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The man turned and pointed to the misty horizon, astern. “You’ll get it from the north before to-morrow.”
Then the straining tug and long wet line of working raft drew ahead, while the sloop crawled on, close-hauled, towards the south. Late that night, however, the mists melted away, and a keen rushing breeze that came out of the north crisped the water. She sprang forward when the ripples reached her; the flapping canvas went to sleep, and while each slack rope tightened a musical tinkle broke out at the bows. It grew steadily louder, and when the sun swung up red above the eastern hills, she had piled the white froth to her channels and was driving forward merrily, with little sparkling seas tumbling, foam-tipped, after her. The wind fell light as the sun rose higher, but she ran on all day, and the western sky was still blazing with a wondrous green when she stole into Vancouver harbour.
The light faded as they crept across the inlet before a faint breeze, but when they had got the anchor over and the boat into the water, Carroll made out two dim figures standing on the wharf and waved a hand to them.
“It’s Drayton, I think,” he said. “Kitty’s with him.”
They pulled ashore, and Drayton shook hands with them.
“I’ve been looking out for you since noon,” he said. “What about that spruce?”
There was eagerness in his voice, and Vane’s face clouded. “We couldn’t find a trace of it.”
Drayton’s disappointment was obvious, though he tried to hide it. “Well,” he said resignedly, “I’ve no doubt you did all you could.”
“Of course,” Kitty broke in. “We’re quite sure of that.”
Vane thanked her with a glance; he felt sorry for her and Drayton. They were strongly attached to each other, and he had reason for believing that even with the advanced salary the man expected to get they would find it needful to study strict economy.
“I’m going to make another attempt. I expect some of our difficulties will vanish after I’ve had a talk with Hartley,” he said.
Kitty looked grave. “That’s impossible,” she answered softly. “Hartley died a week ago.”
Vane started.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “How’s Celia?”
“She’s very sick.” There was concern in Kitty’s voice. “Hartley got worse soon after you left, and she sat up all night with him after her work for the last two weeks. Now she’s broken down, and she doesn’t seem to know if they’ll take her back again at the hotel.”
“I must go and see her,” said Vane. “But won’t you and Drayton come with us and have dinner?”
Drayton explained that this was out of the question – Kitty’s employer, who had driven in that afternoon, was waiting with his team; and the party left the wharf together. A few minutes later, Vane shook hands with the girl and her companion.
“Don’t lose heart,” he said. “We’re far from beaten yet.”
They separated, and after dinner Vane, who rejoiced in the unusual luxury of clean, dry clothes, walked across to call on Nairn. He was shown into a room where Jessie Horsfield was sitting, but she rose with a slight start when he came in. Vane, who had been preoccupied since he had heard Kitty’s news, did not notice it, and Jessie’s manner was reposeful and quietly friendly when she held out her hand.
“So you have come back?” she said. “Have you succeeded in your search?”
Vane was gratified. It was pleasant to feel that she was interested in his undertaking.
“No,” he confessed. “I’m afraid I have failed.”
“Then,” said Jessie, with reproach in her voice, “you have disappointed me.”
It was skilful flattery, since she had conveyed the impression that she had expected him to succeed, which implied that she held a high opinion of his abilities.
“After all, you must have had a good deal against you,” she resumed consolingly. “Won’t you sit down and tell me about it? Nairn, I understand, is writing some letters, and he sent for Mrs. Nairn just before you came in.”
She indicated a chair beside the open hearth and Vane sat down opposite her, where a low screen cut them off from the rest of the room. Vane, who was still stiff and aching from exposure to the cold and rain, revelled in the unusual sense of comfort. In addition to this, his companion’s pose was singularly graceful, and the ease of it and the friendly smile with which she regarded him somehow implied that they were on excellent terms.
“It’s very nice to be here again,” he said.
Jessie looked up at him languidly. He had spoken as he felt, on impulse, which was more gratifying than an obvious desire to pay her a compliment would have been.
“I suppose you wouldn’t get many comforts in the bush,” she suggested.
