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.
II
“Sh-h-hish!”
Hammond’s cogitation was startlingly interrupted by the faintly spoken warning as a figure leaned forward from the shadow of a clump of willows and seizing his nearest hand squeezed something small and square into the palm of it. “Don’t look—walk on—some one might see,” came a low, hoarse whisper, then the other seemed to melt into the darkness.
Hammond took the cue from the unknown messenger and pursued his way to his quarters with an assumption of unconcern that he by no means possessed. The suddenness of it had considerably startled him. Sandy Macdougal was not yet in when Hammond arrived, and the latter, sitting close to the wall where his actions could not be observed from the outside through the window, examined the folded bit of paper which the stranger had pressed into his hand. It bore no address on the outside, and the faint scrawl in backhand on the inner side was unfamiliar:—
The young lady stopping on Amethyst Island, west of the camp, may need a friend. Why not stroll out that way to-morrow morning?
That was all. What the devil did it all mean?