"That's something," replied Crestwick, grinning. "Not long ago I thought I'd make a sportsman; one of Gladwyne's kind. The ambition doesn't so much appeal to me now. But I want to be rather more than a looker-on. Can't you let me put something into one of these claims?"

"Not a cent! In the first place, you'd have some trouble in raising the money; in the second, I might be accused of playing Batley's game."

"The last's ridiculous. But if I'm not to do anything, it brings me back to the question—why am I staying here?"

"I can't tell you that. I'll only suggest that if you hold out until you come into your property, you'll go back much more fit in several ways to look after it. I should imagine you'd find less occasion to emulate people like Batley and Gladwyne then. Of course, I don't know if that's worth waiting for."

It was the nearest approach to seriousness he considered advisable, for precept was obnoxious to him and apt to be resented by his companion.

"Now," he added, "what about the mail?"

Crestwick produced a packet of letters which he had not opened yet and Lisle glanced at two business communications. The boulder kept off most of the snow, and the glare of the snapping branches, rising and falling with the gusts, supplied sufficient light.

"Mine's from Bella; there's news in it," Crestwick remarked. "She says Carew—I don't think you've seen him—is anxious to marry her, and if she's convinced that I'm getting on satisfactorily, she'll probably agree. He's—I'm quoting—about as good as she's likely to get; that's Bella all over."

"What's he like?" Lisle asked with interest.

"To tell the truth, in one way I think she's right—the man's straight; not the Marple crowd's style. In fact, I found him decidedly stand-offish, though I'll own there might have been a reason for that. Anyhow, I'm glad; she might have done a good deal worse. I suppose you won't mind giving me a testimonial that will set her doubts at rest?"

"You shall have it. Since the man's a good one, I'm nearly as glad as you are. I've a strong respect for your sister; she stood by you pluckily."

"That's true," asserted Crestwick. "I was a bit of an imbecile, and she's really hard to beat. She says if the life here's too tough for me I'm to come back and live with them. That's considerate, because in a way she can't want me, though I haven't the least doubt she'd make Carew put up with my company. It decides the question—I'm not going."

"A little while ago you'd have taken Carew's delight for granted, wouldn't you?"

"I'm beginning to see things," Crestwick answered with a wave of his hand. Then he paused and looked confused. "After all, though she says I'm to give you the message, Bella really goes too far now and then."

"She doesn't always mean it. You may as well obey her."

"It's this—if it's any consolation, she has no intention of forgetting you, and Arthur—that's the fellow's name—is anxious to make your acquaintance. She says there are men who're not so unresponsive as you are, but Arthur has never been into the North to get frozen."

Lisle laughed—it was so characteristic of Bella.

"Here's something else," Crestwick proceeded; "about Miss Gladwyne. Bella thinks you'd be interested to hear that there's a prospect of—"

"Go on!" cried Lisle, dropping his pipe.

"I can't see," said Crestwick. "You might stir the fire."

Lisle threw on some fresh wood and poked the fire savagely with a branch, and the lad continued, reading with difficulty while the pungent smoke obscured the light.

"It seems that she saw Gladwyne and his mother and Millicent together in town, and she afterward spent a week with Flo Marple at somebody's house. Flo told her that it looks as if the long-deferred arrangement was to be brought about at last." He laid down the letter. "If that means she's to marry Gladwyne, it ought to be prevented!"

They looked at each other curiously, and Lisle, struggling to command himself, noticed the lad's strained expression.

"Why?" he asked with significant shortness.

Crestwick seemed on the verge of some vehement outbreak and Lisle saw that it was with an effort he refrained.

"Oh, well," he answered, "the man's not half good enough. He's a dangerous rotter."

"Dangerous?"

"Yes," returned Crestwick dryly; "I think that describes it."

There was an impressive silence, while each wondered how far he might have betrayed himself. Then Lisle spoke.

"Read the rest of the letter. See if Bella says anything further."

