CHAPTER XXI
A MATTER OF DUTY
The campfire burned brightly in a straggling bluff at the edge of the plain. The scattered trees were small and let in the cold wind, and the men were gathered close round the fire in a semi-circle on the side away from the smoke. Sergeant Lane held a notebook in his hand, while Emile repacked a quantity of provisions, the weight of which they had been carefully estimating. The sergeant's calculations were not reassuring, and he frowned.
"The time we lost turning back to the Stony village has made a big hole in our grub," he said. "Guess we'll have to cut the menoo down and do a few more miles a day."
"Our party's used to that," Blake answered with a smile. "I suggest another plan. You have brought us a long way, and Sweetwater's a bit off your line. Suppose you give us food enough to last us on half rations and let us push on."
"No, sir!" said Lane decidedly. "We see this trip through together. For another thing, the dogs are playing out, and after the way they've served us I want to save them. With your help at the traces we make better time."
Blake could not deny this. The snow had been in bad condition for the last week, and the men had relieved each other in hauling the sled. The police camp equipment was heavy, but it could not be thrown away, for the men preferred some degree of hunger to lying awake at nights, half frozen. Moreover, neither Blake nor his comrades desired to leave their new friends and once more face the rigors of the wilds alone.
"Then we'll have to make the best speed we can," he said.
They talked about the journey still before them for another hour. It was a clear night and very cold, but there was a crescent moon in the sky. The wind had fallen; the fragile twigs of the birches which shot up among the poplars were still, and deep silence brooded over the wide stretch of snow.
"Ah!" Emile exclaimed suddenly. "You hear somet'ing?"
They did not, though they listened hard; but the half-breed had been born in the wilderness, and they could not think him mistaken. For a minute or two his pose suggested strained attention, and then he smiled.
"White man come from ze sout'. Mais, oui! He come, sure t'ing."
Lane nodded.
"I guess he's right. I can hear it now; but I can't figure on the kind of outfit."
Then Blake heard a sound which puzzled him. It was not the quick patter of a dog team, nor the sliding fall of netted shoes. The noise was dull and heavy, and as the snow would deaden it, whoever was coming could not be far away.
"Bob-sled!" Emile exclaimed with scorn. "V'la la belle chose!
Arrive ze great horse of ze plow."
"The fellow's sure a farmer, coming up with a Clydesdale team," Lane laughed. "One wouldn't have much trouble in following his trail."
A few minutes later three men appeared, carefully leading two big horses through the trees.
"Saw your fire a piece back," said one, when they had hauled up a clumsy sled. "I'm mighty glad to find you, Blake; we were wondering how far we might have to go."
"Then you came up after me, Tom?" exclaimed Blake. "You wouldn't have got much farther with that team; but who sent you?"
"I don't quite know. It seems that Gardner got orders from somebody that you were to be found, and he hired me and the boys. We had trouble in getting here, but we allowed we could bring up more grub and blankets on the sled, and we could send Jake back with the team when we struck the thick bush. Then we were going to make a cache, and pack along as much stuff as we could carry. But I have a letter which may tell you something."
Blake opened it, and Harding noticed that his face grew intent; but he put the letter into his pocket and turned to the man.
"It's from a friend in England," he said. "You were lucky in finding me, and we'll go back together in the morning."
After attending to their horses, the new arrivals joined the others at the fire, and explained that at the hotel-keeper's suggestion they had meant to head for the Indian village, and make inquiries on their way up at the logging camp. Though Blake talked to them, he had a preoccupied look, and Harding knew that he was thinking of the letter. He had, however, no opportunity for questioning him, and he waited until the next day, when Emile, whom they were helping, chose a shorter way across a ravine than that taken by the police and the men with the bob-sled. When they reached the bottom of the hollow, Blake told the half-breed to stop, and he took his comrades aside.
"There's something I must tell you," he said. "It was Colonel Challoner who sent the boys up from the settlement with food for us, and he begs me to come home at once. That's a point on which I'd like your opinion; but you shall hear what he has to say."
