Part 13

"Now," said Probyn gravely, "that ought to make it worth another ten dollars to anybody."

"Would you think it worth all that?"

"A hundred," said Probyn, "would not be too much. I'd buy the thing now only, unfortunately, I haven't a coin of any kind by me. There are, you see, a good many disadvantages attached to being a police trooper."

"Are there?" said Hetty. "Then why did you become one, and what would you have liked to be?"

"That," answered the lad, with a trace of dryness, "is neither here nor there." Then his eyes twinkled again. "A baker! Couldn't you give me that loaf on credit--to keep forever?"

"I certainly couldn't. Besides, you would eat it the first time you were hungry. Hold it still while I make it smooth again!"

She did it with dainty little pats, and the lad watched her, openly appreciative, with his head on one side, for her pose and the movements of arm and shoulder effectively displayed a prettily moulded figure.

"There's a little bit you have left out. Hadn't you better go round it again?" he said.

It was, perhaps, not altogether wise of Hetty to laugh provokingly as she glanced at him; but she was young, and masculine approbation was no more distasteful to her than it is to most young women. She also believed--as she had, indeed, once pointed out to Tom Leger--that, though Trooper Probyn had very little sense, there was not a grain of harm in him.

"Why? It's quite smooth enough," she said.

"You do it so prettily. Of course, that's only what one would expect from a girl with a hand like that. The wrist runs into it so nicely, too. When some people try to work their wrists get red, you know."

"Put the bread into the oven--now," said Hetty severely.

The lad, who noticed a certain warning tone he had heard before, did as he was bidden, and luted up the door of the big clay-built oven. When he returned there was no longer any of Hetty's arm visible beneath her sleeve.

"It's getting late, and I have the boys' supper to look after," she said significantly.

Probyn knew by the lengthening of the shadows that this was true, and he had still a long round to make; but he was a trifle more inconsequent than usual that afternoon, and in place of taking his departure leaned against a cedar.

"Well," he said, "I mean to stay a little. It's very pleasant here."

The statement was perfectly warranted, for the sound of the river came up soothingly across the pines, and through openings between them one could see the tremendous ramparts of never-melting snow that cut cold and white against the blue. Hetty, too, standing with fluffy hair a trifle disordered, and with the sunlight streaming between the great branches upon her, was very alluring; but still, it was unfortunate that Trooper Probyn did not go. He was not aware that Tomlinson, who had had difficulties with the flume he was building, was just then coming up the hillside in a somewhat uncertain temper.

"You have been here quite an hour," said Hetty.

"A year," said Probyn, "wouldn't be half enough for me. Now, I've a piece of news I hadn't the heart to tell you--and you'll try to be brave. Esmond is sending two or three of us South very shortly, and I'm very much afraid I will be one of them."

"Is that all?" and Hetty laughed.

The lad looked at her reproachfully. "You seem to bear up astonishingly well. It will be different with me. You may even have married one of those miner fellows by the time I come back again."

There was no apparent reason why the suggestion should drive the smile out of Hetty's eyes; but it certainly did; though Probyn did not notice her sudden change of mood.

"Yes," he said, "I'm afraid I'll have to go, and that's why I want you to give me something to remember you by when I'm far away. It needn't be very much. That pretty little ribbon at your neck would do."

The request was not out of keeping with the trooper's usual conversation, which consisted largely of badinage, and Hetty could not be expected to realize that he now and then meant what he said. It, however, happened that Ingleby, who said it suited her complexion, had once laughingly bought her that ribbon in a Vancouver dry-goods store.

"You certainly can't have it," she said, a trifle sharply.

Probyn, who perversely fancied her decisiveness was assumed and intended to be provocative, lost his head.

"Then you don't mean to give me a trifle of that kind after chopping wood for you two days every week and kneading an ovenful of bread?" he said.

"No," said Hetty, who was by no means anxious to detain him now. "It wasn't anything like that often, and I told you I was busy. Why don't you go?"

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to take it," said Probyn, with a reckless laugh.