“No,” said Vane. “Comforts of any kind are remarkably scarce up yonder. As a matter of fact, I can’t imagine a country where the contrasts between the luxuries of civilisation and the other thing are sharper. But that wasn’t exactly what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I don’t know that it’s worth explaining,” Vane answered with an air of consideration. “We have rather luxurious quarters at the hotel, but this room is somehow different. It’s restful – I think it’s homely – in-fact, as I said, it’s nice to be here.”
Jessie understood that he had been attempting to analyse his feelings, and had failed clearly to recognise that her presence contributed to the satisfaction he was conscious of. She had no doubt that if he were a man of average susceptibility, the company of an attractive woman would have some effect on him after his sojourn in the wilds; but whether she had produced any deeper effect she could not determine. Nor did it appear judicious to prompt him unduly.
“But won’t you tell me your adventures?” she said.
It required a few leading questions to start him, but at length he told the story.
“You see,” he said in conclusion, “it was lack of definite knowledge as much as the natural obstacles that brought us back – and I’ve been troubled about the thing since we landed.”
Jessie’s manner invited his confidence. “I wonder,” she said softly, “if you would care to tell me why?”
“Hartley’s dead, and I understand his daughter has broken down after nursing him. It’s doubtful if her situation can be kept open, and it may be some time before she’s strong enough to look for another.” He hesitated. “In a way, I feel responsible for her.”
“You really aren’t responsible in the least,” Jessie declared. “Still, I can understand the idea troubling you. Would you like me to help you?”
“I can hardly ask it, but it would be a relief to me,” Vane answered with obvious eagerness.
“Then, if you’ll tell me her address, I’ll go to see her, and we’ll consider what can be done.”
Vane leaned forward impulsively. “You have taken a weight off my mind. It’s difficult to thank you properly.”
“I don’t suppose it will give me any trouble. Of course, it must be embarrassing to feel you had a helpless young woman on your hands.”
Then a thought flashed into her mind, as she remembered what she had seen at the station some months ago. “I wonder if the situation is an altogether unusual one to you,” she continued. “Have you never let your pity run away with your judgment before?”
“You wouldn’t expect me to proclaim my charities,” Vane objected humorously which was the only means of parrying the question that occurred to him.
“I think you are trying to put me off. You haven’t given me an answer.”
“I believe I was able to make things easier for somebody else not very long ago,” Vane confessed, reluctantly, but without embarrassment. “I now see that I might have done harm without meaning to do so. It’s sometimes extraordinarily difficult to help folks – which is why I’m so grateful for your offer.”
For the next few moments Jessie sat silent. It was clear that she had misjudged him, for although she was not one who demanded too much from human nature, the fact that Kitty Blake had arrived in Vancouver in his company had undoubtedly rankled in her mind. Now she acquitted him of any blame, and it was a relief to do so. She changed the subject abruptly.
“I suppose you will make another attempt to find timber?” she suggested.
“Yes,” said Vane. “In a week or two.”
He had hardly spoken when Mrs. Nairn came in and welcomed him with her usual friendliness.
“I’m glad to see ye, though ye’re looking thin,” she said. “Why did ye not come straight to us, instead of going to the hotel? Ye would have got as good a supper as they would give ye there.”
“I haven’t a doubt of it,” Vane declared. “On the other hand, I hardly think even one of your suppers would quite have put right the defect in my appearance you mentioned. You see, the cause of it has been at work for some time.”
Mrs. Nairn regarded him with half-amused compassion. “If ye’ll come ower every evening, we’ll soon cure that. I would have been down sooner if Alec, who’s writing letters, had not kept me. There was a matter or two he wanted to ask my opinion on.”
“I think that was very wise of him.”
His hostess smiled. “For one thing, we had a letter from Evelyn Chisholm this afternoon. She’ll be out to spend some time with us in about a month.”
“Evelyn’s coming here?” Vane exclaimed, with a sudden stirring of his heart.
“And why should she not come?” Mrs. Nairn inquired. “I told ye some time ago that we partly expected her. Ye were-na astonished then.”
She appeared to expect an explanation of the change in his attitude, and as he volunteered none she drew him a few paces aside.
“If I’m no betraying a confidence; Evelyn writes that she’ll be glad to get away a while. Now, I’ve been wondering why she should be anxious to leave home.”