"No announcement made," Crestwick informed him a little later. "All the same, Flo's satisfied that the engagement will be made known before long." He looked up at Lisle with uncertainty and anger in his face. "It almost makes me forget Bella's other news. What can be done?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Don't fence!" said Crestwick. "I'm not smart at it. Don't you know a reason why Miss Gladwyne shouldn't marry the fellow?"

"Yes. It has nothing to do with you."

"Perhaps not," replied Crestwick. "I can only say that the match ought to be broken off. It isn't to be contemplated!"

"Well," Lisle responded with forced quietness, "if it's any relief to you, I'll write to Nasmyth the first chance I get, asking what he's heard. Now we'll drop the subject. Is there anything else of general interest in your letter?"

"Bella says her wedding won't be until the early summer and she's thinking of making Carew bring her out to Banff or Glacier—he came out shooting or climbing once before. Then she'll endeavor to look us up."

He lighted his pipe and they sat in silence for a while. Then Crestwick rose and bringing a blanket from the tent wrapped it about him and lay down in the lee of the boulder near the fire. A few minutes later he was sound asleep; but Lisle sat long awake, thinking hard, while the snow drove by above him.



CHAPTER XXIII

A FORCED MARCH

When Crestwick awakened, very cold, and cramped, a little before daylight the next morning, it was still snowing, but Lisle was up and busy preparing breakfast.

"That looks like marching; I thought we were going to lie off to-day," observed the lad.

"How do you feel?" Lisle inquired.

"Horribly stiff; but that's the worst. Why are you going on?"

"Because the freighters should leave the Hudson Bay post to-morrow with their dog-teams. It's the only chance of sending out a letter I may get for a long while, and I want to write to Nasmyth."

Crestwick shivered, glancing disconsolately at the snow; he shrank from the prospect of a two days' hurried march. Had Lisle suggested this when he first came out, the lad would have rebelled, but by degrees the stern discipline of the wilds had had its effect on him. He was learning that the weariness of the flesh must be disregarded when it is necessary that anything shall be done.

"Oh, well," he acquiesced, "I'll try to make it. If I can't, you'll have to drop me where there's some shelter."

He ate the best possible breakfast, for as wood was scarce in parts of the country, and making a fire difficult, it was very uncertain when he would get another meal. Then he slipped the pack-straps over his stiff shoulders, and got ready to start with a burden he did not think he would have been capable of carrying for a couple of hours when he left England.

"Now we'll pull out," he said. "But wait a moment: I'd better look for a dry place to put this paper currency."

"Where did you get it? You told me at the last settlement that you had hardly a dollar left."

Crestwick grinned.

"Oh, some of the boys offered to teach me a little game they were playing when we thawed out that claim. I didn't find it difficult, though I must own that I had very good luck. It was three or four months since I'd touched a card, and there's a risk of reaction in too drastic reform. Anyhow, I'm glad I saw that game; one fellow had a way of handling trumps that almost took me in. If I can remember, it should come in useful."

Lisle made no comment; restraint, he thought, was likely to prove more effective if it were not continually exercised. They started and for several hours plodded up the white highway of the river, leaving it only for a while when the ice grew fissured where the current ran more swiftly. White hills rose above them, relieved here and there by a somber clump of cedars or leafless willows and birches in a ravine. The snow crunched beneath their feet, and scattered in a fine white powder when they broke the crust; more of it fell at intervals, but blew away again; and they held on with a nipping wind in their faces and a low gray sky hanging over them.

Lisle, however, noticed little; he pushed forward with a steady and apparently tireless stride, thinking bitterly. Since his return to Canada, his mind had dwelt more or less continuously on Millicent. He recognized that in leaving her with his regard for her undeclared he had been sustained by the possibility that he might by determined effort achieve such a success as would enable him to return and in claiming her to offer most of the amenities of life to which she had been accustomed. Though it had not been easy, he had to some extent accomplished this. On reaching Victoria, he had found his business associates considering one or two bold and risky schemes for the extension of their mining interests, which he had carried out in the face of many difficulties. The new claims he had taken over promised a favorable yield upon development; he had arranged for the more profitable working of others by the aid of costly plant; and his affairs were generally prospering.

