“Yes, ther’s oil in this valley,” he said. “My two friends reckon there’s enough oil to feed the whole world. But I’ve got scruples,” he laughed, “for all you may be guessing the other way. Say, before I get busy farther up the creek I’d be glad to know just how we stand. You’re here on an oil play? And I’m not yearning for trouble. Is this oil game your play? Have you a concession? Am I butting in on a big commercial proposition that’s already established? I’d be glad to know, Mr.—”
Wilder broke off invitingly. Yet, for all there were signs of the mollifying effect of his attitude in the man, several moments passed before a reply was forthcoming.
At last the snow-white head inclined affirmatively.
“You have scruples,” he said. “You desire not to butt in. Yet you invade my house. You ransack it. You treat it so as it is your right to do these things. You threaten with your gun when I come forth.”
He shrugged. But this time it was without any display of feeling. He was calmly questioning, and his attitude displayed a suspicion of puzzlement.
Wilder suddenly squared himself in his chair.
“Here,” he cried. “Let’s be frank. My name’s Wilder. Bill Wilder. I’m a gold man first and foremost. After that, why, I guess I’m just as much an adventurer as most of the folk of this Northland. That’s all right. I’m not out to rob a soul of anything he’s a right to. And as for the things you guess I had no right to do, just think a bit. Here I find a house without a sign of life. You choose to hide yourselves up. Well? A derelict house here in the Arctic? Why, I guess I’ve as much right to search it as to search for anything else this country’s got to show us. As for the gun play it seems to me a man has every right to protect himself when folks sneak in on him in the night. That’s my answer to all that’s worrying you. And my name, as I said, is Wilder. Who are you?”
There was a sweeping bluntness about the challenge that should have been irresistible. Wilder waited for the answer he demanded while reserving a trump card to play in case of refusal.
There was no change in the blindman’s attitude. There was no movement. His yellow face remained sphinx-like.
“Maybe I should not blame you,” he said, in his harsh fashion. “You make a good case. But—I am blind.