She looked at him fixedly, and to his annoyance he felt his face grow hot. Mrs. Nairn had quick perceptions, and was now and then painfully direct.
“It struck me that Evelyn was not very comfortable there,” he replied. “She seemed out of harmony with her people.”
Mrs. Nairn glanced at him again with amusement in her eyes. “It’s no unlikely. The reason may serve – for the want of a better.” Then she changed her tone. “Ye’ll away up to Alec; he told me to send ye.”
Vane went out of the room, but he left Jessie in a thoughtful mood. She had seen him start at the mention of Evelyn, and it struck her as significant, since she had heard that he had spent some time with the Chisholms; On the other hand there was the obvious fact that he had been astonished to hear that Evelyn was coming out, which implied that their acquaintance had not progressed far enough to warrant the girl’s informing him. Besides, Evelyn would arrive for a month, and Jessie reflected that she would probably see a good deal of Vane in the meanwhile. She now felt glad that she had promised to look after Celia Hartley, which would, no doubt, necessitate her consulting with him every now and then.
CHAPTER XIX – VANE FORESEES TROUBLE
Nairn was sitting at a writing-table when Vane entered his room, and after a few questions about his journey, he handed the younger man one of the papers that lay in front of him.
“It’s a report from the mine,” he said.
Vane carefully studied the document.
“It only brings us back to our last conversation on the subject,” he remarked when his host glanced at him inquiringly. “We have the choice of going on as we are doing, or extending our operations by an increase of capital. In the latter case, our total earnings might be larger, but I hardly think there would be as good a return on the money actually sunk. Taking it all round, I don’t know what to think; but if it appeared that there was a moral certainty of making a satisfactory profit on the new stock, I should consent.”
Nairn chuckled. “A moral certainty is no a very common thing in mining.”
“I believe Horsfield’s in favour of the scheme. How far would you trust that man?” Vane inquired.
“About as far as I could fling a bull by the tail. The same thing applies to both of them.”
“He has some influence. He’d find supporters.”
Nairn saw that the meaning of his last remark which implied that he had no more confidence in Jessie than he had in her brother, had not been grasped by his companion, but he did not consider it judicious to make it plainer. Instead, he gave Vane another piece of information: “Horsfield and Winter work into each other’s hands.”
“But Winter has no interest in the Clermont.”
Nairn smiled sourly. “He holds no shares in the mine, but there’s no much in the shape of mineral developments yon man has no an interest in. Since ye do not seem inclined to yield Horsfield a point or two, it might pay ye to watch the pair of them.”
Vane, who was aware that Winter was a person of some importance in financial circles, remained silent for a couple of minutes. “Now,” he said, at length, “every dollar we have in the Clermont is usefully employed and earning a satisfactory profit. Of course, if we put the concern on the market, we might get more than it is worth from investors; but that doesn’t greatly appeal to me.”
“It’s unnecessary to point out that a director’s interest is no invariably the same as that of his shareholders,” Nairn rejoined.
“It’s an unfortunate fact. But I’d be no better off if I only got the same actual return on a larger amount of what would be watered stock.”
“There’s sense in that. I’m no urging the scheme – there are other points against it,” answered Nairn.
“Well,” said Vane, “I’ll go up and look round the mine and then we’ll have another talk about the matter.”
They changed the subject, but Vane walked back to his hotel in a thoughtful frame of mind, and finding Carroll in the smoking-room related his conversation with Nairn.
“I’m a little troubled about the situation,” he concluded. “The Clermont finances are now on a sound basis, but it might after all prove advantageous to raise further capital, and in such a case we would, perhaps, lie open to attack. Nairn’s inclined to be cryptic in his remarks; but he seems to hint that it would be advisable to make Horsfield some concession – in other words, to buy him off.”
“Which is a course you have objections to?”
“Yes,” said Vane, “very decided ones.”
“I think that, in a general way, Nairn’s advice is sensible. Where mining and other schemes are floated, there are men who make a good living out of the operations. They’re trained to the business; they’ve control of the dollars; and when a new thing’s put on the market, they consider they’ve the first claim on the pickings.”