Then, when he was satisfied with the result of his exertions, Crestwick's news had struck him a crushing blow. He was wholly unprepared for it. Nasmyth had spoken of a match between Millicent and Gladwyne as probable, but the latter had devoted himself to Bella, who had openly encouraged him. The change in the girl's demeanor had escaped Lisle's notice, because he had been kept indoors by his injury. Now the success he had attained counted for almost nothing; he had nobody to share it with.

The subject, however, had another aspect; he could have borne the shock better had Millicent yielded to a worthy suitor, but it was unthinkable that she should marry Gladwyne. She must be saved from that at any cost, though he thought her restored liberty would promise nothing to him. Even if her attachment to Gladwyne were free from passion, as Nasmyth had hinted, she must cherish some degree of affection and regard for the man. His desertion of her brother could not be forgiven, but the revelation of his baseness would not incline her favorably toward the person who made it, as it would seem to be merely for the purpose of separating her from him.

Lisle set his lips as he looked back on what he now considered his weakness in withholding the story of Gladwyne's treachery. Had he declared it at the beginning, Mrs. Gladwyne would have suffered no more than she must do, and it would have saved Millicent and himself from the pain that must fall upon them. He bitterly regretted that he had, for once, departed from his usual habit of simply and resolutely carrying out an obvious task without counting the cost. Still, he could write to Nasmyth, and to do that he must reach the Hudson Bay post on the morrow. He trudged on over the snow at a pace that kept Crestwick breathless.

The bitter wind chilled them through in spite of their exertion, and it had increased by noon, when Lisle halted for a minute or two to look about him.

They were in the bottom of a valley walled in by barren hills; the bank of the frozen river was marked out by snow-covered stones, but none of them was large enough to rest behind, and one could not face the wind, motionless, in the open. While he stood, a stinging icy powder lashed his cheeks, and his hands grew stiff in their mittens.

"There's not even a gulch we could sit down in," he said. "We'll have to go on; and I'm not sorry, for one reason. There's not much time to spare."

Crestwick's eyes were smarting from the white glare; having started when weary from a previous journey, his legs and shoulders ached; but he had no choice between freezing and keeping himself slightly warm by steady walking. It would, he knew, be harder by and by, when his strength began to fail and the heat died out of his exhausted body.

"We'll have to find a shelter for the tent by nightfall, or dig a snowpit where there's some wood," he declared. "I'll try to hold out."

They proceeded and the afternoon's march tried him severely. Aching all over, breathing hard when they stumbled among the stones to skirt some half-frozen rapid, he labored on, regretting the comforts he had abandoned in England and yet not wholly sorry that he had done so. His moral fiber was toughening, for after all his faults were largely the result of circumstances and environment. Of no great intelligence, and imperfectly taught, he had been neglected by his penurious father who had been engaged in building up his commercial prosperity; his mother had died when he was young.

One of his marked failings was an inability to estimate the true value of things. He possessed something of the spirit of adventure and a desire to escape from the drab monotony of his early life, but these found expression in betting on the exploits of others on the football field and the turf, a haunting of the music-halls, and the cultivation of acquaintances on the lowest rung of the dramatic profession. All this offered him some glimpses of what he did not then perceive was merely sham romance. Later when, on the death of his father, wealth had opened a wider field, deceived by surface appearances, he had made the same mistake, selecting wrong models and then chiefly copying their failings. Even his rather generous enthusiasm for those whom he admired had led him farther into error.

Now, however, his eyes had been partly opened. Thrown among men who pretended nothing, in a land where pretense is generally useless, he was learning to depreciate much that he had admired. Called upon to make the true adventure he had blindly sought for, he found that little counted except the elemental qualities of courage and steadfastness. Dear life was the stake in this game, and the prizes were greater things than a repute for cheap gallantry, and pieces of money; they were the subjugation of rock and river, the conversion of the wilderness to the use of man. Crestwick was growing in the light he gained, and in proof of it he stumbled forward, scourged by driving snow, throughout the bitter afternoon, although before the end of it he could scarcely lift his weary feet.

