Part 2

What more could a lady say? She referred to him as George, quite unconsciously, there could no longer be any doubt as to their relations and as I glanced at her I forgot my momentary irritation and envied the lucky fellow. Then I told her the story of the finding of the box, of Vail’s tact and bravery, and my admiration for the man. As I proceeded her face flushed and a new light came into her eyes. She paused a little time to recover her composure and then said:

“What you have told me is very wonderful. Have you the map of the ground where the opals were found?”

“No, Vail took it with him.”

“All of your statements have been direct but unfortunately, for you there is not the slightest evidence to corroborate them.”

“No, only my word.”

“Permit me to point out the facts,” she continued. “You go into the interior with Mr. Vail, you find four thousand pounds worth of opals under very peculiar circumstances, you return and dispose of them and on the day the sale is made Vail disappears and since that day he has not been seen or heard from. I may tell you that it is known that he did not leave Perth by any of the coast steamers, he did not proceed to Albany and take passage on one of the European steamers which call at that port, there is no trace of his having gone to Coolgardie or to any other point in the interior. What has become of him?”

“I would give my share of the money gladly to know,” I answered, now thoroughly alarmed.

“If I am compelled to apply to the police they will undoubtedly ask your assistance.”

Then it dawned upon me that in stating the facts I had woven a net of suspicion around myself. Could it be possible that I was already in the hands of a female detective? My blood ran cold. But a few weeks previous, Deeming, the murderer, had been arrested in the interior and taken to Melbourne, public feeling ran high in the colony and Justice ran a swift race.

Conscious of my innocence my courage rose and rising I said, “My advice is that you at once report the matter to the police.”

“And my advice is,” said the lady also rising, “that you Henry Detmold, are a great goose.”

I stared in amazement. What could it all mean.

“It may be so,” I answered stiffly.

“You came here to meet George Vail?”

“I most certainly did.”

“And you don’t know him when you see him?”

Was my brain failing? I advanced to my persecutor and instantly it flashed upon me. I threw my arms around the girl and carried her up to the light, there was no mistake, it was George Vail, he struggled to get free but I held him fast.

“You humbug,” I cried, “Even now when I know, you, you look pretty enough to kiss.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes,” and remembering that he had kissed me when I lay in a half faint, I stooped down and kissed him on the cheek blushing as I did so, but George’s blushes were carnation compared with mine, and I set him down on his feet.

“What a stupid,” he said.

“I quite agree with you.”

“And you don’t understand yet?”

“Understand what?”

“That—that I am a girl.”

“A girl!”

“Yes.”

“And always have been?” I blundered out in my blunt way.

The only answer was a merry, ringing laugh. “Yes and always have been.”

“Then I am doubly glad I kissed you.”

“You held me.”

“No matter. Tell me, I am dying of impatience.”

“You made a promise to the old man, did you not?”

“Yes, and I think I understand. He must have known the secret. How did he discover it?”

“He knew immediately and accused me and I confessed.”

“And I was a stupid.”

“You did not find me out.”

“Who are you?”

“Helen Vail.”

“I am glad that I have only lost one half of my old partner, you are at least Vail.”

Then Helen told me her story. Her father had been an English half-pay officer, who on his retirement from the army had emigrated to Sydney in the hope of bettering his condition. His wife having died the first year after his removal to the colony, his health had failed, and as Helen was the only child her life had been devoted to his care. They had no surviving relatives, so far as she was aware and when her father died a few months previous to my meeting her at Coolgardie, his sudden death had thrown her pennyless on the world, as his pension ceased with his life. After the small debts and the funeral expenses had been paid there only remained some fifty pounds with which to face the world. She had proceeded to Melbourne and in vain attempted to secure employment as a governess, but her youth and inexperience had proved an insuperable stumbling block and as a final resort she had resolved to go to the gold fields of West Australia and to facilitate her project and chances of success she had donned a man’s dress and made her way to Coolgardie. Her timidity and the roughness of the miners had prevented her from engaging in any enterprise and but for my arrival and friendship she would have been compelled to acknowledge her sex and obtain menial employment.

