CHAPTER IX
A SUSPICIOUS MOVE
When Benson and Blake rode into the camp, apparently on good terms witheach other, Harding made no reference to what had occurred. He greetedthem pleasantly, and soon afterward they sat down to the supper he hadbeen cooking. When they had finished, they gathered round the firewith their pipes.
"A remark was made the other night which struck me as quite warranted,"Benson said. "It was pointed out that I had contributed nothing to thecost of this trip."
"It was very uncivil of Harding to mention it," Blake answered."Still, you see, circumstances rather forced him."
"Oh, I admit that; indeed, you might put it more harshly with truth.But I want to suggest that you let me take a share in your venture."
"Sorry," said Harding promptly; "I can't agree to that."
Benson sat smoking in silence for a moment.
"I think I understand," he said, "and I can't blame you. You haven'tmuch cause for trusting me.
"I didn't mean----"
"I know," Benson interrupted. "It's my weakness you're afraid of.However, you must let me pay my share of the provisions and anytransport we may be able to get. That's all I insist on now; if youfeel more confidence in me later, I may reopen the other question." Hepaused, and continued with a little embarrassment in his manner: "Youare two good fellows. I think I can promise not to play the foolagain."
"Suppose we talk about something else," Blake suggested.
They broke camp early the following morning; and Benson struggledmanfully with his craving during the next week or two, which they spentin pushing farther into the forest. It was a desolate waste of small,stunted trees, many of which were dead and stripped of half theirbranches, while wide belts had been scarred by fire. Harding found theunvarying somber green of the needles strangely monotonous; but theground was comparatively clear, and the party made progress.
Then, one evening, when the country grew more broken, they fell in withthree returning prospectors.
"If you'll trade your horses, we might make a deal," said one when theycamped together. "You can't take them much farther--the country's toorough--and we could sell them to one of the farmers near thesettlements."
Blake was glad to come to terms.
"We've been out two months on a general prospecting trip," the maninformed them. "It's the toughest country to get through I everstruck."
His worn and ragged appearance bore this out; and Benson lookedsomewhat dismayed.
"Are there minerals up yonder?" Harding asked. "We're not in thatline; it's a forest product we're looking for."
"We found indications of gold, copper, and one or two other metals,besides petroleum, but we didn't see anything that looked worth takingup. Considering the cost of transport, you want to strike it prettyrich before what you find will pay as a business proposition."
"So I should imagine. Petroleum's a cheap product to handle whenyou're a long way from a market, isn't it?"
"Give us plenty of it and we'll make a market. It's an idea of minethat there's no part of this country that hasn't something worthworking in it if you can get cheap fuel. Where the land's too poor forfarming, you often find minerals, and ore that won't pay for transportcan be reduced on the spot, so long as you have natural resources thatcan be turned into power. With an oil well in good flow, we'd soonstart some profitable industry and put up a city that would bring arailroad in. Show our business men a good opening, and you'll get themoney. And there are men across the frontier who have a mighty keenscent for oil."
"Have you done much prospecting?" Harding asked.
The man smiled.
"Whenever I can get money enough for an outfit I go off on the trail.There's a fascination in the thing that gets hold of you--you can'ttell what you may strike, and the prizes are big. However, I'll admitthat after seven or eight years of it I'm poorer than when I started atthe game."
Blake made a sign of comprehension. He knew the sanguine nature of theWesterner and his belief in the richness of his country; and he himselfhad felt the call of the wilderness. There was, in truth, afascination in the silent waste that drew the adventurous into itsrugged fastnesses; that a number of them did not come back seldomdeterred the others.
"We want to get as far north as the timber limit, if we can," Hardingsaid. "I understand that there are no Hudson Bay factories near ourline, but we were told we might find some Stony Indians."
"There's one bunch of them," the prospector replied. "They rambleabout after fish and furs, but they've a kind of base-camp where a fewgenerally stop. They're a mean crowd, and often short of food, but ifthey've been lucky you might get supplies. Now and then they put up alot of dried fish and kill some caribou."