It was getting dark, when they found a few cedars clustered in the shelter of a crag, and Lisle set to work hewing off the lower branches and cutting knots of the resinous wood. Crestwick could not rouse himself to assist, and when the fire was kindled he lay beside it, shivering miserably.

"There's the kettle to be filled," suggested Lisle. "You could break the ice where the stream's faster among those stones; we'd boil water quicker than we'd melt down snow."

Crestwick got up with an effort that cost him a good deal and stumbled away from the fire. Then a gust of wind met him, enveloping him in snow-dust and taking the power of motion momentarily away. He shook beneath his furs in the biting cold. Still, the river was near, and he moved on another few yards, when the kettle slipped from his stiffened hands and rolled down a steep slope. He stopped, wondering stupidly whether he could get down to recover it.

"Never mind; come back!" Lisle called to him. "I'll go for the thing."

The lad turned at the summons and sank down again beside the fire.

"I think I'm done," he said wearily. "I may feel a little more fit in the morning."

Lisle filled the kettle and prepared supper, and after eating voraciously, Crestwick lay down in the tent. It was in comparative shelter, but the frost grew more severe and the icy wind, eddying in behind the rock, threatened to overturn the frail structure every now and then. He tried to smoke, but found no comfort in it after he had with difficulty lighted his pipe; he did not feel inclined to talk, and it was a relief to him when Lisle sank into slumber.

Crestwick long remembered that night. His feet and hands tingled painfully with the cold, the branches he lay upon found out the sorest parts of his aching body, and he would have risen and walked up and down in the lee of the rock had he felt capable of the exertion, but he was doubtful whether he could even get upon his feet. At times thick smoke crept into the tent, and though it set him to coughing it was really a welcome change in his distressing sensations. He was utterly exhausted, but he shivered too much to sleep.

At last, a little while before daybreak, Lisle got up and strode away to the river after stirring the fire, and then, most cruel thing of all, the lad became sensible of a soothing drowsiness when it was too late for him to indulge in it. For a few moments he struggled hard, and then blissfully yielded. He was awakened by his companion, who was shaking him as he laid a plate and pannikin at his feet.

"We must be off in a few minutes," he announced.

Crestwick raised himself with one hand and blinked.

"I don't know whether I can manage it."

"Then," responded Lisle, hiding his compassion, "you'll have to decide which of two things you'll do—you can stay here until I come back, or you can take the trail with me. I must go on."

Crestwick shrank from the painful choice. He did not think that he could walk; but to prolong the experience of the previous night for another twenty-four hours or more seemed even worse. He ate his breakfast; and then with a tense effort he got upon his feet and slipped the straps of the pack over his shoulders. Moving unevenly, he set off, lest he should yield to his weariness and sink down again.

"Come on!" he called back to Lisle.

He sometimes wondered afterward how he endured throughout the day. He was half dazed; he blundered forward, numbed in body, with his mind too dulled to be conscious of more than a despairing dejection. As he scarcely expected to reach the post, it did not matter how soon he fell. Yet, by instinctive effort stronger than conscious volition, the struggle for life continued; and Lisle's keen anxiety concerning him diminished as the hours went by. Every step brought them nearer warmth and shelter, and made it more possible that help could be obtained if the lad collapsed. That was the only course that would be available because they were now crossing a lofty wind-swept elevation bare of timber.

It was afternoon when they entered a long valley, and Lisle, grasping Crestwick's arm, partly supported him as they stumbled down the steep descent. Stunted trees straggled up toward them as they pushed on down the hollow, and Lisle surmised that the journey was almost over. That was fortunate, for he had some trouble in keeping his companion upon his feet. At length a faint howl rose from ahead and Lisle stopped and listened intently. The sound was repeated more plainly, and was followed by a confused snarling, the clamor of quarreling dogs.

"Malamutes; the freighters can't have started yet with their sledges," he said to Crestwick, who was holding on to him. "I don't think they can be more than half a mile off."

