CHAPTER XXXI
SHEBA DIGS
The weather had moderated a good deal, but the trail was a protectedforest one. The two teams now going down had come up, so that the pathwas packed fairly hard and smooth. Holt lay propped on his own sledagainst the sleeping-bags. Sheba mushed behind Gordon. She chatted withthem both, but ignored entirely the existence of Macdonald, who followedwith his prize-winning Siberian dogs.
Though she tried not to let her lover know it, Sheba was troubled atheart. Gordon was practically the prisoner of a man who hated himbitterly, who believed him guilty of murder, and who would go throughfire to bring punishment home to him. She knew the power of Macdonald.With the money back of him, he had for two years fought against andalmost prevailed over a strong public opinion in the United States. Hewas as masterful in his hatred as in his love. The dominant, fightingfigure in the Northwest, he trod his sturdy way through opposition likea Colossus.
Nor did she any longer have any illusions about him. He could be bothruthless and unscrupulous when it suited his purpose. As the day woretoward noon, her spirits drooped. She was tired physically, and thisreacted upon her courage.
The warmer weather was spoiling the trail. It became so soft and mushythat though snowshoes were needed, they could not be worn on account ofthe heavy snow which clung to them every time a foot was lifted. Theywore mukluks, but Sheba was wet to the knees. The spring had gone fromher step. Her shoulders began to sag.
For some time Gordon's eye had been seeking a good place for a day camp.He found it in a bit of open timber above the trail, and without a wordhe swung his team from the path.
"Where are you going?" demanded Macdonald.
"Going to rest for an hour," was Elliot's curt answer.
Macdonald's jaw clamped. He strode forward through the snow beside thetrail. "We'll see about that."
The younger man faced him angrily. "Can't you see she is done, man?There is not another mile of travel in her until she has rested."
The hard, gray eyes of the Alaskan took in the slender, weary figureleaning against the sled. On a soft and mushy trail like this, whereevery footstep punched a hole in the loose snow, the dogs could nottravel with any extra weight. A few miles farther down they would cometo a main-traveled road and the going would be better. But till then shemust walk. Macdonald gave way with a gesture of his hand and turned onhis heel.
At the camp-fire Sheba dried her mukluks, stockings, caribou mitts, andshort skirts. Too tired to eat, she forced herself to swallow a fewbites and drank eagerly some tea. Gordon had brought blankets from thesled and he persuaded her to lie down for a few minutes.
"You'll call me soon if I should sleep," she said drowsily, and her eyeswere closed almost before the words were off her lips.
When Macdonald came to order the start half an hour later, she was stillasleep. "Give her another thirty minutes," he said gruffly.
Youth is resilient. Sheba awoke rested and ready for work.
While Gordon was untangling the dogs she was left alone for a minutewith the mine-owner.
The hungry look in his eyes touched her. Impulsively she held out herhand.
"You're going to be fair, aren't you, Mr. Macdonald? Because you--don'tlike him--you won't--?"
He looked straight into the dark, appealing eyes. "I'm going to be fairto Robert Milton," he told her harshly. "I'm going to see his murderershanged if it costs me every dollar I have in the world."
"None of us object to justice," she told him proudly. "Gordon hasnothing to fear if only the truth is told."
"Then why come to me?" he demanded.
She hesitated; then with a wistful little smile, spoke what was in herheart. "I'm afraid you won't do justice to yourself. You're good--andbrave--and strong. But you're very willful and set. I don't want to losemy friend. I want to know that he is all I have believed him--a greatman who stands for the things that are fine and clean and just."
"Then it is for my sake and not for his that you want me to drop thecase against Elliot?" he asked ironically.
"For yours and for his, too. You can't hurt him. Nobody can really behurt from outside--not unless he is a traitor to himself. And GordonElliot isn't that. He couldn't do such a thing as this with which youcharge him. It is not in his nature. He can explain everything."
"I don't doubt that. He and his friend Holt are great littleexplainers."
In spite of his bitterness Sheba felt a change in him. She seemed tohave a glimpse of his turbid soul engaged in battle. He turned awaywithout shaking hands, but it struck her that he was not implacable.
While they were at luncheon half a dozen pack-mules laden with suppliesfor a telephone construction line outfit had passed. Their small,sharp-shod hoofs had punched sink-holes in the trail at every step.Instead of a smooth bottom the dogs found a slushy bog cut to pieces.
At the end of an hour of wallowing Macdonald called a halt.
"There is a cutoff just below here. It will save us nearly two miles,but we'll have to break trail. Swing to the right just below the bigwillow," he told Elliot. "I'll join you presently and relieve you on thejob. But first Miss O'Neill and I are going for a little side trip."
All three of them looked at him in sharp surprise. Gordon opened hislips to answer and closed them again without speaking. Sheba had flasheda warning to him.
"I hope this trip isn't very far off the trail," she said quietly. "I'mjust a wee bit tired."
"It's not far," the mine-owner said curtly.