Sitting down on a log, he began to read from his letter:
"'A man named Clarke, whom you have evidently met, lately called on me and suggested an explanation of the Indian affair. As the price of his keeping silence on the subject, he demanded that I should take a number of shares in a syndicate he is forming for the exploitation of some petroleum wells.'"
"It was a good offer," Harding interrupted. "Clarke must have had reason for believing he was about to make a big strike; he'd have kept quiet until he was sure of it."
"'The fellow's story was plausible,'" Blake continued reading. "'It seems possible that you have been badly wronged; and I have been troubled——'" He omitted the next few lines, and went on: "'After giving the matter careful thought, I feel that the man may have hit upon the truth. It would, of course, afford me the keenest satisfaction to see you cleared, but the thing must be thoroughly sifted, because——'"
Blake stopped and added quietly:
"He insists on my going home."
"His difficulty is obvious," Benson remarked. "If you are blameless, his son must be guilty."
Blake did not answer, but sat musing with a disturbed expression. There was now no sign of the men with the bob-sled, and no sound reached them from the plain above. Emile stood patiently waiting some distance off, and though they were sheltered from the wind it was bitterly cold.
"In some ways, it might be better if I went home at once," Blake said at last. "I could come back and join you as soon as I saw how things were going. The Colonel would feel easier if I were with him; but, all the same, I'm inclined to stay away."
"Why?" Harding asked.
"For one thing, if I were there, he might insist on taking some quite unnecessary course that would only cause trouble."
"I'm going to give you my opinion," said Harding curtly. "I take it that your uncle is a man who tries to do the square thing?"
Blake's face relaxed and his eyes twinkled.
"He's what you call white, and as obstinate as they're made. Convince him that a thing's right and he'll see it done, no matter how many people it makes uncomfortable. That's why I don't see my way to encourage him."
"Here's a man who's up against a point of honor; he has, I understand, a long, clean record, and now he's prepared to take a course that may cost him dear. Are you going to play a low-down game on him; to twist the truth so's to give him a chance for deceiving himself?"
"Aren't you and Benson taking what you mean by the truth too much for granted?"
Harding gave him a searching look.
"I haven't heard you deny it squarely; you're a poor liar. It's your clear duty to go back to England right away, and see your uncle through with the thing he means to do."
"After all, I'll go to England," Blake answered with significant reserve. "However, we'd better get on, or we won't catch the others until they've finished dinner."
Emile started the dogs, and when they had toiled up the ascent they saw the men with the bob-sled far ahead on the great white plain.
"We may not have another chance for a private talk until we reach the settlement," Blake said. "What are you going to do about the petroleum?"
"I'll come back and prospect the muskeg as soon as the frost goes,"
Harding answered promptly.
"It will cost a good deal to do that thoroughly. We must hire transport for a full supply of all the tools and food we are likely to need; one experience of the kind we've had this trip is enough. How are you going to get the money?"
"I'm not going to the city men for it until our position's secure. The thing must be kept quiet until we're ready to put it on the market."
"You were doubtful about taking me for a partner once," Benson interposed. "I don't know that I could blame you; but now I mean to do all I can to make the scheme successful, and I don't think you'll have as much reason for being afraid that I might fail you."
"Call it a deal," said Harding. "You're the man we want."
"I ought to be back before you start," Blake said; "and if I can raise any money in England I'll send it over. You're satisfied that this is a project I can recommend to my friends?"
"I believe it's such a chance as few people ever get," Harding answered in a tone of firm conviction.
"Then we'll see what can be done. It won't be your fault if the venture fails."
Harding smiled.
"There's hard work and perhaps some trouble ahead, but you won't regret you faced it. You'll be a rich man in another year or two!"
Blake smiled at his enthusiasm.
"Emile and the dogs are leaving us behind," he said. "We'll have to hustle!"