"Well," asked Wisbech very dryly, "isn't the Hecla Minerals good enough for you?"

Nasmyth looked at Acton. "I must go there—now?"

"That is one of the conditions. They want to fix the thing before Kekewich, who hasn't been well lately, starts East on a trip to Montreal. I promised to wire if you were willing to go down and see them to-morrow."

Nasmyth turned to Wisbech, and his voice was strained.

"I am under many obligations to you already, sir, but I'm sorry I can't profit by your generosity in this case," he said.

"Why?" queried Wisbech sharply.

"It's a little difficult to explain. You see, the idea of lowering the river was mine. Some of the boys up yonder have mortgaged their ranches, and put every dollar they could raise in that way into the scheme. They look to me to put the thing through; so that they may get their money back again."

"Is there no one else who could do that?" Acton asked. "It seems to me there's nothing wrong with that man Gordon. I guess you could leave it to him."

Nasmyth felt that Wisbech was watching him with a curious intentness.

"Gordon," he answered slowly, "is at least as well fitted to lead the boys as I am. In fact, I might go farther than that. After all, however, there is a little more to be said."

He stopped abruptly, and sat silent a moment or two, leaning with one elbow on the table, and the light full upon his face. There was trouble in his expressive eyes, but his mouth was tense and grimly resolute. He remembered the pleasant summer days that he and Violet Hamilton had spent together, but he also heard the roar of the river in the misty depths of the canyon, and the crash of stream-driven pines. The familiar sounds rang in his ears, rousing him to action, and something in his nature responded. In the meanwhile there was a heavy silence in the room. His companions watched him closely, and Acton, who looked round for a moment, noticed the suggestive glint in Wisbech's eyes.

Nasmyth straightened himself suddenly. "I know what I am turning my back upon," he added. "It is very probable that I shall never get another opportunity of this kind again. Still, I owe the boys something, and I feel I owe a little to myself. This scheme in the canyon is the first big thing I have ever undertaken. I can't quite make the way that I look at it clear to you, but"—and he brought one hand down on the table in an emphatic fashion—"I feel that I must go on until it breaks me or I put it through."

Wisbech noisily thrust his chair back, and Acton laughed—a laugh that had a faint ring in it.

"Well, I guess I partly expected this," said Acton. "Mr. Nasmyth, it's a sure thing that river's not going to break you."

Nasmyth looked embarrassed, but next moment Wisbech laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Derrick," he said simply, "if you had closed with my offer, I wouldn't have blamed you, but I'd have felt I had done my duty then, and I'd never have made you another. As it is, when things are going wrong, all you have to do is to send a word to me."

Then, to the relief of his companions, Acton, whose expression changed suddenly, broke in again. "Well," he commented, "I'm not quite sure that Miss Hamilton will look at the thing from Nasmyth's point of view. I guess we'll leave him to explain it to her and Mrs. Acton."

Nasmyth fancied that the explanation would not be an easy task. In fact, it was one he shrank from, but it had to be undertaken, and, leaving the others, he went back to the drawing-room. Violet Hamilton was surrounded by several companions, and he did not approach her until she glanced at him as she slipped out into the big cedar hall. She sat down on a lounge near the fire, and he leaned upon the arm of it, looking down on her with grave misgivings. He recognized that it was scarcely reasonable to expect that she would be satisfied with the decision he had made.

"You have seen your uncle and Acton?" she asked.

"Yes," answered Nasmyth; "I have something to tell you."

The girl turned towards him quickly. "Ah!" she said, "you are not going to do what they proposed?"

"I'm sorry the thing they suggested was out of the question. You will let me tell you what it was?"

Violet made a sign of assent, and Nasmyth spoke quietly for a minute or two. Then a faint flush crept into the girl's cheeks and a sparkle into her eyes.

"You said no!" she interrupted.

"I felt I had to. There seemed no other course open to me."

Violet looked at him in evident bewilderment, and Nasmyth spoke again deprecatingly. "You see," he explained, "I felt I had to keep faith with those ranchers."

"Didn't it occur to you that you had also to keep faith with me?" she inquired sharply.

"I think that was the one thing I was trying to do."

Violet showed no sign of comprehension, and it was borne in upon Nasmyth then that, in her place, Laura Waynefleet would have understood the motives that had influenced him, and applauded them.

"My dear," he said, "can't you understand that you have laid an obligation on me to play a creditable part? I couldn't turn my back on my comrades now that they have mortgaged their possessions, and, though I think Gordon or one of the others could lead them as well as I could, when I asked them to join me, I tacitly pledged myself to hold on until we were crushed or had achieved success."

He looked at her wistfully when he stopped speaking; but she made a gesture of impatience.

"The one thing clear to me is that if you had done what Mr. Acton suggested you could have lived in Victoria, and have seen me almost whenever you wished," she declared. "Some of those ranchers must know a good deal more about work of the kind you are doing than you do, and, if you had explained it all to them, they would have released you."

Nasmyth sighed. Apart from the obligation to his comrades, there were other motives which had influenced him. He vaguely felt that it was incumbent on him to prove his manhood in this arduous grapple with Nature, and, after a purposeless life, to vindicate himself. The wilderness, as Gordon had said, had also gotten hold of him, and that described what had befallen him reasonably well. There are many men, and among them men of education, in those Western forests who, having once taken up the axe and drill, can never wholly let them go again. These men grow restless and morose in the cities, which seldom hold them long. The customs of civilization pall on them, and content comes to them only when they toil knee-deep in some frothing rapid, or hew the new waggon-road through a stupendous forest. Why this should be they do not exactly know, and very few of them trouble themselves about the matter. Perhaps it is a subconscious recognition of the first great task that was laid on man to subdue the earth and to make it fruitful. Nasmyth, at least, heard the river. Its hoarse roar rang insistently in his ears, and he braced himself for the conflict that must be fought out in the depths of the canyon. These, however, were feelings that he could not well express, and once more he doubted Violet's comprehension.

"My dear," he told her humbly, "I am sorry; but there was, I think, only one thing I could do."

Violet, looking up, saw that his face was stern, and became sensible of a faint and perplexing repulsion from him. His languid gracefulness had vanished, and he was no longer gay or amusing. A rugged elemental forcefulness had come uppermost in him, and this was a thing she did not understand. Involuntarily she shrank from this grave, serious man. There was a disfiguring newly healed cut on one of his cheeks, and his hand was raw and horribly scarred.

"You have changed since you were last here," she said, looking at him with disapproval. "Perhaps you really are a little sorry to leave me, but I think that is all. At least, you will not be sorry to get back to the canyon."

Nasmyth started a little. It was a thing that he would at one time certainly not have expected, but he realized now that he was driven by a fierce impatience to get back to the work he had undertaken.

"I think that is not astonishing in one respect," he replied. "I told you why I feel that I must carry the project through. The sooner I am successful, the sooner I can come back to you."

The girl laughed somewhat bitterly. "If you would only be sensible, you need not go away. Are you quite sure it is not the project that comes first with you?" she questioned.

Nasmyth felt the blood creep into his face, for it suddenly dawned on him that the suggestion she had made was to some extent warranted.

"My dear," he answered quietly, "you must try to bear with me."

Violet rose. "Well," she said, "when do you go away?"

"In the morning."

There was resentment in the girl's expression. "Since you have made up your mind to go, I will make no protest," she declared. Then, with a swift change of manner, she turned and laid her hand upon his arm. "After all, I suppose you must go. Derrick, you won't stay away very long!"

They went into the drawing-room together, and half an hour had passed when Mrs. Acton beckoned to Nasmyth, and he followed her into an adjoining alcove. She sat down and looked at him reproachfully.

"I am very angry with you," she asserted; "in fact, I feel distinctly hurt. You have not come up to my expectations."

"I'm sorry," replied Nasmyth quietly. "Still, I'm not astonished. Your indignation is perfectly natural. I felt at the time Mr. Acton made me the offer that he had been prompted by you. That"—and he made a deprecatory gesture—"is one reason why I'm especially sorry I couldn't profit by it."

Mrs. Acton sat silent a moment or two, regarding him thoughtfully. "Well," she declared, "from now I am afraid you must depend upon yourself. I have tried to be your friend, and it seems that I have failed. Will you be very long at the canyon?"

"If all goes as I expect it, six months. If not, I may be a year, or longer. I shall certainly not come back until I am successful."

"That is, of course, in one sense the kind of decision I should expect you to make. It does you credit. Unfortunately, I'm not sure that it's wise."

Nasmyth looked at her with quick apprehension. "I wonder," he said, "if you would tell me why it isn't?"

Mrs. Acton appeared to weigh her words, "My views are, naturally, not always correct," she answered. "Even if they were, I should scarcely expect you to be guided by them. Still, I think it would not be wise of you to stay away very long."

She rose, and smiled at him. "It is advice that may be worth taking. Now I must go back to the others."