He told Blake roughly where the Indian encampment lay; and aftertalking for a while they went to sleep. The next morning theprospectors took the horses and started for the south, while Blake'sparty pushed on north with loads that severely tried their strength.After a few days' laborious march they reached a stream and found a fewIndians who were willing to take them some distance down it. It was arelief to get rid of the heavy packs and rest while the canoe glidedsmoothly through the straggling forest, and the labor of hauling heracross the numerous portages was light compared with the toil of themarch.
Blake, however, had misgivings. They were making swift progressnorthward; but it would be different when they came back. Rivers andlakes would be frozen then. That might make traveling easier, if theycould pick up the hand sleds they had cached; but there was a limit tothe provisions they could transport, and unless fresh supplies could beobtained they would have a long distance to traverse on scanty rationsin the rigors of the arctic winter.
After a day or two the Indians, who were going no farther, landed them,and they entered a belt of very broken country across which they mustpush to reach a larger stream. The ground was rocky, pierced byravines, and covered with clumps of small trees. There were stonytracts across which they painfully picked their way, steep ridges to beclambered over, and belts of quaggy muskeg they must skirt. Benson,however, gave them no trouble; the man was getting hard and wasgenerally cheerful; and when he had an occasional fit of moroseness, ashe fought with the longing that tormented him, they left him alone.Still, at times they were daunted by the rugged sternness of the regionthey were steadily pushing through, and the thought of the long returnjourney troubled them.
One night, when it was raining, they sat beside their fire in adesolate gorge. A cold wind swept between the thin spruce trunks thatloomed vaguely out of the surrounding gloom as the red glare leaped up,and wisps of acrid smoke drifted about the camp. There was a lake upthe hollow, and now and then the wild and mournful cry of a loon rangout. The men were tired and somewhat dejected as they sat about theblaze with their damp blankets round them. A silence had fallen uponthem; but suddenly Blake looked up, startled.
"What was that?" he exclaimed.
The others could hear nothing but the sound of running water and thewail of the wind. Since leaving the Indians they had seen no sign oflife and believed that they were crossing uninhabited wilds. Blakecould not tell what had suddenly roused his attention, but in formerdays he had developed his perceptive faculties by close night watchingon the Indian frontier, where any relaxing of his vigilance might havecost his life. Something, he thought, was moving in the bush, and hefelt uneasy.
A stick cracked, and Harding called out as a shadowy figure appeared onthe edge of the light. Blake laughed, but his uneasiness did notdesert him when he recognized Clarke. The fellow was not to betrusted, and he had come upon them in a startling manner.
"I suppose you are surprised to see me," Clarke said, moving coollyforward and sitting down by the fire.
"We are," Harding answered briefly.
Benson's face wore a curious, strained expression, but he did not speak.
"Well," Clarke laughed, as he filled his pipe, "I dare say I made arather dramatic entrance, fa
lling upon you, so to speak, out of thedark."
"I've a suspicion that you enjoy that kind of thing," Harding said."You're a man with the dramatic feeling; guess you find it useful nowand then."
Clarke's eyes twinkled, but it was not with wholesome humor. His eyeswere keen, but he looked old and forbidding as he sat with the smokeblowing about him and the ruddy firelight on his face.
"There's some truth in your remark, and I take it as a compliment; butmy arrival's easily explained. I saw your fire in the distance andcuriosity brought me along."
"What are you doing up here?"
"Going on a visit to my friends, the Stonies. Though it's a long way,I look them up now and then."
"From what I've heard of them, they don't seem a very attractive lot,"Blake interposed. "But we haven't offered you any supper. Benson, youmight put on the frying-pan."
"No, thanks," said Clarke. "I'm camped with two half-breeds a littleway back. The Stonies, as you remark, are not a polished set; butwe're on pretty good terms, and it's their primitiveness that makesthem interesting. You can learn things civilized men don't know muchabout from these people."
"In my opinion, it's knowledge that's not worth much to a white man,"Harding remarked contemptuously. "Guess you mean the secrets of theirmedicine-men? What isn't gross superstition is trickery."