“You needn’t elaborate the point,” Vane broke in impatiently.
“You made your appearance in this city as a poor and unknown man with a mine to sell,” Carroll went on. “Disregarding tactful hints, you laid down your terms and stuck to them. Launching your venture without considering their views, you did the gentlemen I’ve mentioned out of their accustomed toll, and I’ve no doubt that some of them were indignant. It’s a thing you wouldn’t expect them to sanction. Now, however, one who has probably others behind him is making overtures to you. You ought to consider it a compliment; a recognition of ability. The question is – Do you mean to slight these advances and go on as you have begun?”
“That’s my present intention,” Vane answered.
“Then you needn’t be astonished if you find yourself up against a determined opposition by and by,” said Carroll.
“I think my friends will stand by me.” Vane looked at him steadily.
“Thanks. I’ve merely been pointing out what you may expect, and hinting at the most judicious course – though the latter’s rather against my natural inclinations. I’d better add that I’ve never been particularly prudent, and the opposite policy appeals to me. If we’re forced to clear for action, we’ll nail the flag to the mast.”
It was spoken lightly; because the man was serious, but Vane knew he had an ally who would support him with unflinching staunchness.
“I’m far from sure it will be needful,” he replied, and they talked about other matters until they strolled off to their rooms.
They spent the next week in the city, where Vane was kept occupied; after which they sailed once more for the north; and pushed inland until they were stopped by snow among the ranges, without finding the spruce. The journey proved as toilsome as the previous one, and both the men were worn out when they reached the coast. Vane was determined on making a third attempt, but he informed Carroll that they would visit the mine before proceeding to Vancouver. They had heavy rain during the voyage down the Strait, and when on the day after reaching port, the jaded horses they had hired plodded up the sloppy trail to the mine, a pitiless deluge once more poured down on them.
The light was growing dim among the dripping firs, and a deep-toned roar came throbbing across their shadowy ranks. By and by Vane; who was leading, turned and glanced back at Carroll.
“I’ve never heard the river so plainly before,” he said. “It must be unusually swollen.”
Since the mine was situated on a narrow level flat between the hillside and the river, Carroll understood the anxiety in his comrade’s voice; and urging the wearied horses they pressed on a little faster. It was almost dark when they reached the edge of an opening in the firs, and saw a cluster of iron-roofed, wooden buildings and a tall chimney stack, in front of which the unsightly ore-dump extended. Wet and chilled and worn out as the men were, there was comfort in the sight; but Vane noticed that a shallow lake stretched between him and the buildings. On one side of it there was a broad strip of tumbling foam, which rose and fell in confused upheavals and filled the forest with the roar it made. Vane drove his horse into the water, and dismounting among the stumps before the ore-dump, found a wet and soil-stained man awaiting him. A long trail of smoke floated away from the iron stack behind him, and through the sound of the river there broke the clank and thud of hard-driven pumps.
“You have got a big head of steam up, Salter,” he said.
The man nodded. “We want it. It’s taking me all my time to keep the water out of the workings. Leave your horses – I’ll send along for them – and I’ll show you what we’ve been doing after supper.”
“I’d sooner go now, while I’m wet,” Vane answered.
They went down into the mine. The approach looked like a canal, and they descended the shallow shaft amidst a thin cascade. The tunnel they reached slanted, for the lode dipped, and the lights that twinkled here and there among the timbering showed shadowy, half-naked figures toiling in water which rose well up their boots. Further streams of it ran in from fissures, and Vane’s face grew grave as he plodded through the flood with a lamp in his hand. He spent an hour in the workings, asking Salter a question now and then, and afterwards went back with him to one of the sheds, where he dressed in dry clothes and sat down to a meal.
When it was over and the table had been cleared, he lay in a canvas chair beside the stove, in which resinous billets snapped and crackled cheerfully. The deluge roared upon the iron roof; the song of the river rose and fell, filling the place with sound; and now and then the pounding and clanking of the pumps broke in.
Vane examined the sheet of figures Salter handed him. Then he carefully turned over some of the pieces of stone the table was partly covered with.
