Bonanza

I must have been dreaming, because I awoke with a cry upon my lips, and I thought I had exclaimed “Father!”

On one side MacCaskill breathed heavily, shifting often, as the ground chafed his bones through the white moss we had collected to lie upon; on the other Akshelah slept, her head upon her two hands, a pretty picture, and yet severe, for she might have been dead, so still was she, and so pale. Her little face was unhappy, and my heart reproached me, because I knew that she was enduring hardships for my sake. She understood more about my own people than I did myself. She thought that when I had found enough gold I should go away and find my own new place, perhaps in the world of that visionary London, where I had first seen the light, and she would see me no more. The unhappiness she would not betray by day Nature brought and left upon her face in sleep. She was young womanhood, I young manhood. If there was any gulf between us, she could not see it. Why should I try to find it?

The voice in which I had called “Father!” was not my own. It was a thin voice, peevish and frightened. “Take me away,” was my thought, before I entirely awoke; “I don’t like the wind and the noise.” But I was a grown man, abnormally strong, capable of protecting others. I could not understand my dream.

Certainly there was a noise which was not the work of imagination. I started up, wide awake; a few frogs whistled at the stream below—that was a natural sound. The wind brought a steady, metallic ring—that was not natural. It was the quick stroke of a mining tool upon rock. I rose quietly, and walked to the black mouth of the canyon; but a footstep followed, a hand touched me, and a voice spoke.

“Ah, you are going away!”

Akshelah had awoke after me, and had followed jealously.

“Don’t you hear that noise?” I whispered.

But the girl had no ears for it. She drew me away.

“See, he is sleeping, and will never know.”

“What do you mean, little squirrel?” I said, in the old foolish manner I had spoken to her at home, and she responded to my mood.

“I will find the trail across the Bad Lands. I will bring you down to the green country,” she whispered passionately. “We will go back to the Yellow Sands before the winds of Tukwaukin come. Your tepee will be ready. You can be happy there.”

“We will go together soon,” I said, wanting to make her happy, but not wishing to deceive. “I cannot leave him. It would be cowardly.”

“He does not care for you. It is the yellow dirt out of the ground that he loves. When he has plenty of that he will forget you, because when men find the yellow dirt they want no other friend. They do not know that the Bad Spirit makes the yellow dirt, and then hides it away in the ground, and watches. You shall hear him laugh at nights when he sees the men finding it.”

The ringing of metal upon the hard rock went on.

I could not conquer the impulse which bade me enter the dark canyon, and Akshelah would never let me out of her sight. The struggle against that wind put confidence into me, and I stepped out beside the cold, dripping wall, as sure of my way as though I had been walking from Yellow Sands up to my homestead. The ascent was very gradual.

Presently the loose rocks turned to shingle, hard to walk upon, but any noise we made in advancing was carried down by the wind.

“Take care!” I cried warningly. “The wall juts out here.”

I could see nothing, and yet I had spoken the truth. At the right moment I put out my hand and met the wet wall, and we went round, never making a mistake.

“Presently there will be a break,” I went on. “Right ahead is a bluff of spruce. It is always dark there, and damp, and full of mosquitos. Above us we shall find a shelf of rock which is protected from the wind. Once there was a camp here.”

“Your father has been with you,” said Akshelah fearfully, through the cold current. “He made signs to you to come. We must not disobey those who live with the Great Spirit. Your father will be pleased with me for coming with you.”

“Here!” I exclaimed, bending and feeling, but this time I was wrong; the clammy, inaccessible wall met my hands. The ringing of the mining pick had stopped.

We went on a few more paces, through gloom that brushed the face like cobwebs, and again I felt. I was right.

The straight wall broke, and there was a passage upward over the rocks.

We went up, with the speed and silence of forest-cats, until we came out of the wind, and a screen of bushes stopped us. No sound came from the ledge, which I knew went back and into the cliff on the other side of those bushes.

“There is a way round higher up,” I said, remembering.

But Akshelah caught and held me tightly.

“Do not move,” she whispered. “A man is coming up.”

Directly she had spoken I heard, and knew we could not get away. This was the man who had been working upon the rocks, and he would be carrying a pick, with which he could kill either of us at a blow.