In another moment his hand was on Hetty's shoulder, and it was unfortunate he did not see the indignation in her face as she strove to thrust him away. There was no doubt about the genuineness of it now, for her cheeks were flushed with anger; but the trooper's persistence was not lessened by the fact that a pin entered one of his fingers as he clutched at the little bow. The momentary pain, indeed, drove what little sense he had out of his head, and he became the more determined upon obtaining possession of the coveted ribbon.

Just then a big, long-limbed man with a grim, bronzed face came out of the shadow of the pines and stopped for a moment with a smothered expletive. It was not altogether unnatural that he should misunderstand the situation, and he sprang forward suddenly when he recovered from his astonishment. Probyn had by this time succeeded in tearing away the bow, and there was a rustle of draperies as Hetty, who shook off his relaxing grasp, inconsequently fled; but in another moment a hard hand fell upon his shoulder and swung him round. In fact, so rude was the wrench that he reeled backwards for a pace or two, and on recovering his balance found himself face to face with a big and very angry man who regarded him out of half-closed eyes in a distinctly unpleasant fashion.

"It's you, Tomlinson! What the devil did you mean by that?" he said.

"Well," said the miner drily, "I guess it ought to be quite plain to you."

Probyn, who looked around, saw that Hetty had vanished into the shanty.

"Now, look here, there really isn't the slightest reason why you should make an ass of yourself," he said. "I am, of course, not telling you this because I am afraid of anything you can do."

Tomlinson's face grew a little darker in hue as he glanced at the strip of crumpled ribbon still in the lad's hand.

"I want that thing. Pass it across," he said.

Probyn smiled, for his recklessness was, perhaps, partly accounted for by the fact that there was what is usually termed good blood in him.

"I'll have considerable pleasure in seeing you hanged first," he said.

"Well," said Tomlinson, "we'll fix all that. Now, light out of this. You don't want the circus right in front of the shanty."

The lad made a little gesture of comprehension as he swung round, and Tomlinson gravely walked after him until they could no longer be seen from the shanty. Then Probyn turned to him again.

"We're far enough, I think," he said.

He stood, strung up, but apparently impassive, with his left arm across him and his right hand clenched at his side, and only a suggestion of watchfulness in his steady eyes. Tomlinson smiled grimly.

"If I were to hit you hard I'd kill you, sure. I'm raised to-day," he said. "I guess a souse in the creek will have to do instead."

Probyn saw that the issue must be faced, and he was by no means deficient in courage, or he would not have ridden long with the Northwest Police. Stepping forward, with a thrust from his right foot, he feinted with his left hand at the miner's face, and then, swinging downwards with lowered head, got in a right-hand body blow that would probably have staggered another man. Tomlinson, however, took it with no more than a gasp, and flinging out his right hand closed with him, which was singularly unfortunate for Trooper Probyn. He had been accounted tolerably proficient with the gloves in another land, but it is not for pastime that men fight in the wilderness, and there the disablement of one's opponent by any means available is the object of the game.

Probyn had the pride which breeds courage and endurance, as well as vigour; but he had not swung the axe and shovel for twenty years, as Tomlinson had done, in the strenuous, unceasing grapple with unsubdued Nature which hardens every muscle and sinew in the men of the Northwest. They have the pride of manhood in place of the pride of birth, and a grim optimism which chiefly finds expression in attempting that which is apparently beyond accomplishment, and in holding on, in spite of frost and snow and icy gale, until achievement comes. Thus it came about that in a very few seconds Trooper Probyn recognized that he was no match for the miner, though he had no intention of admitting it or of being put into the creek if he could by any means avoid it.

For several strenuous minutes they reeled, locked together, about the trail, and fell against the trees, while neither of them concerned himself greatly about the strict rules of the game. They smote when it was possible and clinched when they could; but all the time they were drawing steadily nearer the creek.

In the meanwhile Leger and Ingleby, as well as one or two miners who purposed purchasing bread from Hetty, came out from among the pines, and a corporal of police rode up on the opposite side of the creek. The miners, who did not notice him, naturally stopped.

"It's that young ass Probyn," said Ingleby. "No doubt he deserves all he is apparently getting."

