwell told him nothing about the other party. He thought the missionary had difficulties enough of his own without being involved in the trouble that seemed to follow all who had anything to do with Strange's silver lode.

CHAPTER XIII

THE PROSPECTORS' RETURN

It was snowing, but there was no wind and the shack was warm when, on the evening after his return, Thirlwell sat, smoking, by the stove. Now and then a ma.s.s of snow rumbled down the iron roof near the spot where the hot pipe went through, and the draughts had lost their former sting.

The air in the room felt different; it was not humid yet, but one no longer noticed the harsh dryness that is caused by intense frost. The long arctic winter was coming to an end.

By and by Scott, sitting opposite Thirlwell, said thoughtfully, "Driscoll's outfit will have to hustle, if they mean to do much prospecting and get back while the ice is good. I'll give them a month, and if they're not out then, they'll have trouble."

Thirlwell made a sign of agreement. Rivers and lakes are numerous in the North, and in winter one can travel smoothly on the ice. When the latter rots and cracks, _voyageurs_ and prospectors wait until the melting snow sweeps the grinding floes away and canoes can be launched. To push through tangled bush and across soft muskegs costs heavy labor.