Nasmyth pushed aside the portieres for her, and then sauntered into the hall, where in a very thoughtful mood, he sat down by the fire.



CHAPTER XXVI

ONE NIGHT'S TASK

Daylight was dying out in a flurry of whirling snow, when Nasmyth, who led a jaded horse, floundered down from the steep rock slopes of the divide into the shelter of the dark pines about the head of the gully. It was a little warmer there, and he was glad of it, for he was chilled, in spite of the toilsome climb. The dark boughs wailed above him, tossing athwart his path a haze of sliding snow, but he caught a faint and reassuring clink of drills, and straightened himself as he clambered down between the trees. The sound had a bracing effect on him, and he felt a curious little thrill as the clamour of the river came up to him in long pulsations. The sound of the waters was growing louder when Gordon, with a big axe in his hand, materialized out of the shadows, and strode forward impulsively at the sight of him.

"Hand better? We're glad to see you; but you might have stayed another day or two," he said.

Nasmyth laughed. "Well," replied he, "perhaps it's a little curious, considering everything, but I was impatient to get back again. In fact, I feel more at home each time I scramble down from the divide."

He glanced round through the sliding snow at the dim white range and ranks of towering pines, and, as he did so, the roar of the river and the wail of trees that swayed beneath a fierce wind filled the rock-walled hollow. Then the persistent clink of drills and thud of axes broke out again, while here and there the blurred white figure of a toiling man emerged from the snow. It was a picture that a man unused to the wilderness might have shrunk from, but Gordon understood his comrade. They were engaged in a great struggle, with the powers of savage Nature arrayed against them; but it was with a curious quickening of all the strength that was in them, mental and physical, that they braced themselves for the conflict.

"I have a thing or two to tell you, but we'll get into the shanty and have supper first. The boys are just quitting work," remarked Gordon.

They clambered down over a practicable trail, though part of it was covered deep with snow, crept in and out among the boulders by the light of a great fire that blazed above the fall, and found Mattawa laying a meal out when they reached the shanty. Neither Nasmyth nor Gordon said anything of consequence until after the meal, and then Nasmyth, who had put on his deer-hide jacket and duck trousers, flung himself down in an empty packing-case that was stuffed with soft spruce twigs, and looked about him with a smile of contentment. A lamp hung above him, and its light gleamed upon axes, drills, iron wedges, and crosscut saws, and made a chequered pattern of brightness and shadow on the rude log walls. A glowing stove diffused a cosy warmth, and the little room was filled with the odours of tobacco and drying boots and clothes.

"I suppose you saw Wisbech?" observed Gordon. "Miss Waynefleet told one of the boys, who was through at the settlement, that she had a note from him asking if she'd get a letter he or Acton had written into your hands as soon as possible. He seems to be making quite a stay in this country."

"He has stayed several months longer than he intended," replied Nasmyth. "I believe he did it on my account; but he's going on again in a week or two. I saw him at Bonavista. Where's Waynefleet?"

"I guess he's in Victoria."

"I didn't come across him. What took him there?"

Gordon laughed. "He said it was business. Wanted to see if we couldn't get our tools and powder cheaper. As a matter of fact, it would be a relief if that could be done. Any way, he has been working quite hard, and has hung on rather longer than I expected. Administration's his strong point. He doesn't like chopping." Gordon's face grew grave. "In one way it's rather a pity he's fond of talking. I'm 'most afraid somebody may start him discoursing on what we're doing over a glass of wine and a cigar. I like a man of that kind where I can put my hand on him. He's one of our weak spots."

Nasmyth nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't know he was in the city," he said. "How are you getting on?"

"Satisfactorily, so far as the work goes. We have pushed the blasting heading well under the fall, but there's a thing that has been worrying me. I'd gone across the range to see what the boys in the valley had done, when a man came in. It appears he resented our trying to lower the river. Mattawa saw him."

Mattawa looked up with a grin. "He said he'd a claim up at the head of the valley, and we had got to quit work right away. If we didn't he'd get the Crown people or the court to stop us. He liked plenty of water round his ranch. Some of the boys got a little riled with him, and they took him up the gully and put him on his horse."

"I never heard of a claim up yonder," declared Nasmyth gravely.

"Well," said Gordon, "I believe there is one. Somebody recorded it a long while ago, and did nothing on it, but, as it was bought land, his title stands. Potter says he understood the man was dead. It may be an attempt to get some money out of us."

Nasmyth sat thoughtfully silent a moment or two.

"One of the Crown people hinted at something of the kind," he said. "Now I scarcely think any of the boys would go back on us by selling out his land?"

"Not one. Any way, I guess they could hardly do it without the consent of the trustees. You and I are not likely to give ours." He paused for a moment. "Well," he added, "I guess Waynefleet could be depended on."

Nasmyth said nothing for almost a minute, and both recognized that the silence was significant. Then he rose abruptly.

"In one shape or other the trouble you suggested is one we will have to face," he commented. "That's why I'm going to fire a big charge in the blasting heading to-night. You can bring the giant-powder along, Tom."

Mattawa appeared to be amazed, and Gordon stared at his comrade curiously.

"If you fire that charge now, you'll naturally make an end of the heading, and I understood your notion was to drive right under the fall and blow the whole ledge out at one time," objected Gordon. "Guess if you just rip the top of the rock off, as far as we have gone, it will take us quite a while to make another tunnel, and money, as I needn't remind you, is running out."

"Exactly!" agreed Nasmyth. "That extra work will have to be faced, but if I can get a big charge in to-night I can cut down the ridge a foot or two. Two feet less water will count for something in the valley, and I'm going to make sure of it. It seems certain that somebody will try to stop us by-and-by."

Gordon noticed the hard glint in Nasmyth's eyes, and knew that now when he was being pushed back to the wall he meant to fight, and would not shrink from a sacrifice. They had driven that uncompleted heading at a heavy cost, cutting at first an open gallery in the face of the rock, drenched with the spray of the fall. Then they had crawled into the dripping tunnel hewn out by sheer force of muscle, for it was seldom that powder could be used, and they had only a worn-out machine, and had toiled crouching with scarcely room to bring a hammer down on wedge or to hold the drill, while from odd fissures the icy river poured in on them. Now, it seemed, all that severe effort was to be practically thrown away, but he recognized that his comrade was right. It was wiser to make sure of two feet than to wait until somebody set the law in motion and stopped the work.

"Yes," he assented simply; "I guess it has to be done."

Mattawa entered with the magazine, and Nasmyth laid out several sticks of giant-powder near the stove. There was a certain risk in this, but giant-powder freezes, and when that happens one must thaw it out. It is a singularly erratic compound of nitro-glycerine, which requires to be fired by a powerful detonator, and, if merely ignited, burns harmlessly. One can warm it at a stove, or even flatten it with a hammer, without stirring it to undesired activity—that is, as a rule—but now and then a chance tap with a pick-handle or a little jolt suffices to loose its tremendous potentialities. In such cases the men nearest it are usually not shattered, but dissolved into their component gases.

Nasmyth was quite aware of this as he sat by the stove kneading the detonators into the sticks that he held up to warm. His lips were set, but his scarred hands were steady, for another risk more or less did not count for very much in the canyon. Once, however, Mattawa ventured a protest.

"I guess that stick's quite hot enough," he observed.

Nasmyth said nothing, but went on with his work, until at length he laid the sticks and fuses in the magazine, and signalling to the others, moved towards the door. The snow beat into their faces when they went outside, and the glare of the fire above the fall emphasized the obscurity. Now the flames flung an evanescent flash of radiance across the whirling pool and the dark rock's side, and then sank again to a dim smear of yellow brightness while a haze of vapour whirled amidst the snow, for a high wind swept through the canyon. Sometimes they could see the boulders among which they stumbled, and the river frothing at their feet, but for the most part they saw nothing, and groped onward with dazzled eyes, until at last Nasmyth swung himself up on the narrow staging that overhung the pool beneath the fall, and Gordon heard the sticks of giant-powder jolt against the side of the magazine. That alone would have sufficed to indicate the state of his comrade's temper, for so far as it is possible, men handle giant-powder very tenderly.

There was no rail to the narrow staging, which was glazed with frozen spray, and when Gordon was half-way along it, the fire flung out a gush of radiance and sank suddenly. Then thick smoke whirled about him, and for a moment or two he stopped and gasped, feeling for the rock with a cautious hand. He was aware that the man who slipped from the staging would be whirled round with the eddy and drawn down beneath the fall. A harsh voice came out of the darkness.

"Am I to wait here half the night?" it asked.