"He is in uniform, anyway," said Leger. "We'll have to stop them. Let the lad go, Tomlinson!"

Tomlinson did not hear him, for just then he swung the trooper off his feet, and staggering forward a pace or two fell with him into the creek. They splashed into the water, and apparently rolled over and over in the midst of it, while confused shouts rose from the miners.

"Pull him off. No, stand clear. Let them have a show!"

Then the corporal of police, trotting forward, pulled his horse up at the edge of the creek.

"Let up on that man, prospector," he said sharply.

Tomlinson seemed to hear him, for he relaxed his hold and slowly stood up, while Trooper Probyn rose in the middle of the creek with the water draining from him and blood on his cheek. The miners gathered round, but the corporal sat stiffly in his saddle with expressionless face.

"Stand off, you," he said, with a glance at them, and then turned to Probyn. "Now, what in the name of thunder is the meaning of this circus?"

"It's a little difference of opinion," said the trooper. "Prospector Tomlinson felt I'd said something insulting to him."

The corporal appeared to reflect. "Considering where you were sent to, I can't quite figure what you were doing here, anyway; but that's not the point," he said. "I'll trouble you to come along to the outpost, Tomlinson."

One of the miners stepped forward. "He's staying where he is," he said. "I guess the trooper made the trouble and only got what he wanted. Hadn't both of you better light out of this?"

There was a little grim murmur of approbation, but the corporal, who dropped his bridle, looked at the men with steady eyes.

"I'm not asking your opinions, boys," he said.

Then Probyn turned to him. "As a matter of fact, they're right in one respect," he said. "The little row had nothing to do with any question of duty. It was a private affair of mine. If it appears necessary, you can report it to Captain Esmond."

Once more the corporal, who was a shrewd man, appeared to reflect. "Well," he said, "I saw your grey tethered when I came along the trail. You'd better get him. If you're wanted we'll come along for you, Tomlinson."

Tomlinson turned, and looked at Probyn. "I guess," he said, slowly and distinctly, "if ever you start the same circus again I'll kill you."

The corporal, who did not appear to hear him, though everybody else did, wheeled his horse, and Probyn walked by his stirrup when he rode away. Then Ingleby turned to Tomlinson.

"There's a good deal I want to know," he said.

"Well," said the big miner drily, "there's very little you need worry about. You see, that young trooper isn't fond of me, and there was a kind of unpleasantness when we ran up against each other."

"You were coming down the trail from the bakery when I saw you," said Leger.

"Yes," said Tomlinson, "we were."

"Then," said Leger, "since he ran up against you, Probyn must have been going there."

Tomlinson appeared to be considering the point. "Well," he said, "it looks quite like that."

There was evidently no more to be got out of him, and Leger and Ingleby went up the trail together towards the bakery. Tomlinson, however, stayed behind, and slipped a little crumpled bow of ribbon into his pocket.

XVIII

INGLEBY GOES AWAY

It was a week after the sequestration of the claim, and Ingleby leaned against a cedar with the firelight on his face, which was unusually resolute, and a bundle of clothing and blankets at his feet. Hetty sat on one of the hearth-logs in the shadow watching him quietly, and Leger stood in the doorway of the shanty with something very like anger in his eyes. He had for the last ten minutes enlarged upon every reason he could think of why Ingleby should remain with them, and the latter was still apparently as firmly decided as ever on going away.

"There's not a grain of sense in your point of view," said Leger. "It's sentiment run to seed, and sentiment of the most maudlin kind, at that. Of course, I know all this is useless--nothing would move you--but it's some small relief to let you know what I think of you. I suppose you will admit that what you're going to do isn't quite in keeping with the theories you once professed to believe in."

Hetty, who had a spice of temper, laughed. "Walter never believed in them--he only thought he did. He's like the rest of you. You keep your ideas to talk about and worry people with."

Ingleby made a little deprecatory gesture. "I've no doubt I deserve it, Hetty, but you ought to see that I can't stay here. I should, in fact, have gone away before, but I felt almost sure we would find the gold sooner or later."