When she had concluded I said, “The natives found you an excellent shot, even if you are a girl.”

“Yes, my poor father taught me the use of the revolver when I was a little girl and that gave me confidence and taught me the tactics, for I had frequently heard him give his experience of adventures among the hill tribes in India, where he was stationed for many years.”

“After we came to Perth, why did you retire for a month and why did you lead me through such a maze before you made yourself known?”

“I had to secure a wardrobe and to remove the tan from my face and then I wished to ascertain whether you would recognize me in my new apparel.”

“Where did you hide?”

“I went to the Convent and the good sisters took me in and were very kind to me, though the Lady Superioress read me many lectures on the enormity of my sin and extracted from me a solemn promise that I would never again commit the offence.”

“There is one more mystery which I should like to have cleared up. It is, how did the old man become possessed of the secret that a box of opals had been buried on the island in the lagoon?”

“For many, many years he was a squatter in Queensland, so long ago that the penal system was in vogue in that and the other colonies. He had on his station at one time a ticket-of-leave man, by the name of Vigor, whom he treated very kindly. Vigor had been transported for forgery and was intelligent and had been educated as a mining engineer. He was a lifer and the one object of his life was to return to England, where he had a wife and family. The old man won his gratitude by attempting to secure a pardon for him from the authorities at Sydney, but his efforts were fruitless. Vigor, who acted as a shepherd on the run, found the opal mine but kept the secret to himself. He dug out the opals found by us and made his escape to Sydney where he hoped to obtain passage to England but failed. He was finally captured and sent to Norfolk Island from which place he was transferred to West Australia. The opals he had buried in Sydney. On his return to Sydney he dug them up and carried them with him to the west coast. At Perth, as a ticket of leave man he went into the service of a squatter. He wrote a letter to his old master in Queensland telling him that he possessed the treasure and that if he did not succeed in getting away from the colony he would bequeath it to him on his death, sending at the same time the sample which I found. Vigor kept an accurate account of the journey into the interior in search of pasture and made a map of the route as well as of the spot where he ultimately buried the opals. Vigor and his companions made their way to the coast but he was so enfeebled in consequence of the hardships he had undergone that he died in a few months after his return. Previous to his death he sent to his old employer the map by which we located the treasure. The old man had no faith that he would be able to find the opals and years passed by. The great drought in Queensland ruined him and as a last resort he came to Perth and set out on his search, encouraged by the fact that the gold miners were pouring into the interior. You know the rest and his unfortunate death at our camp. When he ascertained that I was a girl and had heard my story his heart went out to me and he gave me the treasure, provided I could find it.”

“And you divided it with me.”

“That was only fair.”

“Yes, if you had been a man, but as you are not you must take my part less the few pounds which I have spent.”

“Never,” exclaimed Helen the tears coming to her eyes.

I had loved Vail as a boy, as a girl I worshipped my old partner and the result was that within one week we were married and are now on our way to the Illawarra district where I propose buying a small station and settling down for life. Some time in the future my partner and I will go to Queensland and on the run of the old man, which is on the Barcoo, attempt to locate the original opal mine.

Eighteen months later I was not surprised when I read in the _Sydney Morning Herald_ that a very rich deposit of opals had been discovered on the Barcoo by a man named Detmold.

THE BLACK CAT OF KLONDIKE.