Gordon went on circumspectly, bruising his numbed fingers now and then upon the stone, until once more a blaze broke out, and he saw Nasmyth floundering in haste over a pile of shattered rock. The magazine was slung over his shoulder, and now and then it struck his back or the side of the rock. While Gordon would have been relieved had his comrade acted more circumspectly, he was not surprised. There were, he knew, times when men under strain broke out into an unreasoning fury. He had seen one hewing savagely on the perilous side of a tremendous tottering tree, and another grimly driving the bolts that could not save it into the stringers of a collapsing wooden bridge. It was, as he recognized, not exactly courage that they had displayed, but the elemental savagery that in the newer countries, at least, now and then seizes on hard-driven men ground down by mortgage-holders, or ruined by flood and frost. With man and Nature against them they would make their last grim protest before they were crushed. Gordon once or twice had been conscious of the same fierce desire. He could sympathize with Nasmyth, but, after all, he wished he would not bang the giant-powder about in that unceremonious fashion.

"Leave the magazine yonder, and we'll bring it along," he cried.

Nasmyth made no answer, but he waited until Gordon and Mattawa joined him, and they lowered themselves down from a rock shelf on to a pile of broken rock, about which the eddy swirled. The spray of the fall beat upon them, and the roar of it was bewildering, but the noise was softened when they crawled into the entrance of a narrow tunnel. Mattawa, with considerable difficulty, struck a match, and a pale light streamed out from the little metal lamp he fastened in his hat. The light showed the ragged roof of the tunnel and the rivulet of icy water that flowed in the bottom of it. They crawled forward through the water for a few yards, vainly trying to avoid the deluge which broke upon them from the fissures, and finally sat down dripping on a pile of broken rock. Nasmyth took out his pipe, and was lighting it when Gordon drew the magazine away from him.

"You might just as well have done that before you opened the thing," he remarked. "Anyway, if you merely want to sit down, it would have been quite as comfortable in the shanty."

Nasmyth was silent for several moments; then he turned to the other two men with a wry smile.

"I don't quite know how we drove this heading with the tools we had, but I can't think of any means of saving it," he said. "There are men with money—Martial, and more of them—in the cities waiting to take away from us what we expect to get, and since we have to fight them, it seems to me advisable to strike where it's possible." He laughed harshly. "There'll be two feet less water in the valley before the morning."

"But no heading," cried Mattawa.

"Well," replied Nasmyth simply, "we'll start another one. I notice two holes yonder. We'll drill a third one, Tom."

Nasmyth had been in the saddle since sunrise, in bitter frost and whirling snow, but he picked up a hammer, and Mattawa seized a drill. There was no room to swing the hammer, and Nasmyth struck half crouching, while, chilly as the heading was, the perspiration dripped from him, and the veins rose swollen on his forehead. He was up against it, and a man strikes hardest when he is pressed back to the wall. Gordon sat and watched them, but—for the rock rang with each jarring thud—he wrapped the magazine in his wet jacket, and it was a relief to him when Nasmyth finally dropped the hammer.

"Now," said Nasmyth, "we'll fill every hole ram to the top."

Mattawa placed the giant-powder in the holes, and they crawled back, trailing a couple of thin wires after them, until they reached the strip of shingle near the gully, when Nasmyth made the connection with the firing-plug.

A streak of vivid flame leapt out of the rock, and the detonation was followed by the roar of the river pouring through the newly opened gap. Nasmyth turned without a word and plodded back to the shanty. A group of men who had scrambled down the gully met him.

"You were a little astonished to see me, boys?" he said with a question in his voice. Then he laughed.

"I've fired a big charge, and I guess you'll have to start another heading as soon as it's sun-up."

It was evident that the men were disconcerted, and an expostulatory murmur rose from them. It ceased, however, when Nasmyth waved his hand.

"I had to do it, boys," he declared.

It had cost them strenuous toil to drive that heading, but one could have fancied that they were satisfied with the terse assurance he offered them. He had proved himself fit to lead them, and they had a steadfast confidence in him.

"Well," commented one of the men, "in that case, I guess all we have to do is to start right off at the other one."

Nasmyth opened the door of the shanty. "I felt you'd look at it that way, boys," he said. "I'll explain the thing later. I'm a little played out to-night."

The men plodded away up the gully, and in another few minutes Nasmyth was sound asleep.



CHAPTER XXVII

TIMBER RIGHTS

They set to work on the new heading at sunrise next morning, but it was a week or two before they had made much of an opening in the rock beneath the fall. Though Nasmyth had lowered the level of the river a little, the smooth-worn stone still rose sheer from the depths of the whirling pool, and the blasting had obliterated every trace of their previous operations. They were compelled to make new approaches, and they toiled, drenched with the icy spray, on frail, slung stages, cutting sockets for the logs to hold a heavier platform for the little boring-machine Nasmyth had purchased in Victoria. When the platform was built, the working face was narrow, and the rock of a kind that yielded very slowly to the cutting-tool. They had no power but that of well-hardened muscle, and none of the workers had any particular knowledge of engineering.

They pushed the new heading toilsomely beneath the fall, working in rock fissured by the last explosion, through which the water poured in on them, while the river rose when the frost broke up and was succeeded by a week or two of torrential rain. The water swirled high among the boulders, and had crept almost to the mouth of the heading, when one evening Wheeler walked into the shanty. He said nothing of any consequence until supper was over, and he then took a newspaper out of his pocket.

"Have you had any strangers round?" he asked.

"No," answered Nasmyth, with a dry smile. "That is, they didn't get any farther than the head of the gully. Two of them turned up one wet day, and when they found they couldn't get down, they explained rather forcibly what they thought of me."

Wheeler nodded, and handed the paper across to him.

"I guess you did quite right," he said. "This should make it clear that some of the city men with money are on our trail."

Nasmyth glanced at the paper, and saw a notification that certain timber rights in the forest belt surrounding the valley had been applied for.

"The Charters people!" he declared. "When I was in Victoria I had a talk with them. I partly expected something of the kind. By the way, I got a notification from the rancher I mentioned that, if I continued operations, proceedings would be begun against me."

"They mean business," commented Wheeler, with a snap in his dark eyes. "It seems to me there are several of them in the thing, and they evidently expect to get their hands on the valley one way or another. In all probability their idea is to let you get most of the work in, and then scare you into selling out for what they like to offer. Have you had any big trees coming along lately?"

"Yes," answered Mattawa, "one or two went over the fall this afternoon."

"Drift logs?"

"Two had the branches chopped off them."

Wheeler made a sign of comprehension. "Well," he predicted, "you're going to see a good many more of that kind before very long." He turned to Nasmyth. "I'm going to stay over to-morrow. The mill's held up again. We had an awkward break, and I can't get the new fixings in. You can tell me how you're getting on."

They talked until late that night, and on awakening next morning found the river higher and thick with shattered ice. It had also crept into the heading, and the men who worked in it were knee-deep in water. They, however, went on as usual, and it was in the afternoon that several great trees leapt the fall, and, driving down the rapid, whirled away into the black depths of the canyon. Wheeler, who stood watching attentively, nodded as the trees drove by.

"Hemlock. That's not going to count for milling purposes," he observed.

Nasmyth, who came up dripping wet, sat down on a boulder and took out his pipe.

"Did you expect anything else?" he asked.

Wheeler laughed. "I'm not sure that I did. It seems to me the men who want those timber rights don't figure on doing much milling." He looked up sharply. "This one's red cedar."

Another great trunk leapt the fall, swept round the pool, and then brought up with a crash upon the pile of shattered rock which still lay athwart the head of the rapid. Nasmyth rose and straightened himself wearily.

"It's a trifle unfortunate I hadn't hove that rock out with the derrick. We'll have to take hold if the log won't swing clear," he said.

The tree swung a little, and then the thinner head of it drove in among the boulders and stuck fast. In another moment a shout rose from a man standing on the ledge above the fall.

"Quite a batch of big logs coming along!" he called.

Nasmyth thrust his pipe into his pocket, and Wheeler, who watched him, nodded.

"They'll jam and pile up," said Wheeler. "I guess that's what the other folks wanted. You have got to keep them clear."

In another few moments Nasmyth was beating a suspended iron sheet, and while its clangour broke through the roar of the river the men floundered towards him over the shingle. One or two of them had axes, and the rest, running into the shanty, brought out saws and handspikes. In the meanwhile a huge log crashed upon the one held fast, and there was no need to tell any of the men that those which followed would rapidly pile up into an inextricable confusion of interlocked timber. There was only one thing to be done, and that was to cut away the first log, which would hold them back, as soon as possible.

The men set to work, two or three of them running recklessly along the rounded top of the slippery trunk, which rolled a little as it hammered upon the rock. Mattawa, with a big crosscut saw, crouched on the half-submerged pile of stone, and a comrade, who seized its opposite handle, held himself somehow on the second trunk by his knees. It was difficult to understand how they could work at all, but they were accustomed to toiling under embarrassing conditions. The saw had hardly bitten through the bark when another log drove grinding against the rest, and Mattawa's companion, who let the handle go, fell forward on his face. He was up again in a moment, and after that stuck fast while log after log drove smashing upon the growing mass. Sometimes the one he clung to rose up under him, and sometimes it sank until he crouched in the water while another great butt crept up upon it, and it seemed that he must be crushed between them. Still, the saw rasped steadily through the heaving, grinding timber. It was perilous work, but it was clear to all of them that it had to be done.