He was busy unpacking his sled. Presently he found the dog moccasins forwhich he had been looking, repacked his sled, and fitted the shoes tothe bleeding feet of the team leader. Elliot, suspicious and uncertainwhat to do, watched him at work, but at a signal from Sheba turnedreluctantly away and drove down to the cutoff.
Macdonald turned his dogs out of the trail and followed a little ridgefor perhaps a quarter of a mile. Sheba trudged behind him. She was fullof wonder at what he meant to do, but she asked no questions. Some wiseinstinct was telling her to do exactly as he said.
From the sled he took a shovel and gave it to the young woman. "Dig justthis side of the big rock--close to the root of the tree," he told her.
Sheba dug, and at the second stroke of the spade struck something hard.He stooped and pulled out a sack.
"Open it," he said. "Rip it with this knife."
She ran the knife along the coarse weave of the cloth. Fifteen or twentysmaller sacks lay exposed. Sheba looked up at Macdonald, a startledquestion in her eyes.
He nodded. "You've guessed it. This is part of the gold for which RobertMilton was murdered."
"But--how did it get here?"
"I buried it there yesterday. Come."
He led her around the rock. Back of it lay something over which wasspread a long bit of canvas. The heart of Sheba was beating wildly.
The Scotchman looked at her from a rock-bound face. "Underneath thiscanvas is the body of one of the men who murdered Milton. He died moremiserably than the man he shot. Half the gold stolen from the bank is inthat gunnysack you have just dug up. If you'll tell me who has the otherhalf, I'll tell you who helped him rob the bank."
"This man--who is he?" asked Sheba, almost in a whisper. She wastrembling with excitement and nervousness.
Macdonald drew back the cloth and showed the rough, hard face of aworkingman.
"His name was Trelawney. I kicked him out of our camps because he was atrouble-maker."
"He was one of the men that robbed you later!" she exclaimed.
"Yes. And now he has tried to rob me again and has paid for it with hislife."
Her mind flashed back over the past. "Then his partner in this lastcrime must have been the same man--what's his name?--that was with himlast time."
"Northrup." He nodded slowly. "I hate to believe it, but it is probablytrue. And he, too, is lying somewhere in this park covered with snow--ifour guess is right."
"And Gordon--you admit he didn't do it?"
Again
he nodded, sulkily. "No. He didn't do it."
Joy lilted in her voice. "So you've brought me here to tell me. Oh, I amglad, my friend, that you were so good. And it is like you to do it. Youhave always been the good friend to me."
The Scotchman smiled, a little wistfully. "You take a mean advantageof a man. You nurse him when he is ill--and are kind to him when heis well--and try to love him, though he is twice your age and more.Then, when his enemy is in his power, he finds he can't strike him downwithout striking you too. Take your young man, Sheba O'Neill, and marryhim, and for God's sake, get him out of Alaska before I come to gripswith him again. I'm not a patient man, and he's tried me sair. They sayI'm a good hater, and I always thought it true. But what's the use ofhating a man when your soft arms are round him for an armor?"
The fine eyes of the girl were wells of warm light. Her gladness wasnot for herself and her lover only, but for the friend that had been sonearly lost and was now found. He believed he had done it for her, butSheba was sure his reasons lay deeper. He was too much of a man to hideevidence and let his rival be falsely accused of murder. It was not inhim to do a cheap thing like that. When it came to the pinch, he was toodecent to stab in the back. But she was willing to take him on his ownground.
"I'll always be thanking you for your goodness to me," she told himsimply.
He brushed that aside at once. "There's one thing more, lass. I'lllikely not be seeing you again alone, so I'll say it now. Don't wasteany tears on Colby Macdonald. Don't fancy any story-book foolishnessabout spoiling his life. That may be true of halfling boys, maybe, buta man goes his ain gait even when he gets a bit facer."
"Yes," she agreed. And in a flash she saw what would happen, that in thereaction from his depression he would turn to Genevieve Mallory andmarry her.
"You're too young for me, anyhow,--too soft and innocent. Once you toldme that you couldn't keep step with me. It's true. You can't. It was adaft dream."
He took a deep breath, seemed to shake himself out of it, and smiledcheerfully upon her.
"We'll put our treasure-trove on the sled and go back to your friends,"he continued briskly. "To-morrow I'll send men up to scour the hills forNorthrup's body."
Sheba drew the canvas back over the face of the dead man. As shefollowed Macdonald back to the trail, tears filled her eyes. She wasremembering that the white, stinging death that had crept upon these menso swiftly had missed her by a hair's breadth. The strong, lusty lifehad been stricken out of the big Cornishman and probably of his partnerin crime. Perhaps they had left mothers or wives or sweethearts to mournthem.
Macdonald relieved Elliot at breaking trail and the young man went backto the gee-pole. They had discarded mukluks and wore moccasins andsnowshoes. It was hard, slow work, for the trail-breaker had to fighthis way through snow along the best route he could find. The moon washigh when at last they reached the roadhouse.