"I'll manage that somehow," replied the lad.

They went on through thickening timber, until at last a log house came into sight. In front of it stood two sledges, and a pack of snapping, snarling dogs were scuffling in the snow. Lisle was devoutly thankful when he opened the door and helped the lad into a log-walled room where four men, two of whom wore furs, were talking. The air was dry and strongly heated, besides being heavy with tobacco smoke and Crestwick sank limply into a chair. Gasping hard, he leaned forward, as if unable to hold himself upright; but Lisle was not alarmed: he had suffered at times, when exhausted, from the reaction that follows the change from the bitter cold outside to the stuffiness of a stove-heated room.

"Played out; I'd some trouble to get him along," he explained to the men. "We're going on to the claims at the gulch to-morrow." Then he addressed the two in furs: "I guess you'll take me out a letter?"

"Why, of course; but you'll have to hustle," said one of them, and Lisle turned to a man in a deerskin jacket whom he took for the agent.

"Can you give me some paper?"

"Sure! Sit down right here."

It was not easy to write with stiffened fingers or to collect his thoughts with his head swimming from the change of temperature, but he informed Nasmyth briefly of what he had heard and asked how much truth there was in it. He added that he would have started for England forthwith, only that he could not be sure that this was necessary, and to leave his work unfinished might jeopardize the interests of people who had staked a good deal of money on the success of his schemes. Nevertheless he would come at once, if Nasmyth considered the match likely to be brought about and would cable him at Victoria, from whence a message would reach him. In the meanwhile, Nasmyth could make such use of their knowledge of Gladwyne's treachery as he thought judicious.

Shortly after he had written the letter the two men in furs set out, and when the sound of their departure had died away the agent addressed his guests.

"I'll fix you some supper; you look as if you needed it. Rustle round, Larry, and get the frying-pan on."

They ate an excellent meal and shortly afterward Crestwick crawled into a wooden bunk, where he reveled in the unusual warmth and the softness of a mattress filled with swamp-hay. He had never lain down to rest in England with the delicious sense of physical comfort that now crept over his worn-out body.



CHAPTER XXIV

MILLICENT SUMMONS HER GUIDE

Lisle was living luxuriously in Victoria when Nasmyth's answer reached him by mail. Though it was still winter among the ranges of the North, the seaboard city had been bathed in clear sunshine and swept by mild west winds during the past few days, and after the bitter frost and driving snow Lisle rejoiced in the genial warmth and brightness. There are few more finely situated cities than Victoria, with its views across the strait of the white heights of Mount Baker and the Olympians on the American shore, even in the Pacific Province where the environment of all is beautiful.

Lisle was sitting in the hotel lounge after dinner when three English letters were handed to him. The sight of them affected him curiously, and leaning back in his chair he glanced round the room. Like the rest of the great building in which he had his quarters, it was sumptuously furnished, but everything was aggressively new. There was, he felt, little that suggested fixity of tenure and continuity in the West; the times changed too rapidly, people came and went, alert, feverishly bustling, optimistic. In the old land, his friends among the favored few dwelt with marked English calm in homes that had apparently been built to stand forever. Yet he was Western, by deliberate choice as well as by birth; while there was much to be said for the other life which had its seductive charm, the strenuous, eager one that he led was better.

He opened the letters—one from Bella, announcing her engagement and inquiring about her brother; a second from Millicent, stating that it was decided that she would visit British Columbia in the early summer; and a third from Nasmyth, which, dreading its contents, he kept to the last.

He was, however, slightly reassured when he opened it. Nasmyth's remarks were brief but clear enough. There was no actual engagement between Millicent and Clarence, though Mrs. Gladwyne was doing her utmost to bring one about and Millicent saw the man frequently. In the meanwhile, he did not think there was anything to be done; Lisle could not conclusively prove his story, though he could make a disastrous sensation, which was to be avoided, and it would be wiser to defer the disclosure until the engagement should actually be announced. Millicent's attachment to Clarence was not likely to grow very much stronger in a month or two. In conclusion, he urged Lisle to wait.