In the meanwhile Nasmyth and Gordon stood knee-deep amidst the white foam of the rapid. The water was icy cold, and it was with difficulty they kept their feet, while every now and then a shower of spray that leapt out from among the timber fell upon them. The logs were already two deep at that spot, and one great top ground steadily forward over the others as its pressed-down butt was driven on by those behind. One could almost have fancied it was bent on escaping from the horrible confusion of piled-up trunks that moved on one another under the impact of the flood. More were sweeping on, and crash after crash rang through the hoarse clamour of the fall.

Nasmyth felt very feeble as he whirled the heavy axe about his head, for that mass of timber was impressively big. He had torn off his deer-hide jacket, and his soaked blue shirt gaped open to his waist at every heave of his shoulders. He stood in icy water, but the perspiration dripped from him as he swung with every blow. Though some men with good thews and sinews can never learn to use the axe to any purpose, he could chop, and the heavy blade he whirled rang with a rhythmic precision in the widening notch, then flashed about his head, and fell with a chunk that was sharp as a whip-crack into the gap again. In between Gordon's axe swept down, and the blades flashed athwart each other's orbits without a check or clash. It requires years to acquire that kind of proficiency with the axe, but the result is a perfecting of the co-operation between will and hardened muscle.

It was fortunate that both could chop, for the men with the crosscut appeared in difficulties. The tree bent on the pile of rock, and in straining closed the cut upon the saw. Another man who had joined them was endeavouring to hammer a wedge in, but with that crushing weight against him the attempt seemed futile. He persisted, however, and stood above the white froth of the rapid, a puny figure dwarfed by the tremendous rock wall, whirling what appeared to be a wholly insignificant hammer. His comrades were scattered about the grinding mass making ineffective efforts to heave a butt or top clear of the others with their handspikes, but there was clearly only one vulnerable point of attack, and that was the one Nasmyth and Gordon were hewing at. Wheeler, who felt the tension, watched them, clutching hard upon an unlighted pipe. He was aware that if the mass of timber, which grew rapidly larger, once wedged itself fast, it might be a month or two before a flood broke it up; but he had also sense enough to recognize that, since most of the men's efforts were futile, he might just as well sit still.

The trunk was partly hewn through when the top of it bent outwards, and Gordon flashed an anxious glance at it. It was evident that if none of the others wedged themselves in upon and reinforced it the weight behind would shortly rend the trunk apart. Then the position would become a particularly perilous one, for the whole mass would break away in chaotic ruin, and he and his comrade stood close in front of it; but he could not tell how much further strain the tree would bear, and he recognized that it was desirable to hew the notch as deep as possible before he relinquished chopping. The axes rang for another two minutes, and then there was a sudden crash, and a cry from Wheeler that was drowned in the tumult of sound that rose from the liberated timber.

Great logs reared their butts or tops out of the heaving mass. Some rolled round and disappeared beneath those that crept upon them, but for a moment or two the shattered trunk, jammed down by the weight upon it, held them back from the plunge into the rapid. It smashed among the rocks that ground and rent it as it slowly gave way, and Wheeler ran his hardest towards a strip of shingle that projected a little into the river. He saw Nasmyth, who had evidently lost his footing, driving downstream towards it, and knew that in another moment or two the logs would be upon him.

Nasmyth was not exactly swimming. In fact, strictly speaking, one cannot swim in a rapid, nor when there is only three or four feet of water can one get upon one's feet. He rolled over and over, went down and came up again, until Wheeler, floundering into the foaming water, clutched him, and held on desperately, though he felt that his arm was being drawn out of its socket. He would probably have been swept away, too, had not somebody grabbed his jacket, and he heard a hoarse voice behind him.

"Heave!" it said—"heave!"

The strain on Wheeler's arm became intolerable, but somehow he held fast, and just then there was an appalling crash and roar. He felt himself being dragged backwards, and in another moment fell heavily upon the shingle with Nasmyth across his feet. Blinking about him half dazed, he saw the logs drive by, rolling, grinding, smashing, and falling on one another. Then, as they whirled down the rapid, and the roar they made began to die away, he looked round, and saw several gasping men standing close behind him.

"Guess that was quite a near thing," said one of them. "Any way, in this kind of contract you can sure figure on trouble."

This, as a matter of fact, was perfectly correct, for it is only at considerable peril to life and limb that saw-logs are driven down the rivers to a Western mill. They must be guided through each awkward pass and frothing rapid, and the men who undertake it spring with pike and peevie from one to another while the rolling trunks tumultuously charge on.

Nobody, however, troubled himself any further about the matter, and in a few more minutes the men had set to work again heaving the rocks that had held up the first log out of the river with the derrick. It was not until supper was over, and he sat with his companions in the shanty, that Wheeler referred to the affair again. He looked at Nasmyth with a smile.

"I guess it's fortunate you got those logs away," he said. "It's probably a little more than the men who turned them loose on you figured you could do."

"That," agreed Nasmyth, "is very much my own opinion."

Wheeler filled his pipe. "Now," he said reflectively, "anybody can apply for timber rights, and bid for them at public auction, but the man who secures them must cut up so many thousand feet every month. Since that's the case, it's quite evident that nobody is likely to bid for timber rights round the valley, except the Charters people, who have a little mill on the Klatchquot Inlet, and they'd probably get the timber rights 'most for nothing, though they might have to put in a new saw or two with the object of satisfying the Legislature."

"It's rather difficult to see how they expect to make a profit on hemlock in view of what it would cost them to get the logs there," Gordon broke in.

"They don't want to make a profit." Wheeler smiled. "Seems to me it's their programme to get hold of the rights cheap, and then worry you because they can't run the logs through this canyon. The Legislature won't give you land or rights to do nothing with, and it's quite likely the Charters people will file a notification that your workings are the obstacle. Still, they'd probably make you an offer first. If you let them in on the ground-floor—handed them a big slice of the valley or something of the kind—they'd let up on their timber rights. I'm not sure they could run good milling fir to that mill at a profit."

A grim look crept into Nasmyth's face. Difficulties were crowding thick upon him, and though he was as determined as ever on proceeding with the work, he almost felt that it would be only until they crushed him.

"It seems to me we are in the hands of the Charters people, unless I can keep the canyon clear," he commented.

Wheeler's eyes twinkled. "Well," he returned, "they're smart. I have, however, come across smart folks who missed a point or two occasionally. Now, I saw a couple of red cedar logs among that hemlock."

He glanced at Mattawa. "Tom, you've been round the head of the valley. Did you strike any trees of that kind up yonder?"

"A few," answered Mattawa. "It's quite likely there are more."

"A sure thing. You and I are going out timber-right prospecting at sun-up to-morrow. Just now they can't get red cedar shingles fast enough on to the Eastern markets."

Nasmyth looked up and Gordon laughed a soft laugh, while Wheeler waved his hand.

"Anyone can bid for timber rights," he declared. "Now, our folks are open for any business, and we have got a mill. It's not going to cost much to put a shingle-splitting plant in. We have easy water-carriage to the Inlet, where a schooner can load, and the Charters people would have to tow their raw material right along to their mill. Besides, that Inlet's a blame awkward place to get a schooner in. It's quite clear to me we could cut shingles way cheaper than they could." He paused for a moment. "Yes," he said, "if there's milling cedar near the valley, our folks will make their bid. If Charters wants those rights, he'll have to put up the money, and it's quite likely we'll take them up in spite of him if I'm satisfied with my prospecting. In that case, we're not going to worry you about the canyon. In fact, we would probably make you a proposition at so much the log for running the trees down for us."

He filled his pipe again, and Nasmyth looked at him with relief in his eyes.



CHAPTER XXVIII

A PAINFUL DUTY

Three months had slipped away since the evening on which Wheeler had discussed the subject of shingle-splitting with his companions. Nasmyth stood outside the shanty in the drenching rain. He was very wet and miry, and his face was lined and worn, for the three months of unremitting effort had left their mark on him. Wheeler had secured the timber rights in question, and that was one difficulty overcome, but Nasmyth had excellent reasons for believing that the men who had cast covetous eyes upon the valley had by no means abandoned the attempt to get possession of at least part of it.

He had had flood and frost against him, and his money was rapidly running out. A wild flood swept through the canyon. The heading was filled up, so that no one could even see the mouth of it, and half the rock he had piled upon the shingle had been swept into the rapid, where it had formed a dam among the boulders that could be removed only at a heavy expenditure of time and powder when the water fell. He was worn out in body, and savage from being foiled by the swollen river at each attempt he made, but while the odds against him were rapidly growing heavier he meant to fight.