In the winter of 1896 I was attending the Osgoode Hall Law School, Toronto, and drawing wills, deeds and mortgages for a firm of barristers on a salary of five dollars per week. I was young and ambitions and dreamed that it was only a question of time when I should become, if not a judge, at least a leading barrister. At a conversat, given by the Law Society, I met my fate and fell in love with Edith Hauthaway. The passion was reciprocated and a few weeks later we were engaged. When the marriage would take place was delightfully nebulous as was my legal status. We had decided that it was to be and that was all-sufficient. One caution we exercised and but one, it was, we kept the engagement a secret. Edith’s father was a broker living in a fine residence on fashionable St. George Street, and reputed to be in very comfortable circumstances. Possibly he might object to the betrothal of his only child to an impecunious law student, who had only passed his first exam, and was by no means certain of passing the next one. So we drifted pleasantly with the tide and cherished our secret with infinite satisfaction. One Saturday afternoon I received a hurried note from Edith asking me to call that evening. Instinctively I felt that our mutual happiness was threatened. I was busy engrossing a mortgage at the time and unconsciously I made all the sums payable to Edith Hauthaway, instead of Isaac Lazerus.

I found Edith in tears. “We must part,” she cried, “all is over.”

“No, no,” I said, “it cannot be.”

“I was so happy, and now the cruelty of fate.”

“Calm yourself and tell me all. We shall never part, come what may.”

“We are ruined,” she sobbed. “My father, my poor father risked everything in Chicago and he has lost. Home, money, everything must go and yet there will remain a debt of honor for twenty thousand dollars. This money was entrusted to him by a widow, it was her all. The shock was more than he could bear, he has had a paralytic stroke and the doctors say he will never recover. He may live for years but will be helpless. Mother, as you know, is an invalid, and, she paused and wiped away her tears. How can I tell you? but I must, only yesterday Fred Reingold asked me to be his wife. He knows all and yet he declares that if I will consent, the old home shall be saved and the debt of honor paid. What am I to do? In one year we shall be turned into the street. Mother has a few hundred dollars, we can subsist upon it for a year by discharging all the servants and living with the greatest economy. Then will come the poor-house for father and mother, and for me God only knows.”

“Some way will open,” I murmured.

“What way?”

I was silent.

“I have made up my mind,” Edith said, shuddering. “There is but one way for escape, we must bury our love, I must be sacrificed.”

“No,” I protested. “You do not, you cannot love me.”

Edith turned deadly pale and gave me one look. The cruel words died on my lips. Then we sat and brooded. Edith sprang to her feet and exclaimed, “I have it, the one chance.”

There was a ring in her voice from which hope was bred.

“Tell me, name it,” I cried.

“You will have to consent,” she said slowly, as if weighing every word.

“Then I consent.”

“It is an inspiration,” she continued, “I will tell Fred Reingold that I will marry him one year from to-morrow, provided the twenty thousand dollars is not paid by that time. You will have one year in which to make a fortune.”

“But will he consent to such terms?”

“Yes, if he loves me.”

My hopes sank to zero, then froze.

“I have not finished,” Edith said, she had divined my thoughts, “they have found great gold fields on the Yukon, it is a frightful country on the confines of Alaska. You must go there and find a fortune and be back in time.”

“But how?” I asked.

“That shall be a secret until you come back. I will see Fred Reingold to-morrow and to-morrow night you shall know your fate.”

The following evening she met me at the door and smiled. “It is all arranged,” she said. “The year has been granted, you are to go.”

“When?”

“To-morrow morning on the first train.”

“But,”--I never finished the sentence.

“Every hour means success or failure,” Edith exclaimed reproachfully.

How that evening fled away we only realized.

When I kissed her good-bye she slipped three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills into my hand. Then she whispered, “remember this is St. Patrick’s day, March the 17th, and the time will expire at twelve o’clock at night, one year from to-day. I must give you something to bring you good luck, what shall it be?”

“That which you love the best, next to me.”

She glanced around the room, at her feet on a white rug lay a small black kitten. “There he is,” she said, pointing to the kitten, “my second love.”

I picked the kitten up, inspired by a sudden impulse.

“He shall keep me company.” I put him in my coat pocket and half an hour later I was packing my scanty wardrobe. Six days later I was standing on the quay at Vancouver, making inquiries for transportation to the Yukon gold fields. The man to whom I addressed the question was a rough, burly fellow, none too clean, with a heavy beard covering his face up to the eyes.