My blood rose excitedly, and I determined that I would use Olaffson as he had wished to use me.

Drawing Akshelah back, I crawled upon a higher rock, while the man ascended slowly, as though short of breath, until I felt he was just upon me. Then I leant down, threw my arms out, and sprang forward. I had him fair; but he was a large man, and his clothes smelt abominably. His pick rattled upon the rocks as we fell together, crashing among the bushes.

My captive spoke gaspingly, but not in fear, nor yet in anger; but rather as a gambler who has played his one high card, and finds it no good:

“I’m afraid you have me, Hanafin.”

So soon as he had spoken he was a free man again. The voice was the voice of Redpath.

He picked himself up at once, and struck a match—probably one of ours he had lately stolen—and the spluttering light fell upon the loose, sick-looking face and the black, straight rocks behind him, where slime glistened, and water dropped like spots of tar.

“Ah, it is you, Petrie!” he said, with unmistakable relief. “Come inside.”

My strength departed from me.

“I thought you were dead,” I said feebly.

“Well, I suppose I ought to be,” said the adventurer, rather wearily. “I have been through terrestrial purgatories to retain life alight. I hardly know why. Come in,” he continued quite heartily. “You remembered the way. I wondered whether you would.”

I hesitated, and he went on:

“You know your strength, and you know my lack of it. I lost my pretty little shooter in the quagmire. I’m sorry I haven’t much to offer you, especially as it happens to be my birthday. I am sixty-seven to-day, my boy. By Gad! how the years do run!”

In spite of his friendly manner, I took care to keep myself between him and Akshelah.

“How do I know this place?” I asked my enemy. “I have come along without making a mistake, and I seem to have seen it all before.”

“You were here with your father. You were a very young child, and I remember you were terribly in the way,” said Redpath.

Strange that the truth had never occurred to me! So I had already seen more than a fair share of life. From London to outside Canada; from civilisation to the unknown lands; in scenes of fighting and madness; in gold-hunting, and murder, and flight. Truly an adventurous childhood!

When we had come upon the ledge and were out of the wind, Redpath lit a small lantern, which a few hours before had been MacCaskill’s property, and liberally offered us deer-pemmican, which he had stolen from our camp. The light glinted upon our unused tools lying at the back of the cave. Yet I could never have summoned the courage to accuse this calm gentleman.

“It is expedient for me to keep the light out of the canyon,” our host said carelessly. “Did Hanafin express any intention, that you remember, of tracking me?”

“He thought you could not escape from the mud,” I replied.

Redpath was sitting in darkness, and I could make out his outline, without being able to see his face. He changed the subject at once, and said, letting each syllable escape coldly:

“You will understand that in my dealings with you I have played my game according to my rules. I have generally found that where you cannot trust the father, neither can you trust the son. It was not many yards from this spot that your father chose to break the agreement between us.”

Then I spoke up and told him of the confession of Leblanc.

“It is a lie,” he said casually. “Don’t believe me unless you wish to; but Olaffson was with me while the deed was taking place. He never saw the end of Fagge, neither did I. Your father never denied the deed. Even now I do not say he struck with the intention of killing. The madman may actually have attacked him in the first place. It was Leblanc who called us, and I distinctly saw your father kneeling over the body, his blood-stained knife by his hand.”

“Why should Leblanc put it on to Olaffson?”

“The two men have always hated each other. I believe that Olaffson has quite recently made an attempt to silence the half-breed.”

“Why didn’t you prevent him?” I said boldly.

“I have no control over Olaffson.” The adventurer was smiling, I was sure. “He is physically far stronger than I am, and probably would kill me were he not such a coward, and were I not sometimes useful to him. Besides, why should I interfere? I should like the man out of the way.”

So far Akshelah had not spoken, though she was always looking towards Redpath, but now she said calmly:

“You want us far away.”

“You are quite correct,” said Redpath, with condescension.

“You have been to our tepee,” went on the girl. “You have taken our food and our tools.”

“Again correct,” said Redpath pleasantly. “My dear Petrie, the young lady does not, of course, understand the first principles of civilised warfare. I saw my opportunity for annexing your property, and I should have been a decidedly bad tactician had I neglected to take it.”