On the whole, Lisle agreed with him. Somehow he felt that Millicent would never marry Gladwyne. Apart from his interference, he thought that her instincts would, even at the last moment, cause her to recoil from the match. Furthermore, turning to another aspect of the matter, he could not clear his dead comrade's memory by telling a tale that was founded merely on probabilities. There was nothing for it but to await events, though he was still determined to start for England the moment Nasmyth's letter made this seem advisable.

Shortly afterward, one of his business associates came in: a young man with a breezy, restless manner who would not have been trusted in England with the responsibilities he most efficiently discharged. In the West, a staid and imposing air carries no great weight with it and eagerness and even rather unguided activity are seldom accounted drawbacks. There dulness is dreaded more than rashness.

"I've seen Walthew and Slyde," he announced. "It will be all right about the money; we'll put the hydraulic plant proposition through at the next Board meeting. You'll have to go back right away."

"I've only just come down; the frost's not out of me yet," Lisle grumbled. "Besides, you seem to be going ahead rather fast here in the city. Walthew's a little too much of a hustler; I'd rather he'd stop to think. You're almost as bad, Garnet."

The young man laughed.

"I guess you can't help it, it's the English streak in you; but in a way you're right. Fact is Walthew and I have hustled the rest of the crowd most off their feet, and we mean to keep them on the jump. Last meeting old Macalan's eyes were bulging with horror, he could hardly stammer out his indignation—said our extravagance was sinful. Anyway, you've got to go."

Lisle made an acquiescent grimace. His face was strongly darkened by exposure to the frost and the glare of the snow; his hands were scarred, with several ugly recently-healed wounds on them.

"Well," he complied with some reluctance, "if it's necessary."

"It is," Garnet explained. "Think we're going to have washing plant worth a good many thousand dollars left lying in the bush or dropped into rivers? You'll have to arrange for transport and break new trails. You can do it best when the snow's still on the ground, and that plant must start working soon after the thaw comes. We've got to justify our expenditure while the season's open."

"You haven't got your authority to buy the plant yet."

Garnet chuckled.

"It was ordered, provisionally, the day you came down; the makers are only waiting for a wire from the Board meeting. In fact, I shouldn't be astonished if some of the work isn't in progress now."

Lisle was quick of thought and prompt in action, but he sometimes felt as if Garnet took his breath away.

"If you have it all arranged, I may as well agree," he laughed. "I'll take Crestwick back."

"That reminds me; he said something about taking an interest—asked if I could get him shares at a moderate premium, though he owned that his trustees might make trouble about letting him have the money."

"He's not to have them!" Lisle replied emphatically. "What's more, the trustees won't part with a dollar unless I guarantee the project—I've been in communication with them. Rest assured that the idea won't get my endorsement."

"I could never get at the workings of the English mind," Garnet declared. "Now if my relatives had any money, I'd rush them all in. This is the safest and best-managed mining proposition on the Pacific Slope. What kind of morality is it that gathers in the general investor and keeps your friends out?"

"I don't know; it doesn't concern the point. I'm actuated by what you may call a prejudice. You can't remove it."

"Well," Garnet responded good-humoredly, "it's a pretty tough country up yonder and I suppose the lad's of some service. You're saving us a pile of money in experts' fees and I don't see why you shouldn't put him on the company's payroll. I mentioned the thing to Walthew; he was agreeable."

They talked about other matters and presently Crestwick came in, smartly dressed and looking remarkably vigorous and clear-skinned. There were many points of difference between his appearance now and when Lisle had first met him.

"Mr. Garnet has a proposition to make," Lisle informed him; and the Canadian briefly stated it.

Crestwick did not seem surprised, nor did he display much appreciation.

"To tell the truth, I thought you might have mentioned the matter before," he remarked. "Still, if you want my services, you'll have to go up twenty dollars."

"A week?" Garnet asked ironically. "You promise well; if you stay here a year or two you'll make a useful and enterprising citizen. We could get an experienced boss packer for what I offered you."