"There you are wrong. They have some tricks, rather clever ones,though that's not unusual with the professors of a more advancedoccultism; but living, as they do, in direct contact with nature in hermost savage mood, they have found clues to things that we regard asmysteries. Anyway, they have discovered a few effective remedies thataren't generally known yet to medical science."
He spoke with some warmth, and had the look of a genuine enthusiast;but Harding laughed.
"Medical science hasn't much to say in favor of hoodoo practises, sofar as I know. But I understand you are a doctor?"
"I was pretty well known in London."
"Then," Harding asked bluntly, "what brought you to Sweetwater?"
"If you haven't heard, I may as well tell you, because the thing isn'ta secret at the settlement." Clarke turned and his eyes rested onBlake. "I'm by no means the only man who has come to Canada under acloud. There was a famous police-court affair that I figured in.Nothing was proved against me, but my practise afterward fell to bits.As a matter of fact, I was absolutely innocent of the offense. I hadacted without much caution, out of pity, and laid myself open to anattack that was meant to cover the escape of the real criminal."
Blake thought he spoke the truth, and he felt some sympathy; but Clarkewent on:
"In a few weeks I was without patients or friends; driven out from theprofession I loved and in which I was beginning to make my mark. Itwas a blow that I never altogether recovered from; and the generousimpulse which got me into trouble was the last that I ever yielded to."
His face changed, growing hard and malevolent, and Blake now feltstrangely repelled. It looked as if the man had been soured by hismisfortunes, and had turned into an outlaw who took a vindictivepleasure in making such reprisals as he found possible upon society atlarge. This conclusion was borne out by what Blake had learned at thesettlement.
No one made any comment, and there was silence for a few minutes whilethe smoke whirled about the group and the drips from the dark boughsabove fell upon the brands. Then, after a little casual talk, Clarkerose to go.
"I shall start at daybreak, and your way lies to the east of mine," hesaid. "You'll find traveling easier when the snow comes. I wish yougood luck."
Though the loneliness of the wilds had now and then weighed upon them,they all felt relieved when he left. After Benson went to sleep, Blakeand Harding continued talking for a while.
"That's a man we'll have to watch," the American declared. "I supposeit struck you that he made no attempt to get your friend back?"
"I noticed it. He may have thought it wouldn't succeed, and didn'twish to show his hand. Benson already looks a different man; I sawClarke studying him."
"He could have drawn him away by the sight of a whisky flask, or a hintof a jag in camp. My opinion is that he didn't want him."
"That's curious," said Blake. "He seems to have stuck to Benson prettyclosely, no doubt with the object of fleecing him; and you think he'snot altogether ruined yet."
"If what he told me is correct, there are still some pickings left onhim."
"I don't suppose the explanation is that Clarke has some conscience,and feels that he has robbed him enough."
Harding laughed.
"He has about as much pity as a hungry wolf; in fact, to my mind, he'sthe more dangerous brute, because I've a feeling that he delights indoing harm. There's something cruel about the man; getting fired outof his profession must have warped his nature. Then there was anotherpoint that struck me--why's he going so far to stay with those Indians?"
"It's puzzling," Blake answered thoughtfully. "He hinted that he wasinterested in their superstitions, and I think there was some truth init. Meddling with these things seems to have a fascination forneurotic people, and as the fellow's a sensualist he may find some formof indulgence that wouldn't be tolerated near the settlements. Allthis, however, doesn't quite seem to account for the thing."
"I've another idea," said Harding. "Clarke's known as a crank, and hetakes advantage of it to cover his doings. At first, I thought of thewhisky trade; but taking up prohibited liquor would hardly be worth hiswhile; though I dare say he has some with him to be used for gaininghis Indian friends' good will. He's on the trail of something, andit's probably minerals. What the prospector told us suggested it tome."
"You may be right. Anyway, it doesn't seem to concern us."
"Well," said Harding gravely, "I'm troubled about his leaving Bensonalone. The fellow had some good reason--I wish I knew."
He rose to throw more wood on the fire, and they changed the subject.