"Who is responsible for throwing the claim away?" broke in Leger.

"Both of us, I fancy. Anyway, that's not quite the question."

Leger made a last effort. "Now," he said, "you know very well that your chance of finding gold on the new claim is good, and we can very easily afford to grub-stake you until you strike it. In this country it's quite a common arrangement. Apart from that--since you seem to be so abnormally sensitive--there's enough for you and me to do chopping wood for the oven in the evenings to square the account altogether. I have, of course, pointed that out already; but if you will make an effort, I think you will remember that there was a time when you insisted on lending me what was, in the circumstances, a considerable sum of money."

"I can remember most clearly that only the fear of seeing you arrested for manslaughter induced a certain young lady to agree to it."

Hetty looked up sharply. "I'm not going to answer that--I'm too vexed," she said. "It isn't the least use trying to persuade him, Tom."

"No," said Leger, with a little gesture of resignation, "I'm afraid it isn't. You are going to work for Tomlinson, Walter?"

"Yes," said Ingleby. "That is, now and then--a day or two to keep me going while I find out what is in the claim. He wants more water, and is putting up a flume. I had a five-dollar bill from him yesterday."

He stopped a moment, and the firelight showed there was a trace of deeper colour than usual in his face as he held out a little strip of paper to Hetty.

"Will you put that to my credit, and let me have two loaves now?" he said.

Leger said something viciously that was not very distinct, while Hetty sat still a moment glancing at the paper without touching it, and then gravely held out her hand.

"You will get them in the store," she said.

Ingleby disappeared into the shadows, and the two who were left said nothing whatever, but Hetty moved a trifle so that Leger could not see her face. Then Ingleby came back with the bread, and quietly slung his traps about him before he held out his hand.

"I don't want to go, Hetty, but it can't be helped," he said. "Of course, I'll come back often in the evenings."

Hetty did not move out of the shadow, and though Ingleby did not seem to notice it there was a curious hardness in her voice.

"Well," she said quietly, "I suppose you know best."

Ingleby turned away, and shook himself in a fashion that suggested relief as he swung down the trail. He had left a good deal behind him, and it was a hard thing he had done, much harder, in fact, than he had ever anticipated; but he could not live on the bounty of a girl. For all that, he shrank from the loneliness of the life before him, and his fancy would dwell upon the evenings he had spent with Hetty and Leger beside the crackling fire. Hetty was by no means clever--at least, in some respects; but he did not expect her to be so, and where she was there was also cheerfulness and tranquillity. Now the bush in front of him seemed very black and lonely.

He had scarcely disappeared when Hetty, rising slowly, crumpled a strip of paper in her hand and flung it into the fire. As it happened, it fell upon the side of one of the logs a little distance from the hottest blaze, and Leger made a little instinctive movement, and then sat still again.

"I suppose you realize what that is?" he said.

"Yes," said Hetty, whose face showed flushed in the flickering light, "it is a five-dollar bill."

Leger looked at her sharply, and then laughed. "Well," he said, "I suppose you can afford it--and, after all, I'm not sure it isn't the best thing you could do with it."

Hetty said nothing but went into the shanty, and it was next morning before Leger, who looked very thoughtful as he sat beside the fire, saw any more of her. He had already realized that the possession of a pretty sister is a responsibility.

For a week or two afterwards Ingleby alternately assisted Tomlinson in the building of a flume and worked on his claim, but it was, perhaps, fortunate that he had now shaken off the fierce impatience which had driven him to overtax his strength when hope was strong in him. Indeed, of late a curious lassitude had crept upon him, though he still toiled on; and it was only the fact that provisions were a consideration which induced him to accompany Sewell and Tomlinson on an expedition to look for a black-tail deer.

Tomlinson brought a tent with him, and Ingleby and Sewell were sitting outside it one evening when Trooper Probyn and the corporal came up leading a laden horse. Horses were very little use for riding in that country, but there were trails they could with some difficulty be led along, and the few strips of natural prairie afforded them a precarious sustenance. There was also no other means of transport except the miner's back. The corporal bade Probyn pull the beast up beside the tent and loosed the pack-lariat.