“There’s no doubt those specimens aren’t so promising, and the cost of extraction is going up,” he said at length. “I’ll have a talk with Nairn when I get back, but in the meanwhile it looks as if we were going to have trouble with the water.”
“It’s a thing I’ve been afraid of for some time,” Salter answered. “We can keep down any leakage that comes in through the rocks, though it means driving the pumps hard, but an inrush from the river would beat us.”
Vane let the matter drop, and an hour later he retired to his wooden berth. In a few minutes he was fast asleep, but was awakened by a shrill note, which he recognised as the whistle of the engine. It was sounding the alarm, and next moment he was struggling into his clothing; then the door swung open and Salter stood in the entrance, lantern in hand, with water trickling from him. There was keen anxiety in his expression.
“Flood’s lapping the bank top now,” he said. “There’s a jamb in the narrow place at the head of the rapid, and the water’s backing up. I’m going along with the boys.”
He vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, and Vane dragged on his jacket. If the mine were drowned, operations might be stopped for a considerable time. What was more, it would precipitate a crisis in the affairs of the company and necessitate an increase of its capital, which he would sooner avoid.
He was outside in less than a minute and stood still looking about him, while the deluge lashed his face and beat his clothing against his limbs. He could only make out a blurred mass of climbing trees on one side, and a strip of foam cutting through the black level which he supposed was water, in front of him. His trained ears, however, gave him a little information, for the clamour of the flood was broken by a sharp snapping and crashing, which he knew was made by driftwood driving furiously against the boulders. In that region, the river banks are encumbered here and there with great logs, partly burned by forest fires, reaped by gales, or brought down from the hill-sides by falls of frost-loosened soil. A flood higher than usual sets them floating, and on subsiding sometimes leaves them packed in a gorge or stranded in a shallow to wait for the next big rise. Now they were driving down and, as Salter had said, jambing at the head of the rapid.
Suddenly a column of fierce white radiance leaped up lower down-stream and Vane knew that a big compressed air lamp had been carried to the spot where the driftwood was gathering. Even at a distance, the brightness of the glare dazzled him, so that he could see nothing else when he headed towards it. He collided with a fir stump and struck it with his knee, and in another minute the splashing about his feet warned him that he was entering the water. Having no wish to walk into the main stream, he floundered to one side. He was, however, getting nearer to the blaze, and by and by he made out a swarm of figures scurrying about beneath it. Some of them had saws or axes, for he caught the gleam of steel, and broke into a run; and presently Carroll, whom he had forgotten, came up, calling to him.
CHAPTER XX – THE FLOOD
When he reached the blast lamp, which was raised on a tall tripod, Vane stood with his back to the pulsating blaze while he grasped the details of a somewhat impressive scene. A little up-stream of him the river leaped out of the darkness, breaking into foaming waves, and a wall of dripping firs flung back the roar it made, the first rows of serried trunks standing out hard and sharp in the fierce white light. Nearer where he stood, a projecting spur of rock narrowed in the river, which boiled tumultuously against its foot, while about half-way across the top of a giant boulder rose above the flood.
Vane could only just see it, because a mass of driftwood, which was momentarily growing, stretched from bank to bank. A big log, drifting down sideways, had brought up upon the boulder and once fixed had seized and held fast each succeeding trunk. Some had been driven partly out upon those that had preceded them; some had been drawn beneath the latter, and catching the bottom had jambed. Then the rest had been wedged by the current into the gathering mass; trunks, branches, and brushwood all finding a place. When the stream is strong, a jamb, as it is called, usually extends downwards, as well as rises, as the water it pens back increases in depth, until it forms a solid barrier from surface to bed. If it occurs during a log-drive, the river is choked with lumber. Bent figures were at work with axes at the shoreward end of the mass; others had crawled out along the logs, in search of another point where they could advantageously be attacked; but Vane, watching them with practised eyes, decided that they were largely throwing their toil away. Next, he glanced down-stream; but powerful as the light was, it did not pierce far into the darkness and the rain, and the mad white rush of the rapid vanished abruptly into the surrounding gloom. Then he caught the clink of a hammer on a drill, and seeing Salter not far away strode towards him.