ON THE SCENT
After being snubbed by his Sergeant Constable Hope lost heart—for a little while; but on the Sunday he was again working assiduously, with little luck.
Accident and caution caused Berwick to keep out of the way of the determined policeman.
Suddenly the idea of looking further into the possible connection of Five Ace Dan with the conspirators occurred to Hope. So on the day following his Sunday of ill-success he posted himself near the prisoners. He could distinguish the person of Five Ace Dan, and watched closely for any sign made to a possible confederate, but without result. This was disappointing, for brooding during the night on what Long Shorty had said, he brought himself to believe he was close to an important clue. As his inspection of Five Ace Dan brought no help to him he felt again discouraged, and became sullen and brooding. Then his interest awoke again, for Long Shorty had appeared upon the scene. The constable was about to rise to his feet and abandon the enterprise when he saw the new-comer. He hid himself again immediately.
He watched Long Shorty take a piece of paper out of his pocket and write. The man laboured hard over the missive; he was evidently no fluent scribe. The paper, after being finished and carefully read through, was rolled into a ball.
At last, at stroke of noon, the prisoners filed back to the Barracks. Long Shorty at once strolled over, with careful casualness, to the scene of their labours, and, as before, dropped the paper beside the handle of the Five Ace's shovel. At once he went eager as a bird to Dawson.
When the coast was quite clear Hope came from his cover and annexed the letter. The policeman's spirits were very cock-a-whoop.
"The Eagle is very fond of Yellow-legs," he read in the awful scrawl, "and in two days' time a great many Eagles will gather together about the summit of the big mountain, where they may watch the Yellow-legs; and if the Yellow-legs don't come and make peace within two days, then at the end of one more day the Eagles will descend upon the Yellow-legs and make a meal of them. Any little dicky-birds found among the Yellow-legs may go the same way, unless they make a move for liberty. The Eagle loves liberty."
Constable Hope pondered over these words, and after copying them into his notebook replaced the original where he had found it. He then made his way to his Sergeant and the mid-day meal. No sooner, however, had he come to Galbraith than he changed his mind. He would carry his news to the Commandant himself, and not waste it on this discouraging minor light.
"You're somewhat glum. Seen a ghost?" asked the Sergeant.
"No, Sergeant, no!"
"Been drinking the wrong kind of hootch, I guess!"
"No, Sergeant, no!"
The first thing Hope did after lunch was to search the cell occupied by Five Ace Dan. There he found, stuffed between the logs which comprised one wall of the cell, the first missive written by Long Shorty. He searched but could discover nothing else, but that would do. Off he went to the Commandant.
"I have discovered something, sir, which I have thought sufficiently important to bring direct to you."
"What is it?"
"One of the men I am watching is communicating with a prisoner—Five Ace Dan. I heard him mention the name on the Dome, on Saturday. To-day I followed up the clue and intercepted a note."
Constable Hope took out his notebook. He was a bit nervous and excited. He knew he was running a risk by not reporting, according to regulations, by way of the Sergeant. Smoothbore was eyeing him intently.
Constable Hope handed the letter found in the cell, and his notebook containing the copy of the missive left that morning, to the Commandant, who read them with stern eyes.
"You think these are not the idle words of some partially demented prospector?"
"I do not, sir. The big Yankee has nothing about him to indicate he has lost his wits."
"So you think this is right, that there will be a massing of forces about the Dome on Wednesday?"
"I do, sir."
"And if there is a display of force on Wednesday, an attack will be made on Friday?"
"On Saturday, sir."
"On Saturday; then if we see a massing of forces on Wednesday we may expect trouble by Saturday?"
"That is my idea, sir."
"What have you done with the original of the note you found to-day?"
"Put it where I found it, sir."
"And what do you intend doing with the one you found in the prisoner's cell?"
"I had thought to replace it, sir."
"Very good; we can see if to-day's note is hidden in the same place to-morrow."
Constable Hope was a proud man as he strode along the bank of the Yukon to the town. He had ventured much, and won. Visions of himself holding a commission passed through his mind. The possibility seemed more tangible now. Whom should he meet but the Sergeant?
"Well, young fellow, been hunting for more noiseless reports?"