"You can get up when we've hove the traps off, and see if the Indian's there," he said. "If he is, bring him along. I guess we'll make nothing by pushing on to-night."

Trooper Probyn, swinging himself into the saddle, scrambled up the hillside, which was comparatively clear of undergrowth just there, while the corporal sat down beside the fire.

"We've had supper. You don't mind our camping here?" he asked.

Sewell, who lay, pipe in hand, upon a bundle of withered fern, raised his head.

"There's room in the tent. It's a fair-sized one," he said. "You're going on into the ranges?"

The corporal looked at him meditatively. "Right through to the Westerhouse Gully, if we can get there. It appears a blame rough country; but Captain Esmond has a notion that a trail could be made this way, and from Westerhouse one could make the Yukon. It's part of his business to see what can be done to open up communication."

Sewell turned and glanced towards the snow which stretched in a great white rampart across the valley. Beneath it a tremendous wall of rock dropped to the pines below, which crawled round the crests and up the gullies of a desolation of jumbled crags. Dark forest streaked by filmy mist filled the devious hollows at their feet.

"You are right about the country. I should imagine it to be a particularly rough one," he said.

"Well," said the corporal, "it seems quite certain the Indians used to go through after the deer and salmon; and it's believed that one or two white men have made Westerhouse that way, too."

He stopped a moment, and glanced at Sewell. "You were away somewhere quite a while, weren't you?"

Sewell laughed, and Ingleby, who watched them both, wondered whether the corporal knew that he was one of the few white men who had traversed the defiles of the divide.

"I was," he said. "Still, you see, it really isn't any other person's business where I go to."

The corporal nodded with dry good-humour. "I guess it wasn't Westerhouse, anyway," he said. "I'm not sure we'll get there, though an Indian came along to the outpost who figured he could take us."

Ingleby glanced at Sewell with a little smile. The corporal's belief in the capabilities of the police was admirable, and more or less warranted, for the wardens of the Northwest are hard-riding men; but he was, after all, from the prairie, and horses are very little used in the Green River country. Ingleby, however, fancied he was not quite certain that communication had not been already effected with the Westerhouse Gully. Sewell, who apparently understood Ingleby's glance, said nothing.

"There are only two of you here?" asked the corporal.

"No," said Ingleby. "Tomlinson is with us. He went out this afternoon to look for a deer, and should be back any minute now."

The corporal looked thoughtful. "I'm not quite sure we'd have camped here if I'd known that," he said. "Still, if you can keep your man in hand, I guess I can answer for the trooper."

Ingleby fancied they could promise this, and for a while nothing more was said. Darkness crept up the valley, though there was still a saffron light on the towering snow, and the peaks that lay in shadow cut with a cold, blue whiteness against a wondrous green transparency. Then the dew began to settle, calling up the drowsy odours of the pines, and an impressive stillness pervaded the mountain solitude. It grew colder rapidly, and Ingleby, who rose and flung fresh branches on the fire, stood looking towards the west, a spare black figure, with outline clean-cut as a cameo against the flickering light, when the sharp ringing of a rifle came suddenly down the valley. It rang from rock to rock, as the hillsides flung it back, and died away among the dimness of the pines.

"Tomlinson!" said Sewell. "I fancy he has got that deer. There's scarcely wood enough to keep the fire in until morning, Walter. If you don't want to light another for breakfast, hadn't you better cut some more?"

Ingleby, who took up an axe, moved back into the bush, and the silence was broken by a rhythmic thudding that vibrated among the shadowy trunks, which was unfortunate, because it tended to confuse the corporal's hearing. He was an opinionated man, and a good deal depended upon his being able to correctly locate a sound just then. He would, however, probably have done so, had his attention not been fixed upon the tobacco he was shredding. A minute or two had passed when the crash of a rifle came down the valley again, and he laughed.

"I guess your man didn't get that deer right off," he said.

Sewell smiled, and waited until Ingleby came back with an armful of wood.

"Our friend suggests that Tomlinson has been throwing cartridges away," he said.