E-text prepared by Al Haines
GLEN OF THE HIGH NORTH
by
H. A. CODY
Author of "The Frontiersman," "The Lost Patrol,""The Chief of the Ranges," "The Touch of Abner," etc.
McClelland and StewartPublishers : : : TorontoGeorge H. Doran Company
1920
To
ALL TRUE MEN AND WOMEN
Of the Outer Trails of the Yukon,
Where for Years the Author Lived and Travelled,
This Book is Affectionately Dedicated.
CONTENTS
I ONE FLEETING VISION II WHEN THE FOG-BANK LIFTED III A BIG BLAZIN' LAUGH IV BEYOND THE GREAT WHITE PASS V COMRADES OP THE TRAIL VI A SHOT THAT TOLD VII BOTTLES WILL DO VIII LOVE VERSUS GOLD IX THE OUTER TRAIL X ADRIFT IN THE WILDERNESS XI INTO THE GREAT UNKNOWN XII THE GIRL OF GLEN WEST XIII WHEN THE STORM BURST XIV ANOTHER PRISONER XV JIM WESTON XVI THE ORDEAL XVII MAN TO MAN XVIII THE PREPARED ROOM XIX THE TURN OF EVENTS XX A SHOT FROM THE GOLDEN CREST XXI THE PLOTTERS XXII THE CABIN IN THE HILLS XXIII AT THE REVOLVER'S POINT XXIV WHEN THE RIFLES CRACKED XXV BY THE INLAND LAKE XXVI THROUGH THE STORM XXVII IN THE TOILS XXVIII HELP FROM THE HILLS XXIX THE OLD TRUE STORY XXX THE UNMASKING XXXI OUTWARD BOUND
"Something lost beyond the Ranges, Lost; and calling to you. Go."
KIPLING
"She had grown, in her unstained seclusion, bright and pure as a first opening lilac, when it spreads its clear leaves to the sweetest dawn of May."
PERCIVAL
GLEN OF THE HIGH NORTH
CHAPTER I
ONE FLEETING VISION
It all happened in less than two minutes, and yet in that brief spaceof time his entire outlook upon life was changed. He saw her acrossthe street standing upon the edge of the sidewalk facing the throng ofteams and motors that were surging by. She had evidently attempted tocross, but had hurriedly retreated owing to the tremendous crush oftraffic. The gleam of the large electric light nearby brought intoclear relief a face of more than ordinary charm and beauty. But thatwhich appealed so strongly to the young man was the mingled expressionof surprise, fear and defiance depicted upon her countenance. Itstrangely affected him, and he was on the point of springing forward tooffer his assistance when she suddenly disappeared, swallowed up in thegreat tide of humanity.
For a few minutes the young man stood perfectly still, gazing intentlyupon the spot where the girl had been standing, hoping to see herreappear. He could not account for the feeling that had swept upon himat the sight of that face. It was but one of the thousands he dailybeheld, yet it alone stirred him to his inmost depths. A few minutesbefore he had been walking along the street without any definite aim inlife, listless and almost cynical. But now a desire possessed him tobe up and doing, to follow after the fair vision which had sounexpectedly appeared. Who could she be, and where was she going?Should he ever see her again, and if he did would he have the slightestchance of meeting and talking with her?
These thoughts occupied his mind as he continued on his way. He walkederect now, with shoulders thrown back, and with a more buoyant stepthan he had taken in many a day. His blood tingled and his eyes glowedwith a new-found light. He felt much of the old thrill that hadanimated him at the beginning of the Great War, and had sent himoverseas to take his part in the titanic struggle. An overmasteringurge had then swept upon him, compelling him to abandon all on behalfof the mighty cause. It was his nature, and the leopard could no morechange its spots than could Tom Reynolds overcome the influence of agripping desire. Ever since childhood thought and action had alwaysbeen welded in the strong clear heat of an overwhelming purpose. Ithad caused him considerable trouble, but at the same time it hadcarried him through many a difficult undertaking that had daunted othermen. It was only the afterwards that affected him, the depression,when the objective had been attained. So for months after the warended his life had seemed of no avail, and he found it impossible tosettle comfortably back into the grooves of civilian life in abustling, thriving city. Everything seemed tame and insignificantafter what he had experienced overseas. Time instead of lessening hadonly increased this feeling, until Reynolds believed that he could nolonger endure the prosaic life of the city. Such was the state of hismind when he beheld the face across the street, which in somemysterious manner gave him a sudden impulse and a new outlook upon theworld. After a short quick walk, he turned into a side street andstopped at length before a building from which extended a largeelectric sign, bearing the words _Telegram_ and _Evening News_. Heentered, and at once made his way through several rooms until hereached the editorial office at the back of the building. The door wasopen, and seated at the desk was an elderly man, busily writing. Helooked up as Reynolds appeared, and a smile illumined his face.