"I've been keeping my eyes open."
"Seen anything?"
"Nothing much to trouble you with, Sergeant."
"Well, I've seen something I couldn't help but see. A stampede seems to have set in to the top of the Dome. Scores of fellows have been climbing up there, packs on their backs. You had better join the crowd."
"Not a bad idea."
In fifteen minutes Constable Hope had reached the Town Station, and made a roll of some blankets, in which he stowed several tins of bully beef and some biscuits. He was just setting out when his Sergeant arrived.
"Are not you going to take a rifle?"
"I hadn't thought of doing so."
"You'd better: all the others have rifles."
"You didn't tell me."
"Then I tell you now. No—not the police rifle," as Hope picked up a carbine. "Take this sporting rifle. Don't let 'em see you are a policeman, and use your wits!"
Hope strapped on his bundle—it weighed full sixty pounds—and with a "Good-bye, kid," from his Sergeant was off.
He made a detour far up the Klondike to gain a more gradual ascent, and on the way did a powerful lot of thinking. The fact that many men were climbing the Dome was some foundation for the idea that a gathering was to take place there on Wednesday. He sat down to rest on the flat, or, as it was called in the diggings, bench, half-way up the Klondike bluffs. There was ample time, for it was still the season of perpetual light; and if he awaited some other pilgrim would certainly come along, from whom he might find out something. Sure enough a recruit to the forces of the rebellion came into sight before five minutes had passed. The man was heavily laden and struggling up the steep ascent. He clawed at the brush in his efforts to pull himself up; and when finally he succeeded flung himself down by the side of the policeman, his face streaming with perspiration.
"A fellow will need a fat job when things get righted to pay for this!"
"He sure will," said Hope.
"I'm looking for a job collecting gold-dust."
"But there won't be any royalty then."
"That's right; that's right," and a thoughtful look came into the man's eye. "I was promised a job—I wonder what kind of a job I can get? I really had made up my mind to hold out for a job collecting. It must be an all-fired good job if a fellow reckons on the dust these fellows who hold it now blow in on the girls and wine. One year would be enough for me: I'd save, and quit the country."
"Are you quite sure you'd save?"
"Sure thing, I'm sure—at least I think I'm sure."
"Now don't you think if you were given the job of collecting royalty, that you might feel tempted to go to a restaurant, order a steak with chechacho potatoes,[12] and buy a bottle of wine to round things off?"
[12] Fresh potatoes as distinguished from evaporated potatoes.
The man gazed into vacancy a bit, and then looked Hope in the eye, and slapped his knee, as he said,
"Do you know, partner, I think I might—if I get any boodle out of this thing that's coming off, I think I will. Beefsteak! Beefsteak and onions!—and chechacho potatoes! Gosh! what a lay-out of them I could eat right now. Beans—beans—bacon and beans—and then beans and bacon! What a hell of a lot a fellow misses in this here country!"
"Yes, but I'm afraid we will not be able to take our appetites with us."
"Say! I wonder what John D. Rockefeller would give for my appetite and my stomach! Say! I bet he'd give a million cold cash. I bet he'd give a million and a half—enough to buy the best claim on Eldorado."
"Perhaps—perhaps; but never mind, there's a good time coming for us." Constable Hope did not wish the conversation to merge too much upon the abstract.
"Yes—in one week more—then we will have a chance to do some grafting. And I tell you I can do with some; yes, sir!"
"You mean it will be all over in two weeks? As I understand it, there is to be something doing on Wednesday."
"Only a line up, as I understand it; then on Friday the boss sends them word to quit, giving them twenty-four hours to make up their minds whether they will go to Heaven or down the River."
"Yes, I guess that's the programme," said the policeman, successfully hiding the satisfaction that made his pulses throb. He felt this was the official plan, as it coincided so well with the terms of the letter now again folded in its place in the cell of Five Ace Dan.
Had Hope been without orders, he would have made an excuse, and posted back to town right away. But his Sergeant had told him to masquerade among the rebels; and he must obey orders.
So he resumed the upward march with the remark, "Well, pard, I guess we had better hit the trail," whereupon the pard, with the accompaniment of numerous oaths and grunts and sighs, struggled to his feet and onward up the hill.