A Siwash Indian whom he had hired as messenger between the canyon and the settlement had just arrived, and Gordon, who stood in the doorway of the shanty, took a newspaper out of the wet packet he had brought. Gordon turned to Nasmyth when he opened it.

"Wheeler's getting ahead," he said. "Here's his announcement that his concern is turning out a high-grade cedar shingle. That's satisfactory so far as it goes. I don't quite know how we'd have held out if it hadn't been for the money we got from him for running the logs down." Then his voice grew suddenly eager. "Try to get hold of the significance of this, Derrick: 'We have got it on reliable authority that certain propositions for the exploitation of the virgin forest-belt beyond the Butte Divide will shortly be laid before the Legislature. It is expected that liberal support will be afforded to a project for the making of new waggon-roads, and we believe that if the scheme is adopted certain gentlemen in this city will endeavour to inaugurate a steamboat service with the Western inlets.'" He waved his hand. "When this particular paper makes an assertion of that kind, there's something going on," he added. "It's a sure thing that if those roads are made, it will put another thirty or forty cents on to every dollar's worth of land we're holding."

"Exactly," replied Nasmyth, whose tense face did not relax. "That is, it would, if we had run the water out of the valley; but, as it happens, we haven't cut down very much of the fall yet, and this thing is going to make the men we have against us keener than ever. They're probably plotting how to strike us now. Get those letters open."

There was anxiety in his voice, and Gordon started when he had ripped open one or two of the envelopes.

"This looks like business," he remarked, as he glanced at a letter from a lawyer who had once or twice handled Nasmyth's affairs in the city. "It's from Phelps. He says he has been notified that, unless an agreement can be arrived at, proceedings will be taken by a man called Hames, who claims to hold one hundred acres on the western side of the valley, to restrain you from altering the river level. Atterly—he's the man we've heard from already—it seems, is taking action, too."

"Hames?" repeated Nasmyth. "I've never heard of him. Any way, he can't hold land on the western side. We haven't sold an acre." He stopped a moment, and looked hard at Gordon. "That is, I haven't sanctioned it, and I believe there's nobody holding a share in the project who would go back on us."

Gordon made a gesture indicating his doubt in the subject, and they looked at each other for half a minute.

"I'm afraid I can't go quite as far as that," he replied, and laughed harshly. "As it stands recorded, the land could be transferred to anyone by Waynefleet. Any way, it seems to be in his block. Phelps cites the boundary-posts."

Nasmyth closed one hand tight. Waynefleet, who had found the constant wetting too much for him, had left the canyon a week or two before this morning, on which it was evident a crisis of some sort was near. He had complained of severe pains in his back and joints, and had sent them no word after his departure.

"Is there anything from him?" asked Nasmyth.

Gordon picked out an envelope and opened it. "Here's a note from Miss Waynefleet. She desires you to ride across at once."

With a troubled face Nasmyth stood still in the rain another minute.

"I'll take the pack-horse and start now," he said after a brief silence. "When I have seen Miss Waynefleet, I'll go right on to Victoria." He turned and gazed at the river. "If one could get into the heading by any means, I'd fire every stick of giant-powder in it first. Unfortunately, the thing is out of the question."

In a few moments he was scrambling up the gully, and Gordon, who went into the shanty and lighted his pipe, sat gazing at the letters very thoughtfully. They had no money to spare for any legal expenses. Indeed, he was far from sure they had enough to supply them with powder and provisions until their task was accomplished. During the long grim fight in the canyon they had borne almost all that could be expected of flesh and blood, and it was unthinkable that the city man, who sat snug in his office and plotted, should lay grasping hands upon the profit. Still, that seemed possible now that somebody had betrayed them.

Meantime, Nasmyth had swung himself into the pack-saddle, and, in the rain, was scrambling up the rocky slopes of the divide. He had not changed his clothing, and it would have availed him little if he had, since there was a long day's ride before him. The trail was a little easier than it had been, for each man who led the pack-horse along it had hewn through some obstacle, but it was still sufficiently difficult, and every here and there a frothing torrent swept across it. There were slopes of wet rock to be scrambled over, several leagues of dripping forest thick with undergrowth that clung about the narrow trail to be floundered through, and all the time the great splashes from the boughs or torrential rain beat upon him. In places he led the pack-horse, in places he rode, and dusk was closing in when he saw a blink of light across Waynefleet's clearing. In another few minutes he had led the jaded horse into the stable, and then, splashed with mire, and with the water running from his clothes, had limped to the homestead door.

Nasmyth opened the door and saw Laura Waynefleet sitting by the stove. She started as he came in.

"I have been expecting you," she said. She gave him her hand and her eyes met his with a look of anxiety. She noticed his appearance of weariness and the condition of his clothing. "I can get you something dry to put on," she added.

"No," said Nasmyth, "you must not trouble. I would be quite as wet again, soon after I leave here. If I can borrow a horse, I must push on to the railroad in an hour."

"To-night?" asked Laura. "After riding in from the canyon, it's out of the question. Besides, you could never get through the Willow Ford. Listen to the rain."

Nasmyth sank wearily into the nearest chair, and heard the deluge lash the shingled roof.

"I'm afraid it must be done," he declared.

Laura laid supper upon the table, and insisted that he should eat before she made any reference to the object she had in hand. Then, while he sat beside the stove with his clothes steaming, she looked at him steadily, and a little colour crept into her face.

"I wonder if you can guess why I sent for you?" she said.

"Where is your father?" Nasmyth asked abruptly.

"In Victoria. He left six days ago. I suppose he sent you no word that he was going."

"No," answered Nasmyth very dryly, "he certainly didn't. I don't think I could have expected it from him."

He sat silent for almost a minute, looking at her with a troubled air, and though Laura was very quiet, her manner was vaguely suggestive of tension. It was Nasmyth who broke the silence.

"I believe you have something to tell me, Miss Waynefleet," he said. "Still, I would sooner you didn't, if it will hurt you. After all, it's rather more than possible that I can arrive at the information by some other means."

The tinge of colour grew plainer in Laura's face, but it was evident that she laid a firm restraint upon herself. "Ah!" she cried, "it has hurt me horribly already. I can't get over the shame of it. But that isn't what I meant to speak of. I feel"—and her voice grew tense and strained—"I must try to save you and the others from a piece of wicked treachery."

She straightened herself, and there was a flash in her eyes, but Nasmyth raised one hand.

"No," he protested, almost sternly, "I can't let you do this. You would remember it ever afterwards with regret."

The girl seemed to nerve herself for an effort, and when she spoke her voice was impressively quiet.

"You must listen and try to understand," she said.

"It is not only because it would hurt me to see you and the others tricked out of what you have worked so hard for that I feel I must tell you. If there was nothing more than that, I might, perhaps, never have told you, after all. I want to save my father from a shameful thing." Her voice broke away, and the crimson flush on her face deepened as she went on again. "He has been offering to sell land that can't belong to him," she asserted accusingly.

Nasmyth felt sorry for her, and he made an attempt to offer her a grain of consolation.

"A few acres are really his," he said. "I made them over to him."

"To be his only if he did his share, and when the scheme proved successful," Laura interrupted. "I know, if he has sold them, what an opportunity of harassing you it will give the men who are plotting against you. Still, now you know, you can, perhaps, break off the bargain. I want you to do what you can"—and she glanced at him with a tense look in her eyes—"if it is only to save him."

"That," replied Nasmyth quietly, "is, for quite another reason, the object I have in view. I would like you to understand that I have guessed that he had failed us already. It may be some little consolation. Now, perhaps, you had better tell me exactly what you know."

Laura did so, and it proved to be no more than Nasmyth had suspected. Letters had passed between Waynefleet and somebody in Victoria, and the day after he left for that city two men, who had evidently crossed him on the way, arrived at the ranch. One said his name was Hames, and his conversation suggested that he supposed the girl was acquainted with her father's affairs. In any case, what he said made it clear that he had either purchased, or was about to purchase from Waynefleet, certain land in the valley. After staying half an hour, the men had, Laura understood, set out again for Victoria.

When she had told him this, Nasmyth sat thoughtfully silent a minute or two. Her courage and hatred of injustice had stirred him deeply, for he knew what it must have cost her to discuss the subject of her father's wrongdoing with him. He was also once more overwhelmingly sorry for her. There was nobody she could turn to for support or sympathy, and it was evident that if he succeeded in foiling Hames, it would alienate her from her father. Waynefleet, he felt, was not likely to forgive her for the efforts she had made to save him from being drawn into an act of profitable treachery.

"Well," he said after a moment's thought, "I am going on to Victoria to see what can be done, but there is another matter that is troubling me. I wonder if it has occurred to you that your father will find it very difficult to stay on at the ranch when the part he has played becomes apparent. I am almost afraid the boys will be vindictive."