"You are back early, Tom. Found something special?"
"Yes," Reynolds replied as he sat down upon the only vacant chair theoffice contained. "But nothing for publication."
The editor pushed back his papers, swung himself around in his chairand faced the visitor.
"What is it, Tom?" he asked. "You look more animated than I have seenyou for many a day. What has come over you? What is the specialsomething you have found?"
"Myself."
"Yourself!"
"That's just it. I'm through with this job."
The editor eyed the young man curiously yet sympathetically. He was tohim as a son, and he had done everything in his power to help him sincehis return from the war. But he was well aware that Reynolds was nothappy, and that newspaper work was proving most uncongenial.
"Where are you going, Tom, and what are you going to do?" he presentlyasked.
"I have not the slightest idea, sir. But I must get away from thishum-drum existence. It is killing me by inches. I need adventure,life in the open, where a man can breathe freely and do as he likes."
"Haven't you done about as you like, Tom, since you came home? Ipromised your father on his death-bed that I would look after you, andI have tried to do so in every possible way. I sincerely hoped thatyour present work would suit you better than in an office. You arefree to roam where you will, and whatever adventure has taken place inthis city during the past six months you were in the midst of it, andwrote excellent reports, too."
"I know that, sir, and I feel deeply indebted to you for what you havedone. But what does it all amount to? What interest do I take introuble along the docks, a fight between a couple of toughs in somedark alley, or a fashionable wedding in one of the big churches? Bah!I am sick of them all, and the sooner I get away the better."
Reynolds produced a cigarette, lighted it and threw the match upon thefloor. From the corner of his eye he watched the editor as he toyedthoughtfully with his pen. This man was nearer to him than anyone elsein the world, and he was afraid that he had annoyed him by his plainoutspoken words.
"And you say you have nothing in view?" the editor at length enquired.
"Nothing. Can you suggest anything? Something that will tax all myenergy of mind and body. That is what I want. I hope you do notmisunderstand me, sir. I do not wish to seem ungrateful for what youhave done."
"I do understand you, Tom, and were I in your position, and of yourage, I might feel the same. But what about your painting? Have youlost all interest in that? When you were in France you often wrotewhat impressions you were getting, and how much you intended to do whenyou came home."
"I have done very little at that, and the sketches I made are stilluncompleted. Some day I may do something, but not now."
"You certainly have lost all interest, Tom, in t
he things that oncegave you so much pleasure."
"It is only too true, although I have honestly tried to return to theold ways. But I must have a fling at something else to get thisrestless feeling out of my system. What do you suggest! Perhaps it isonly a thrashing I need. That does children good sometimes."
The editor smiled as he pulled out a drawer in his desk, and broughtforth a fair-sized scrapbook. He slowly turned the pages and stoppedat length where a large newspaper clipping had been carefully pasted.
"I do not think you need a thrashing, Tom," he began. "But I believe Ican suggest something better than that. Here is an entry I made inthis book over fifteen years ago, and the story it contains appealsstrongly to me now. I read it at least once a year, and it has beenthe cause of many a day-dream to me, and night-dream as well, for thatmatter. Did you ever hear of the mysterious disappearance of HenryRedmond, the wealthy merchant of this city? But I suppose not, as youwere young at the time."
"No, I never heard of him," Reynolds acknowledged. "Was he killed?"
"Oh, no. He merely disappeared, and left no trace at all. That was,as I have just said, over fifteen years ago, and no word has beenreceived from him since."
"What was the trouble? Financial difficulties?"
"Not at all. He simply disappeared. It was due to his wife's death,so I believe. They were greatly attached to each other, and when shesuddenly died Redmond was a broken-hearted man. I knew him well and itwas pathetic to watch him. He took no interest in his business, andsold out as soon as possible. Then he vanished, and that was the lastwe heard of him. He was an odd man in many ways, and although one ofthe shrewdest men in business I ever knew, he was fond of the simplelife. He was a great reader, and at one time possessed a very finelibrary. This article which I wish you to read tells the story of hislife, how he built up his business, and of his sudden disappearance."
"How do you know he wasn't killed?" Reynolds asked.