His answer was, “What are you going to the Yukon for?”

“To mine gold.”

“Ha! ha! ha! Jim,” to another man who was loading some packages into a yawl, “Jim, come here, do you see this spindle,” pointing to me. “Here’s a new chum who wants to go to the Yukon and hunt for gold. Look at him, see them legs and hands. Ha! ha!”

“Only another tenderfoot gone mad,” was Jim’s reply as he walked away.

“I’m going to the Yukon,” I said decidedly.

“Right you are my boy. You may start but you’ll never come back. I’ve seen plenty of new chums on Bendigo and Yackendandah, they always talk big on the go-in, and cry on the come-out. What’s that you’ve got in your pocket?”

“A kitten.”

“Is the kitten on the rush too?”

“He goes with me.”

“Bless my eyes, Jim, this slim has got a kitten going with him to the Klondike.”

“No fear of them ever getting there,” Jim responded.

“Boy, take my advice and go home to your mother,” the man said in a kind tone.

To be called a boy brought tears of vexation to my eyes. I turned to walk away.

“Hold on, you are determined to go?”

“Yes.”

“Have you money to pay for your passage and an outfit?”

“Certainly.”

“It will cost a hundred and fifty.”

“I have it.”

“Jim, the new chum has the dust, shall we take him? He will bring the party up to an even dozen and reduce the expenses.”

“You’re Captain, do as you please, anyway the tenderfoot and the cat don’t weigh more than a puff ball,” Jim answered.

“My name is Simeon, Simeon of Ballarat and Bendigo and Fiery creek. This way sharp if you mean business. See that schooner over there, we sail at four this afternoon.”

For an hour we were busy securing my outfit and provisions. When all were on board we hoisted sail and were off, I had only fifty dollars left and the kitten. The men were all experienced miners, some from Australia, the others from California, Nevada and Colorado. When I took the kitten out of my pocket and fed him there was a roar of laughter and a fusilade of remarks. They named the kitten Klondike and ere we reached Dyea he had become a universal pet and the mascott of the party. It would have made Edith’s heart glad to have seen the miners fondling Klondike. At Dyea we unloaded our supplies and hired the Indians to pack them over Chilcoot Pass. At Lake Linderman a boat was built in which we floated down the Yukon, I could only make myself useful as cook, being totally unfitted for the hard work. Simeon counselled that we should not descend to Dawson City, but turn off and ascend a tributary at a point estimated to be from one hundred to one hundred and fifty miles from the city. The object aimed at was to discover a new field and locate the best claims. His advice was taken. We made our way up the creek until our progress was stopped by a series of rapids, there we pitched our tents. I was left in charge of the camp while prospecting parties went out in every direction. Gold was found in the beds of most of the streams, but not in paying quantities. Then the boat was hauled up the rapids with a rope, we were to make a further advance into the interior. That night the boat broke loose, was swept over the rapids and totally destroyed. Two of the miners went down to the Yukon to ascertain if they could get some boat which was descending the river to transport our supplies to Dawson City. They failed, but brought back the news of the wonderful strike made on the Eldorado. Instantly all was confusion. The men became mad. The mines were one hundred miles away. Packs were made up the following morning, a cache was built, in which to store the provisions, and in twenty-four hours a start was made. The men each carried one hundred pounds of provisions in addition to a pick and shovel. Simeon assisted to make up my pack of fifty pounds. The heat, during the middle of the day, was intense, the air filled with insect pests. The route ran over mountains, through bogs, across streams. In places the moss was two feet in depth. With my load I plunged and fell and ran, for the men marched at a rapid pace. Not ten miles had been covered when I fell exhausted. Not even for the coveted fortune for Edith could I have gone another mile. I was at the rear of the line and would have been left unheeded but for the watchful care of Simeon, who came back and sat down by me.