"I believe he has not expected to carry on the ranch much longer. It is heavily mortgaged, and he has been continually pressed for money."

"Has he any plans?"

Laura smiled wearily. "He has always plans. I believe he intends to go to one of the towns on Puget Sound, and start a land agency." She made a dejected gesture. "I don't expect him to succeed in it, but perhaps I could earn a little."

Nasmyth set his lips tight, and there was concern in his face. She looked very forlorn, and he knew that she was friendless. He could hardly bring himself to contemplate the probability of her being cast adrift, saddled with a man who, it was evident, would only involve her in fresh disasters, and, he fancied, reproach her as the cause of them. A gleam of anger crept into his eyes.

"If your father had only held on with us, I could have saved you this," he observed.

There was a great sadness in Laura's smile.

"Still," she replied, "he didn't, and perhaps you couldn't have expected it of him. He sees only the difficulties, and I am afraid never tries to face them."

Nasmyth felt his self-control deserting him. He was conscious of an almost overwhelming desire to save the girl from the results of her father's dishonesty and folly, and he could see no way in which it could be done. Then it was borne in upon him that in another moment or two he would probably say or do something that he would regret afterwards, and she would resent, and, rising stiffly, he held out his hand.

"I must push on to the railroad," he said, and he held the hand she gave him in a firm clasp. "Miss Waynefleet, you saved my life, and I believe I owe you quite as much in other ways. It's a fact that neither of us can attempt to disregard. I want you to promise that you will, at least, not leave the ranch without telling me."

Laura flashed a quick glance at him, and perhaps she saw more than he suspected in his insistent gaze, for she strove to draw her hand away. He held it fast, however, while his nerves thrilled and his heart beat furiously. He remembered Violet Hamilton vaguely, but there came upon him a compelling desire to draw this girl to whom he owed so much into his arms and comfort her. They both stood very still a moment, and Nasmyth heard the snapping of the stove with a startling distinctness. Then—and it cost him a strenuous effort—he let her hand go.

"You will promise," he insisted hoarsely.

"Yes," answered Laura, "before I go away I will tell you."

Nasmyth went out into the blackness and the rain, while Laura sat trembling until she heard the beat of his horse's hoofs. Then she sank lower, a limp huddled figure, in the canvas chair. The stove snapped noisily, and the pines outside set up a doleful wailing, but, except for that, it was very still in the desolate ranch.

Nasmyth rode on until he borrowed a fresh horse from a man who lived a few miles along the trail. There was a cheerful light from the windows as he rode into a little settlement, and the trail to the railroad led through dripping forest and over a towering range, but he did not draw bridle. He was aching all over, and the water ran from his garments, but he scarcely seemed to feel his weariness then, and he pushed on resolutely through the rain up the climbing trail.

He remembered very little of that ride afterwards, or what he thought about during it. The strain of the last few minutes he had passed at Waynefleet's ranch had left him dazed, and part of his numbness, at least, was due to weariness. Several times he was almost flung from the saddle as the horse scrambled down a slope of rock. Willow-branches lashed him as he pushed through the thickets, and in one place it was only by a grim effort that he drove the frightened beast to ford a flooded creek. Then there was a strip of hillside to be skirted, where the slope was almost sheer beneath the edge of the winding trail, and the rain that drove up the valley beat into his eyes. Still he held on, and two hours after sunrise rode half asleep into the little mining town. There was a train in the station, and, turning the horse over to a man he met, he climbed, dripping as he was, into a car.



CHAPTER XXIX

A FUTILE SCHEME

There was bright sunshine at Bonavista when Nasmyth, who had been told at the station that Acton had arrived from Victoria the day before, limped out from the shadow of the surrounding Bush, and stood still a moment or two, glancing across the trim lawn and terrace towards the wooden house. The spacious dwelling, gay with its brightly painted lattice shutters, dainty scroll-work, and colonnades of wooden pillars, rose against the sombre woods, and he wondered with some anxiety whether Mrs. Acton had many guests in it. He had no desire to fall in with any strangers, for he was worn out and aching, and he still wore the old duck clothing in which he had left the canyon. It might, he fancied, be possible to slip into the house and change before he presented himself to Mrs. Acton, though he was by no means sure that the garments in the valise he carried in his hand were dry. He could see nobody on the terrace, and moved forward hastily until he stopped in consternation as he crossed one of the verandas. The sunlight streamed in, and Mrs. Acton and Violet Hamilton sat upon the seat which ran along the back of it. The girl started when she saw him, and Nasmyth stood looking down on her, worn in face and heavy-eyed, with his workman's garb clinging, tight and mire-stained, about his limbs. There was, however, a certain grimness in his smile. He had seen the girl's start and her momentary shrinking, and it occurred to him that there was a significance in the fact that it had not greatly hurt him.

"I must make my excuses for turning up in this condition," he apologized. "I had to start for the railroad at a moment's notice, and it rained all the way, while, when I reached it, the train was in the depot. You see, my business is rather urgent."

Mrs. Acton laughed. "Evidently," she said. "I think we were both a trifle startled when we saw you. I should be sorry to hear that anything had gone seriously wrong, but you remind one of the man who brought the news of Flodden."

Nasmyth made a quick gesture of denial. "Well," he announced bravely, "our standard is flying yet, and I almost think we can make another rally or two. Still, I have come for reinforcements. Mr. Acton is in?"

"He is. As it happened, he came up from Victoria yesterday. I believe he is discussing some repairs to the steamer with George just now. I'll send you out a plate of something and a glass of wine. You can't have had any lunch."

Mrs. Acton rose, and Nasmyth, who sat down, looked at Violet with a smile. She was evidently not quite at ease.

"You really haven't welcomed me very effusively," he remarked.

The girl flushed. "I don't think I could be blamed for that," she returned. "I was startled."

"And perhaps just a little annoyed?"

The colour grew plainer in Violet's cheeks. "Well," she averred, "that isn't so very unnatural. After all, I don't mind admitting that I wish you hadn't come like this."

Nasmyth glanced down at his attire, and nodded gravely. "It's certainly not altogether becoming," he admitted. "I made that hole drilling, but I fancied I had mended the thing. Still, you see, I had to start on the moment, and I rode most of twenty-four hours in the rain. I suppose"—and he hesitated while he studied her face—"I might have tidied myself at the depot, but, as it happened, I didn't think of it, which was, no doubt, very wrong of me."

"It was, at least, a little inconsiderate."

Nasmyth laughed good-humouredly, though he recognized that neither his weariness nor the fact that it must manifestly be business of some consequence that had brought him there in that guise had any weight with her. He had, after all, a wide toleration, and he acknowledged to himself that her resentment was not unreasonable.

"I've no doubt that I was inconsiderate," he said. "Still, you see, I was worried about our affairs in the canyon."

"The canyon!" repeated Violet reproachfully. "It is always the canyon. I wonder if you remember that it is at least a month since you have written a line to me."

Nasmyth was disconcerted, for a moment's reflection convinced him that the accusation was true.

"Well," he confessed, "I have certainly been shamefully remiss. Of course, I was busy from dawn to sunset, but, after all, I'm afraid that is really no excuse."

The girl frowned. "No," she said, "it isn't."

It was a slight relief to Nasmyth that a maid appeared just then, and he took a glass of wine from the tray she laid upon a little table.

"To the brightest eyes in this Province!" he said, when the servant had gone, and, emptying the glass, he fell upon the food voraciously.

It was unfortunate that in such unattractive guise he had come upon Violet, and the fashion in which he ate also had its effect on her. In the last thirty hours he had had only one hasty meal, and he showed a voracity that offended her fastidious taste. He was worn out and anxious, and since all his thoughts were fixed upon the business that he had in hand, he could not rouse himself to act according to the manner expected of a lover who returns after a long absence. It was, however, once more borne in upon him that this was significant.

Violet, on her part, felt repelled by him. He was gaunt and lean, and the state of his garments had shocked her. His hands were hard and battered. She was very dainty, and in some respects unduly sensitive, and it did not occur to her that it would have been more natural if, in place of shrinking, she had been sensible only of a tender pity for him. Perhaps there were excuses for her attitude. She had never been brought into contact with the grim realities of life, and it is only from those whom that befalls that one can expect the wide sympathy which springs from comprehension. Nasmyth, lounging at Bonavista with amusing speeches on his lips and his air of easy deference, had been a somewhat romantic figure, and the glimpses of the struggle in the Bush that he had given her had appealed to her imagination. She could feel the thrill of it when she saw it through his eyes with all the unpleasantly realistic features carefully wiped out, but it was different now that he had come back to her with the dust and stain of the conflict fresh upon him. The evidences of his strife were only repulsive, and she shrank from them. She watched him with a growing impatience until he rose and laid his empty plate aside.

"Well," he observed, "you will excuse me. I must see Mr. Acton as soon as I can."