Akshelah had arisen. She collected together everything she could find in the cave, not only our own property, but the few little things belonging to Redpath, leaving only the small lamp smouldering in the centre of the rock floor. She arranged these things between us into two packs, the smaller for me to carry, the larger for herself.

“A clever girl,” said Redpath reflectively. “She is right. You have the upper hand, and you must take your advantage of the circumstance. Two small things I will plead for—the handkerchief and the old cashmere scarf. The possession of a handkerchief in these parts stamps one with the mark of the gentleman. The scarf once belonged to my mother, and is interesting as a reminiscence.”

“Put everything back that does not belong to us,” I ordered.

“No,” said Akshelah.

I reiterated my command almost angrily, and the girl obeyed, Redpath thanking me after his own manner.

“It is a mistake to return more than I asked for.”

I proposed going, lest MacCaskill should be hunting for us, but Redpath, to my surprise, requested me to favour him with a complete account of our doings since he had made his terrible plunge off the Carillon. After I had done so, he said softly:

“As usual, I failed to seize my opportunity. You wondered why I did not shoot you all down while we were waiting on deck for the smash?”

“The Firefly was coming up,” I suggested.

“I knew nothing of it until near the end, as my attention was given to other things,” he said. “To shoot down unarmed men, in a state of cold blood, requires an immense amount of nerve. I had not sufficient. That is the reason I failed. Then, when I had strung myself almost up to the desired pitch, I saw my pursuer, and knew I was too late.

“I asked the inspector why he wanted you, but he would not say,” I added, not without curiosity.

“Hanafin is a clever fellow, far too good for police work. He failed in the Indian Civil, I believe, and ultimately drifted out here, where he had the sense to keep sober. As an excellent illustration of my ill-luck, I may say that he is after me for unintentional homicide.” His dark shadow leaned forward to touch up the dim light of the lantern. “Everything had failed with me, and I turned to smuggling liquor across the boundary into a prohibition country. I was bound to fail again, as the police were very active; but I thought I might do well for a time, and slip away quietly when affairs should reach a crisis. One wet night, the load of hay which contained my barrels of smuggled spirit was surrounded unexpectedly, and I was forced to shoot, with no intention of injuring, but merely to make an opening for my escape. At my age a long term in the penitentiary is equivalent to a sentence of death. Bad fortune, not my aim, steered the lead into the stomach of a trooper. I got away, assumed the disguise of a priest, which I had successfully used before, and always carried to meet an emergency, and escaped into the wilds. Chance led me to the end of a search I had been making for years. I arrived just too late to find your father alive.”

There was a silent interval, awkward for me, but presently I said:

“What are you going to do now?”

“I do not propose showing you my hand,” said the adventurer curtly. “I have too many enemies on the other side of the coulee, without reckoning the two sailors, with Olaffson here after the gold, and Hanafin and his hounds after me.”

“I don’t wish to be your enemy,” I said, wondering whether I spoke the truth.

“Possibly, if you were alone, I might admit you to a small claim, though I should not permit you to go from here until I was satisfied,” went on Redpath. “Admit such men as MacCaskill, as Leblanc, and, before the fall, all the scum of the world would be swarming and sweating up this canyon, and I should have to rest content with a possibly dried-up claim. Here I have been puzzling my brains how to preserve the secret from Olaffson.”

If this were truth, his selfishness was something beyond belief.

“And all for nothing, after all,” he added coldly.

I asked him what he meant, and he said:

“Mosquito Pass has disappeared.”

I stared through the gloom towards the big, indistinct shape, which went on speaking:

“I have gone by Fagge’s plan. I have found the exact spot he there indicates, but the pass itself has vanished. I have worked ineffectually at the place where the opening ought to appear. There is no way round out of the canyon. Nothing short of a balloon could help us over the straight wall of rock that runs up to the sky.”

Again I did not believe him, but when I began to speak, his manner changed.

“You have been here long enough,” he said unpleasantly. “I have had no rest for hours.”

Akshelah was still undismayed. She picked up MacCaskill’s little lantern, extinguished its light, and added it to her pack without a word, but with a glance of contempt cast at the adventurer, sitting silent and cold in the gloom. Then together we went down again into the north wind.