“Not very many people really knew Dewberry,” he stated.
“I knew him,” said Meade, “and I was sorry to hear of his death.”
“Where do you suppose Dewberry was going?” Sandy spoke up. “I mean just before the tragedy. No one seems to know.”
Meade smiled. “There’s no secret there. Dewberry often passed along the trail, and sometimes remained here for several days at a time. He was a queer duffer. But once you got to know him, his eccentricities passed unnoticed. Not many folks knew it, but Dewberry’s time was divided between this country and Peace River Crossing. Usually, about six months of the year, he lived at the Crossing. He owns property there. Has a little house, overlooking the Hart River, and for weeks at a time he’d shut himself up in it. A lot of folks couldn’t understand why he chose to do that. Neither could I, until one time, when I happened to be in Peace River Crossing, I met him on the street.”
For a time Meade lapsed into silence, gazing reminiscently away in the direction of the river.
“He invited me up to the house,” he continued. “Tidy little place, I found it. Nicely furnished. Piano, violin, books. Books!—there were rows upon rows of books. Special bindings, shelf upon shelf, I tell you, and strange old volumes, musty with age. He loved them. That’s where he spent most of his time. Read from morning ’til night, and when he wasn’t reading, he was fiddling away on the violin or thumping on that piano. I stayed there two days, and I want to tell you that I’ve never enjoyed anything more. His company. His talk about the books. The music he made on that piano.”
“Too bad he’s gone,” said Sandy.
The free-trader nodded.
“He was reputed to be very wealthy,” said Dick.
“I guess that is true,” Meade answered thoughtfully. “You see, he was one of the best prospectors that ever came into the North. There are some folks who say that his luck was phenomenal. At any rate, he had no occasion to worry. In recent years, it was more for the love and excitement he got out of the game than the necessity of making more money that induced him to take those long, lonely treks out there in the foothills.”