They had to wait several days for a north wind to enable the raft to go down the lake, and during this time, to Tom’s immense surprise, appeared his cousin Dave. With some embarrassment Dave explained that the “gold boom” had turned out a disappointment. He had staked some claims, but there was nothing in them. He looked over the raft with amazement and some chagrin.
“To think that I spent two years within a mile of all that and never knew it!” he commented.
“We’ll give you a job as Lynch’s lieutenant—four dollars a day and board,” Tom suggested, laughing.
Dave declined. He was needed on the farm, but he gladly accepted the return of the fifteen dollars that Tom had borrowed at that critical moment in the woods.
The raft went down to Oakley without mishap, a timely rainfall having swollen the river to a good depth, and it aroused great excitement at that town. Here they broke it up, and for a long time the heavy logging teams were busy, slowly hauling the timber out to the railway.
Two dozen logs or so vanished mysteriously between Oakley and Toronto, but the rest of the timber was stored safely in Mr. Jackson’s yards to dry out thoroughly. It was then carefully sawed up. It sold somewhat slowly but at a high price, and not a scrap of it was wasted. Altogether, the walnut brought a gross sum of $44,000, besides several hundred dollars obtained from the rough spruce and jack-pine of the floats, which was left at Oakley.
Charlie followed the raft down to Oakley and hung about till the last load was teamed out. Tom looked forward with genuine regret to saying good-by to this companion who had stood by him through so many adventures. By way of deadening the farewell, he sent to Toronto for a magnificent repeating-rifle with a stock of ammunition, a new canoe, a miscellaneous camp outfit, and a set of traps, and presented this unexpected wealth to Charlie just before he left.
“If you ever need anything, Charlie,” he said, “if the trapping turns out bad or you have any trouble, you go to my uncle Phil Jackson. You know where he lives. He’ll give you anything you want.”
The Ojibway looked over the new outfit, which would make him the envy of all his tribe, and raised his eyes to Tom’s, full of a deep glow.
“You good fellow, Tom,” he said. “You come back some time, mebbe. I watch for you.”