“You can never go through,” he said, “I knew that it was madness for you to try. You have done much better than I thought you would. Miners on a rush would leave their best friends to perish. I have been through it before, I know what it means. If you would save your life go back to the cache. There is plenty of provisions, you cannot starve. Go to work and build a hut, dig a hole into the hill-side so that the back and most of the sides will be of earth, finish it with small logs, put on a roof of poles, cover them with moss, then with a layer of earth, then more moss and more earth, make it thick. About a foot distant from the walls of the hut build another row of logs and fill the space between with moss, taking care to pack it tightly, then plaster the cracks with mud. Be certain and have a big fire-place at the rear, make it of stone and the chimney of green logs standing on end. When you have these things done you will be safe, but not till then. I promise that I will come back for you, but it may not be until Spring. Here is my hand and John Simeon never breaks his word. Cheer up, we will probably have to return for provisions in a few weeks. Then you shall go through, even if I have to carry you on my back.”

He gave me a hearty hand-shake, turned and was gone. I sank back on the moss and cried with a bitterness which I shall never feel again. Then a great fear came upon me. For a moment I believe my heart ceased to beat. Could I find my way back? Every other question vanished. I struggled to my feet and turned back with an energy born of despair. Every few minutes I stopped and examined the foot-marks. The sun had gone down but the night only lasts, in that latitude, in summer, for one brief hour. I was without a watch and could only guess the time. At last I could proceed no further. I threw off my pack and released Klondike from the little wicker cage I had made to carry him in, and in ten minutes I was fast asleep. When I awoke the sun was up, but how long I slept I never knew. I built a fire, ate a hearty breakfast and started. In half an hour I came to a point where two trails crossed, which to take I did not know. I went forward on one, then turned back, took the other and again turned back. I was lost. Cold beads of sweat stood out on my body, my brain beat like a trip-hammer. As I stood thus at the parting of the ways my eye caught sight of a fluff of cotton wool on a branch not five yards distant. I had lined Klondike’s basket with the material before leaving the camp. “Saved by Klondike!” I cried. So bewildered was I that I should have passed the cache had it not have been for the cat. He began to mew and try to get out of his basket. “Here we are at last,” I cried. For four weeks I labored at the hut, a miner would have built it in four days. After three weeks I began to look for the return of my companions, but at the end of six weeks I abandoned all hopes. The cold gradually increased. I made everything tight and snug, then I determined to prospect the near-by creeks for gold. I found gold on every side but my best work did not exceed five dollars in a day. Klondike was my constant companion, he had grown strong and agile and roamed about the camp, at times going into the forest for hours. The cold came down over the mountains and drove me into the hut. I only ventured out to cut my supply of wood. I fell into a despondent mood, but for Klondike I believe that I should have gone mad. With infinite patience I taught him a variety of tricks and there were times when I talked to him of Edith and the happy days when he had nestled in her arms. In such hours I imagined I saw her spirit looking out of his eyes and bidding me be of good cheer. At night he crept into the fur-lined bag in which I slept and comforted me in the solitude with his pur. In January I noticed that every afternoon he wished to leave the cabin and remain outside for nearly an hour. As this continued day after day my curiosity was at last aroused and I determined to watch him, which I did the following day. Leaving the hut he made his way diagonally up the hill-side and then disappeared. I resolved to ascertain the attraction. I struggled into the snow which was piled twenty feet deep and sank to my waist. Then I took a shovel and commenced to dig. My progress was exceedingly slow as I had to cut the snow down several feet before it would support me. Twenty feet per day was the best progress I could make. Klondike evidently believed that I was constructing the road for his convenience for when he daily returned from his mysterious visit he stopped and rubbed himself against my legs as if to encourage me in my good work. On the fourth day I had reached a point where I could see the hole in the snow in which he disappeared.

It was on the top of a ledge of rock some ten feet wide.