I
The first of the two surprises Louis Hammond experienced that evening he returned from the woods intending to take the tug to Kam City to interview Eulas Daly was that he was as good as marooned on the Nannabijou Limits. He sought out Mooney, the assistant superintendent, mentioning that he would like to secure a pass over to the city and back. Mooney issued most of the passes to the men travelling back and forward.
The assistant superintendent grinned wryly and shook his head. “You will have to see the Big Boss about it,” he said and resumed his cursory inspection of pole counters’ returns.
This was exceedingly aggravating, for the tug was almost ready to pull out and Acey Smith was not to be found. He did not show up at his office till long after the tug had gone out. Hammond followed him in, determined to secure a pass for the morning boat.
“I’d like to run over to the city on the tug in the morning,” he announced. “Mooney told me I’d have to see you about getting a pass.”
“I am very sorry to deny you your little holiday,” returned the other, “but for the present I can do no more for you than Mooney.”
“Then you are virtually making a prisoner of me?”
“I wouldn’t say that; you voluntarily made a prisoner of yourself,” reminded the superintendent. “You brought me a letter from J. J. Slack, president of the North Star Company, instructing me to keep you hidden here—at least that is what I gathered from its contents—and until I receive other instructions I must abide by that request.”
Acey Smith spoke quietly, without trace of malice. The usual half-sneer on his lips was lacking. Hammond could not safely justify a denial that he was the protégé of Slack; his promise to Gildersleeve precluded that. There was nothing he could say.
The pulp camp superintendent seemed anxious to pass over the embarrassing situation, for he said almost immediately: “It’s a pity we have to work at cross-purposes, Hammond. Believe me, I hate to deny you such a small favour as a pass over to the city—but that, just now, is not exactly a possibility.”
“Thank you, Mr. Smith.” Hammond turned on a heel and strode out.
Acey Smith’s new mood baffled him. Undoubtedly, he reflected as he strolled down to the river before returning to his quarters, the superintendent was the creature of Slack or others of the company over him, but Gildersleeve must have realised this sort of thing would happen when he placed him on the limits through the agency of Slack. Was it all a sham of some sort—or was Gildersleeve actually in the first stages of madness when he concocted this seemingly crazy plan for Hammond to play the part of a fugitive from justice on the limits? Meanwhile, if Gildersleeve did not sooner or later turn up in his right mind where would it all end?
He must get to Kam City, even if he had to hide on one of the tugs, he decided. There would be little use in keeping up the present farce if Gildersleeve were unable to fulfill the part he planned, and, in the face of the fact that no trace of him had yet been discovered, that seemed unlikely. There could be nothing wrong in disregarding an agreement with a man who was no longer able to carry out his side of the contract, and Eulas Daly, the United States consul, who had brought him into contact with Gildersleeve, should be able to let in a little light on the mystery. Then, if there appeared to be any use in so doing, he hoped he would be able to get back on one of the tugs without getting into undue complications and resume his old rôle at the limits.