It was not in any way a tactful speech, and Violet resented it. The man, it seemed, had only deferred the business he had on hand for a meal. She looked at him with her displeasure flashing in her eyes.

"In that case," she said, "I should, of course, be sorry to keep you away from him."

Nasmyth gazed at her curiously, but he did not reply. He went away from her. A few minutes later when he entered Acton's room he was attired in conventional fashion. His host shook hands with him, and then leaned back in a chair, waiting for him to speak, which he did with a trace of diffidence.

"My object is to borrow money," he explained frankly. "I couldn't resent it in the least if you sent me on to somebody else."

"I'll hear what you have to say in the first case," replied Acton. "You had better explain exactly how you stand."

Nasmyth did so as clearly as he could, and Acton looked at him thoughtfully for a moment or two.

"I've been partly expecting this," he observed. "It's quite clear that one or two of the big land exploitation people have a hand in the thing. I guess I could put my finger right down on them. You said the man's name was Hames?"

Nasmyth said it was, and Acton sat thinking for several minutes.

"It seems to me that the folks I have in my mind haven't been quite smart enough," he declared at length. "They should have put up a sounder man. As it happens, I know a little about the one they fixed upon. Mr. Hames is what you could call a professional claim-jumper, and it's fortunate that there's a weak spot or two in his career."

Acton paused, and Nasmyth waited in tense expectancy until the older man turned to him again, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I almost think I can take a hand in this thing, and to commence with, we'll go down to Victoria this afternoon and call on Mr. Hames," he added. "If he has bought that land, it will probably be registered in his name. The men you have against you are rather fond of working in the dark. Then we come to another point—what it would be wisest to do with Waynefleet, who went back on you. You said he had a mortgage on his ranch. You know who holds it?"

Nasmyth said he did not know, and Acton nodded. "Any way," he rejoined, "we can ascertain it in the city. Now, I guess you would like that man run right out of the neighbourhood? It would be safest, and it might perhaps be done."

Nasmyth was startled by this suggestion, and with a thoughtful face he sat wondering what was most advisable. He bore Waynefleet very little good-will, but it was clear that Laura must share any trouble that befell her father, and he could not at any cost lay a heavier load upon her. He was conscious that Acton was watching him intently.

"No," he objected, "I don't want him driven out. In fact, I should be satisfied with making it impossible for him to enter into any arrangement of the kind again."

"In that case, I guess we'll try to buy up his mortgage," remarked Acton. "Land's going to be dearer in that district presently."

Nasmyth looked at him with a little confusion. "It is very kind, but, after all, I have no claim on you."

"No," agreed Acton, with a smile, "you haven't in one way. This is, however, a kind of thing I'm more at home in than you seem to be, and there was a little promise I made your uncle. For another thing"—and he waved his hand—"I'm going to take a reasonable profit out of you."

Nasmyth made no further objections, and they set out for Victoria that afternoon. Hames was, however, not readily traced; and when, on the following morning, they sat in Acton's office waiting his appearance, Nasmyth was conscious of a painful uncertainty. Acton, with a smile on his face, leaned back in his chair until Hames was shown in. Hames was a big, bronze-faced man, plainly dressed in city clothes, but there was, Nasmyth noticed, a trace of half-furtive uneasiness in his eyes. Acton looked up at him quietly, and let him stand for several moments. Then he waved his hand toward a chair.

"Won't you sit down? We have got to have a talk," said Acton. "I'll come right to the point. You have have been buying land."

Hames sat down. "I can't quite figure how that concerns you," he replied. "I'm not going to worry about it, any way."

"I want that land—the block you bought from Waynefleet."

"It's not for sale," asserted Hames. "If you have nothing else to put before me, I'll get on. I'm busy this morning."

Acton leaned forward in his chair. "When I'm in the city, I'm usually busy, too," he said; "in fact, I've just three or four minutes to spare for you, and I expect to get through in that time. To begin with, you sent Mr. Hutton a note from your hotel when my clerk came for you. He never got it. You can have it back unopened. I can guess what's in the thing." He handed Hames an envelope. "Now," he went on, "you can make a fuss about it, but I guess it wouldn't be wise. Hutton doesn't know quite as much about you as I do. I've had a finger in most of what has been done in this Province the last few years, and it's not often I forget a man. Well, I guess I could mention one or two little affairs that were not altogether creditable which you had a share in."

Hames laughed. "It's quite likely."

"Still, what you don't know is that I'm on the inside track of what was done when the Hobson folks jumped the Black Crag claim. There was considerable trouble over the matter."

Nasmyth saw Hames start, but he apparently braced himself with an effort.

"Any way," replied Hames, "that was 'most four years ago, and there's not a man who had a hand in it in this Province now."

Acton shook his head. "There's one. I can put my hand on your partner Okanagon Jim just when I want to."

There was no doubt that Hames was alarmed.

"Jim was drowned crossing the river the night the water broke into the Black Crag shaft," he declared.

"His horse was, and the boys found his hat. That, however, is quite a played-out trick. If you're not satisfied, I can fix it for you to meet him here any time you like."

Hames made a motion of acknowledgment. "I don't want to see him—that's a sure thing! I guess you know it was fortunate that Jim and two or three of the other boys got out of the shaft that night. Well, I guess that takes me. If Jim's around, I'll put down my cards."

"It's wisest," advised Acton. "Now, I'm going to buy that land Waynefleet sold from you—or, rather, he's going to give you your money back for it. You can arrange the thing with Hutton—who, I believe, supplied the money—afterwards as best you can."

Nasmyth fancied Hames was relieved that no more was expected from him.

"I guess I'm in your hands," observed Hames.

"Then," Acton said, "you can wait in my clerk's office until I'm ready to go over with you to Waynefleet's hotel."

Hames went out, and Acton turned to Nasmyth. "He was hired with a few others to jump the claim he mentioned, and there was trouble over it. As usual, just what happened never quite came out, but that man left his partner to face the boys, who scarcely managed to escape with their lives that night. The man who holds Waynefleet's mortgage should be here at any moment."

The man arrived in a few minutes. After he had sat down and had taken the cigar Acton offered him, he was ready to talk business.

"You have a mortgage on Rancher Waynefleet's holding in the Bush," said Acton. "I understand you've had some trouble in getting what he owes you."

The man nodded. "That's certainly the case," he said. "I bought up quite a lot of land before I laid down the mill, but after I did that I let most of it go. In fact, I'm quite willing to let up on Waynefleet's holding, too. I can't get a dollar out of him."

"Have you offered to sell the mortgage to anybody?"

"I saw Martial and the Charters people not long ago. They'd give about eighty cents on the dollar. Hutton said he'd make me a bid, but he didn't."

"Well," said Acton, "my friend here wants that ranch for a particular purpose. He'd bid you ninety."

"I can't do it. If the new roads that have been suggested are made, the ranch ought to bring me a little more. Still, I don't mind letting you in at what I gave for it."

Acton looked at Nasmyth.

"Then," said Acton, "we'll call it a bargain. You can write me a note to that effect, and I'll send my clerk across with the papers presently."

The man went out a few minutes later, and Acton rose.

"I'll charge you bank interest; but if you care to put the mortgage up for sale, you'll get your money back 'most any time after they start those roads," Acton said to Nasmyth. "Now we'll go along and call on Waynefleet."

They went out with Hames, and a little while later came upon Waynefleet sitting on the veranda of a second-rate hotel. He was dressed immaculately, and with a cigar in his hand, lay in a big chair. He started when he saw them. Hames grinned, and sat down close in front of him.

"I'm going back on my bargain. I want my money and you can keep your land," he said. "The fact is Mr. Acton has got on my trail, and he's not the kind of man I have any use for fighting."

There was consternation in Waynefleet's face, but he straightened himself with an effort.

"I suppose you have brought this man, Mr. Nasmyth, and I scarcely think it is quite what one would have expected from you—at least, until you had afforded me the opportunity of offering you an explanation," he blustered.

"Can you offer me one that any sensible man would listen to?" Nasmyth asked sharply.

"He can't," Acton broke in. "We're out on business. You may as well make it clear that we understand the thing."

Waynefleet turned and looked at Acton with lifted brows, and had he been less angry, Nasmyth could have laughed at his attitude. Waynefleet's air of supercilious resentment was inimitable.

"You have some interest in this affair?" he inquired.

"Oh, yes," answered Acton cheerfully. "Still, you needn't worry about me. All you have to do is to hand this man over the money and record the new sale. We don't want any unpleasantness, but it has to be done."

Waynefleet appeared to recognize that there was no remedy.

"In that case there is the difficulty that I can't quite raise the amount paid," he said. "Travelling and my stay in the city have cost me something."

"How much are you short?"

"About a hundred dollars."

"Then," replied Acton, "I'll take a bill for the money. We'll go along and record the sale as soon as Mr. Nasmyth's ready. I expect he has something to say to you."