"Because of this," and the editor laid his forefinger upon a smallseparate clipping at the bottom of the larger one. A short time afterRedmond disappeared, and when the excitement of all was intense, thiswas received and published. Although it bore no name, yet we well knowthat it was from Redmond, for it was just like something he would do.This is what he wrote:
"'I go from the busy haunts of men, far from the bustle and worry ofbusiness life. I may be found, but only he who is worthy will find me,and whoever finds me, will, I trust, not lose his reward. From theloopholes of retreat I shall watch the stress and fever of life, butshall not mingle in the fray.'"
"Queer words, those," Reynolds remarked, when the editor had finishedreading. "What do you make of them?"
"I hardly know, although I have considered them very carefully. Ibelieve they contain a hidden meaning, and that the finding willconsist of more than the mere discovery of his person. It must referto something else, some quality of heart or mind, that is, the realpersonality behind the mere outward form."
"A double quest, eh, for anyone who undertakes the venture?"
"It seems so, Tom, and that makes it all the more difficult. But whatan undertaking! How I wish I were young again, and I should be offto-morrow. I was a fool not to make the try fifteen years ago. Iwould not now be chained to this desk, I feel certain of that."
"And as you cannot go yourself, you want----?" Reynolds paused andlooked quizzically at the editor.
"I want you to go in my stead," was the emphatic reply. "You areyoung, strong, and anxious for adventure."
"For what purpose, sir? Why do you wish me to undertake thiswild-goose chase? For such it seems to me."
"I wish you to go for three reasons. First, for your own good; as anoutlet to your abundant energy, and to give you some object in life.Next, to satisfy a curiosity that has been consuming me for years. Iam more than anxious to know what has become of Henry Redmond. Andfinally, for the sake of my paper. If you should prove successful,what a write-up it will make, for you will have a wonderful story totell. Doesn't the thing appeal to you? Why, it makes my blood tingleat the thought of such an undertaking."
"It does stir me a bit," Reynolds acknowledged. "But where am I to go?Have you any idea where Redmond is? The world is big, remember, andwithout any clue, the chase would be absolute folly."
"I am well aware of all that. I have no idea where Redmond is, andthat makes the venture all the more interesting. If I could tell youwhere he is, and you merely went and found him, bah! that would not beworth the trouble. But the uncertainty of it all is what appeals tome. The whole world is before you, and somewhere in the world Ibelieve Henry Redmond is living. Your task is to find him. Can you doit?"
For a few minutes Reynolds did not speak. He was interested, but theundertaking seemed so utterly hopeless and ridiculous that hehesitated. If he had the slightest clue as to the man's whereabouts itwould be different.
"How old a man was Redmond when he disappeared?" he at length asked.
"About fifty, I understand, although he appeared much older at times.He was a fine looking man, over six feet in height, and a large head,crowned with a wealth of hair streaked with gray, when last I saw him.His commanding appearance attracted attention wherever he went, andthat should aid you somewhat in your search."
"Had he any family?" Reynolds questioned.
"One little girl only, for he married late in life. His friendsthought that he would remain a permanent bachelor, and they weregreatly surprised when he unexpectedly took to himself a wife muchyounger than himself, and very beautiful. They lived most happilytogether, and when his wife died Redmond was heartbroken."
"Perhaps her death affected his mind," Reynolds suggested.
"I have thought of that, and his sudden disappearance, as well as thepeculiar letter I read to you, lends color to the idea."
"What became of the child?"
"No one knows. He evidently took her with him, and that is anotherreason why I believe no harm befell him as you suggested. The wholeaffair is involved in the deepest mystery."
"And did no one attempt to solve it?" Reynolds asked. "Was no effortmade to find the missing man?"
"There was at the time, and the newspapers far and near made mention ofhis disappearance. It was the talk of the city for several weeks, andI understand that several men thought seriously of searching for him.But the interest gradually waned, and he was forgotten except by a few,of whom I am one."
Reynolds rose to his feet and picked up his hat.
"Suppose I think this over for a few days?" he suggested. "If I getthe fever I shall let you know. In the meantime I shall plug away atmy present job. I can't afford to be idle, for 'idleness is theholiday of fools,' as someone has said."
"That's fine, Tom," and the editor's face brightened with pleasure."And, remember, you shall be supplied with all the money you need, sodo not worry about that."
"Thank you, but I have a little of my own that will last me for awhile. When I run through with it I may call upon you."
"Very well, do as you like, Tom. But think it over and let me know ofyour decision as soon as possible."