"Just past twenty-eight, sir," King interjected.
"Twenty-eight—aye. I didn't think you were so old even as that. Still that's young enough for one of your experience."
He paused for a moment, during which he seemed to be thinking very hard.
"There was something I have thought lately I'd like to tell you," he went on at last. "I want to tell you because I think you can listen with a man's ears and understand with a man's heart. Men don't go through life as a rule, Howden, without carrying a few secrets along with them. The most of us have memories that we'd gladly forget—if we could. All of us have our secrets—things we never tell, even to our best friends. And there's nothing wrong with that—it would be wrong if we told it. The world is a pretty fair sort, my boy, and life is worth living, in spite of the wrongs we do. It isn't such a bad rule, I've found, to keep your mouth shut—if opening it is going to cause trouble for anyone."
He was silent for a while, as if he wished the truth of his statement to sink deep into King's mind.
"But there are times when it's best to speak out," he went on. "A little trouble sometimes saves a deal more later on. And that's the point I'm coming to. There was a time in my life when I had no secret. I went about my work every day and had little to worry me besides the day's work as it came. But I grew ambitious. When you see a man that's over-ambitious you can count on trouble lying somewhere waiting for him. There are too many ambitious men in the world, Howden, to make it easy for anyone to be ambitious and be happy. There were two of us—a man I thought was a friend—and I'm not often fooled in men—and myself. When we found things were going too slow to satisfy us we went west to the mines for one season and staked some claims. We stayed the winter in a little mining town that didn't live long enough to get a name for itself. There isn't a man on the ground now. But for one season it was a lively place. Another man joined us after we'd been there a short time and the three of us went prospecting together. We were out for weeks on one trip without any luck, until we gave up and started back to camp. When men have tramped for weeks together through blizzards, and broken fresh trails against howling winds, they're either going to be great friends, or they're going to break. I was the oldest—the other two were young and better able to stand it than I was. And it wasn't long before I began to feel as if I was in the way. The grub was getting low, too, and hungry men are not good companions on the road. Last day out from camp the impossible happened. After going for weeks without luck of any kind we ran upon it when we were least expecting it. The fact is, Howden, I ran upon it. I found it—and I claimed it for my own, for the other two had told me they couldn't hold back for me any longer and had gone on. That night I got into camp—they had got in early in the day. There was a lot of drinking going on, and about midnight there was a fight."
Keith McBain placed his hand over his eyes for a moment and then ran his fingers slowly across his forehead.
"I never knew exactly what happened. All I remember was some shots and a man lying on the floor. I had a gun in my hand—and it was smoking. The thought of what I had done sobered me at once, and my first fear was for my wife and girl. Had it not been for them, Howden, I swear I'd have given myself up right there. But I couldn't do that. I asked the other man—the man I thought was my friend—you may as well know who—it was big Bill McCartney—I asked him to get me out of it. At first he argued with me, but at last I persuaded him and he helped me get away. In a few days he joined me again and we came back. Then one night I made a bargain with him. The affair was to remain a secret between us and he was to take the claim and get what he could from it. He went west again and I took to the construction—and have lived the life of the damned ever since. I told my wife—and she died. Then McCartney came back. Now he wants everything. He knows he has my life in his hands—and he's going to make me pay. I made him foreman. He's not satisfied with that. He wanted the claim in the hills—and got it. Sometimes I have been glad he did get it. I have been afraid to stand before that man, Howden—the only man I have ever been afraid of. And I'm not afraid for myself either. But the girl there—he wants her—has wanted her for a long time, and says he's going to get her. To-night I told her the whole story—just as I've told it to you. And she says if the price has to be paid—she'll pay it. That's Cherry, my boy. The hour has come for me, Howden. We can't run camp very late this year. The weather's been bad. When the break-up comes, there will be plans to lay for next year. McCartney will speak—there will be words—there are always words when we talk business. But this will be the last. A man's life is nothing—he can take me, but—God in heaven—there's a limit!"
He got up from his chair and stood a moment before King. Then he extended his hand and King took it.
"We shall speak of this again, Howden," he said. "Now that there's nothing between us we can talk without being afraid. There'll be plans to talk over—and I'd like to talk them over with you."