Acton went into the hotel with Hames, and there was an awkward silence when they had disappeared. Nasmyth leaned against a wooden pillar, and Waynefleet sat still, waiting for him to speak. Nasmyth turned to him.

"It would, perhaps, be preferable to regard this affair from a strictly business point of view," said Nasmyth. "You are, of course, in our hands, but to save your credit and to protect Miss Waynefleet from any embarrassment, we shall probably not insist upon your handing over the land to anybody else. I think we are safe in doing that. Now that you have signally failed, you will not have nerve enough to attempt to betray us again."

Waynefleet waved his hand. "I resent the attitude you have adopted. It is not by any means what I am accustomed to, or should have expected from you."

Nasmyth felt a faint, contemptuous pity for the man, who still endeavoured to retain his formality of manner.

"I'm afraid that hasn't any great effect on me, and my attitude is, at least, a natural one," he said. "I believe that Gordon and I can arrange that the boys do not hear of your recent action, and though you will take no further part in our affairs, you will stay on at the ranch. I may mention that I have just bought up your mortgage."

A flush of anger showed in Waynefleet's cheeks.

"Is it in any way your business where I live?" he asked.

"No," answered Nasmyth, "not in the least—that is, as far as it affects yourself. Still, I am determined that Miss Waynefleet shall have no fresh cause for anxiety. I don't mind admitting that I owe a great deal to her." He paused for a moment, and then turned to Waynefleet with a forceful gesture. "When you have bought back the land from Hames, I don't suppose you will have a dollar in your possession, and the ranch belongs to me. As I said, you will stay—at least, until you can satisfy me that you can maintain yourself and Miss Waynefleet in some degree of comfort if you go away. Now I believe the others are waiting. We will go along and get the sale recorded."



CHAPTER XXX

SECOND THOUGHTS

It was getting dusk when Wheeler swung himself from the saddle near the head of the gully and, with the bridle of the jaded horse in his hand, stood still a few moments looking about him. A wonderful green transparency still shone high up above the peaks, whose jagged edges cut into it sharply with the cold blue-white gleam of snow, but upon the lower slopes there was a balmy softness in the air, which was heavy with the odours of fir and cedar. Summer was breaking suddenly upon the mountain-land, but Wheeler, who had crossed the divide in bright sunshine, was sensible of a certain shrinking as he glanced down into the depths of the canyon. A chilly mist streamed up out of it, and the great rift looked black and grim and forbidding.

Wheeler noticed a dusky figure beneath the firs, and, moving towards it, came upon a man with a pipe in his hand, sitting upon a fallen tree. In view of the strenuous activity that was the rule in the canyon, such leisure was unusual.

"Well," he remarked, "you don't seem busy, any way."

The man grinned. "I'm looking out," he replied. "Guess I've had my eye on you for the last few minutes, and a stranger wouldn't have got quite so far. You haven't got any papers from the courts on you?"

"No," said Wheeler, who noticed that there was a rifle lying near the man, "I haven't. Still, if I'd looked like a lawyer or a court officer——"

"Then," asserted the man, "it's a sure thing you wouldn't have got in. The boys have enough giant-powder rammed into the heading to lift the bottom right out of the canyon two minutes after any suspicious stranger comes along."

Wheeler laughed, for it was evident to him that Nasmyth had been taking precautions, and, turning away, he led his horse down the gully. It grew colder as he proceeded, and a chilly breeze swept the white mist about him. The trees, that shook big drops of moisture down on him, were wailing, but he could hear them only faintly through the clamour of the fall. He left the horse with a man he came upon lower down, and, reaching the shingle at the water's edge, saw the great derrick swing black athwart the glare of a big fire. The smoke whirled about the dark rock wall, and here and there dusky figures were toiling knee-deep amid the white froth of the rapid. The figures emerged from the blackness and vanished into it again, as the flickering radiance rose and fell. Scrambling to the ledge above the fall, Wheeler found two men standing near the mouth of the heading, which was just level with the pool.

"Where's Nasmyth, boys?" he inquired.

"Inside," answered one of the men. "Guess he's wedging up the heading. If you want him, you'd better crawl right in."

Wheeler glanced down at the black mouth of the tunnel, on which the streaming radiance fell. He fancied that the river flowed into it, and the man's suggestion did not appeal to him.

"Won't you tell him that I'd like a talk with him?" he asked.

The man laughed. "Guess that's not going to bring him. It will be daylight, any way, before he lets up. You'll have to go right in."

Wheeler dropped cautiously upon a slippery staging, across which the water flowed, and, crawling into the heading, with a blinking light in his eyes, fell into a sled that was loaded with broken rock. He crept round the obstruction, and a few moments later found himself knee-deep in water before a little dam that had been thrown across the heading. The heading dipped sharply beyond it, which somewhat astonished him, and when he had climbed over the barricade, he descended cautiously, groping towards another light. Big drops of water fell upon him, and here and there a jet of it spurted out. At last he stopped, and saw Nasmyth lying, partly raised on one elbow, in an inch or two of water, while he painfully swung a heavy hammer. The heading was lined with stout pillars, made of sawn-up firs, and Nasmyth appeared to be driving a wedge under one of them. Two or three other men were putting heavy masses of timber into place.

The smoky flame of a little lamp flared upon the rock above, which trickled with moisture, and the light fell upon Nasmyth's wet face, which was deeply flushed. Nasmyth gasped heavily, and great splashes of sand and mire lay thick upon his torn, drenched shirt. He appeared to see Wheeler, for he looked up, but he did not stop until he had driven the wedge in. Then he rose to his knees and stretched himself wearily.

"The rock's badly fissured. We've got to get double timbers in as soon as we can," he explained. "I'm going to do some boring. We'll go along."

Wheeler crept after him down the inclined heading until they reached the spot where Gordon sat crouched over a machine. Gordon did not move until Nasmyth seized his shoulders.

"You can get back to the wedging, and send two or three boys along to heave the water out. I'll keep this thing going," he said.

Gordon, who greeted Wheeler, floundered away, and Wheeler sat down in the dryest spot he could find, while Nasmyth grasped the handle of the machine.

"There's no reason why you shouldn't smoke," he said.

"That," replied Wheeler, "is a point I'm not quite sure about. How many sticks of giant-powder have you rammed into this heading? As you know, it's apt to be a little uncertain."

Nasmyth laughed as he glanced at the flaring lamp above his head. "There's a hole with a stick in it just at your elbow. I've been filling the holes as we made them. In view of what I expect those folks in the city are arranging, it seemed advisable."

Wheeler was sensible of a certain uneasiness as he listened to the crunch of the boring tool and the jarring thud of the hammers.

"What are you going so far down for?" he asked.

"To get into sounder rock. It's costing us considerable time that we can badly spare, but once or twice I fancied the whole river was coming in on us. Now we're getting almost through, I want to make quite sure."

Wheeler nodded. "I guess that's wise. So far, we have come out ahead of Hutton and the rest of them," he asserted. "Our people hold the timber rights, and we have got the shingle-splitting plant in. You headed him off in Waynefleet's case, and there only remains the man with the old Bush claim. There's, unfortunately, no doubt about his title to the ranch, and it's a sure thing the folks in the city will put him up again. Have you heard from him lately?"

"I have," answered Nasmyth, with a smile. "As you know, I made him half a dozen different offers to buy him out. He naturally didn't close with them, but he wrote trying to raise me, and kept the thing up rather well. Of course, it was evident that his friends were quite willing to let me get most of the work done before they showed their hand too visibly. I scarcely fancy they know how near we are to getting through, though that rancher man's lawyer said something about taking proceedings a little while ago."

"Suppose they went to court, and served you with a notice to quit what you're doing?"

Nasmyth, turning, pointed with a wet, scarred hand to several holes in the side of the heading, from which a wire projected.

"Well," he said, "they'd have to serve it, and while their man was trying to get down the gully I'd rip most of the bottom out of this strip of canyon. I'm not sure we haven't gone far enough already to split up the whole ridge that's holding back the river. Still, I'm going on a little. I mean to make sure." He bent over the machine. "You have brought up some letters? The man has, perhaps, been trying to worry me again."

"Two or three," replied Wheeler. "I called at the settlement for them. One is evidently from a lady."

Nasmyth swung round again and took the little dainty envelope from him. He smeared it with his wet hands as he opened it, and then his voice broke sharply through the thud of the hammers.

"Can't you move? I'm too far from that lamp," he said.

He scrambled by Wheeler and crouched close beneath the smoky, flickering flame, dripping, spattered with mire, and very grim in face. The note was from Violet Hamilton, and it was brief.

"I should like to see you as soon as you can get away," it read. "There is something I must say, and since it might spare both of us pain, I feel almost tempted to try to explain it now. That, however, would perhaps be weak of me, and I think you will, after all, not blame me very greatly."