"Down here, yes. When he got to where the claims are, he'd almost certainly drop you and turn miner, and you couldn't blame him. A man deserves a hundred dollars a day merely for living up yonder. But it's a month I was speaking of. If you want me, you'll have to come up."

Garnet laughed.

"I guess I can fix it; but we'll get our value out of you."

"That's a compliment, if you look at it in one way," Crestwick grinned in reply.

When Garnet had left them, he turned to Lisle.

"Thanks awfully. Of course, it was your idea."

"Garnet suggested the thing; that's more flattering, isn't it?"

Crestwick looked at him, smiling.

"I'm not to be played so easily as I was when I first met you," he said. "Of course, in a sense, the pay's no great inducement to me; it's the idea of being offered it. I'm going to advise old Barnes, my trustee; he was fond of saying that I was fortunate in being left well off because I'd never earn sixpence as long as I lived, until I stopped the thing by offering him ten to one I'd go out and make it in a couple of hours by carrying somebody's bag from the station. Anyhow, this is the first move."

"Then you're going farther?"

"Quite so," was the cheerful answer. "I'll be a director of this company before I've finished. You can't stop my buying shares when I come into my property."

Lisle was conscious of some relief. It was a laudable ambition and Crestwick promised to be much less of a responsibility than he had once anticipated.

"I've a letter from Bella," Lisle told him. "She still desires to be informed if you're getting along satisfactorily. I think I can tell her there's no cause for uneasiness."

"Bella's a good sort," returned Crestwick. "She'll stop asking such questions by and by. At least, I think she'll have some grounds for doing so."

They went out into the city and a week afterward they sailed together for the North. It was still winter in the wilds, and though that made Lisle's work a little easier, because rivers and lakes and muskegs were frozen, he found it sufficiently arduous. He had to survey and break new trails suitable for the conveyance of heavy machinery, up rugged valleys and over high divides, and to arrange for transport—canoes here, a log-bridge there, relays of packers farther on. No man's efforts could be wasted, for time was precious and wages are high in the wilderness. Then, when at last the frost relaxed its grip and rock and snow and loosened soil came thundering down the gullies in huge masses, the work grew more difficult as he began to build a dam.

Some of the men sent up to him, artizans from the cities, sailor deserters, dismayed by the toils of the journey and the nature of their tasks, promptly mutinied on arrival. Others dispatched after them failed to turn up, and Lisle never discovered what became of them. The camp-site was a sea of puddled mire with big stones in it; tents and shacks were almost continuously dripping; and every hollow was filled with a raging torrent. Nobody had dry clothes, even to sleep in; the work was mostly carried on knee-deep in water, and at first things got little better as the days grew warmer. The hill-benches steamed and clammy mists wrapped the camp at night; the downward rush of melting snow increased, and several times wild floods swept away portions of the dam and half-built flume.

In spite of it all, the work went on: foot by foot the wall of pile-bound rock rose and the long wooden conduit curved away down the valley; and when at length the hydraulic plant began to arrive, piecemeal, Lisle found Crestwick eminently useful. He superintended the transport, patrolling the trails and keeping them repaired. His skill with shovel and ax was negligible, but he could send a man or two to mend the gap where the path had slipped away down some gully or to fling a couple of logs across a swollen creek that could not be forded. He got thinner and harder from constant toil and from sleeping, often scantily fed, unsheltered in the rain.

After a while, however, there was a pleasant change: the days grew hot, the nights were clear and cold, and the short, vivid summer broke suddenly upon the mountain land. Then it seldom rained, as the high seaward barrier condensed most of the Pacific moisture, but at times the clouds which crossed the summits unbroken descended in a copious deluge, and it was in the midst of such a downpour that Crestwick returned to camp one evening after a week's absence on the trail. His dripping garments were ragged, his boots gaped open, and his soft felt hat had fallen shapeless about his head. He found Lisle in a similar guise sitting at his evening meal.

"Have they got the pipes and those large castings across the big ravine?" Lisle asked.

"Yes, that has been done," Crestwick answered. "By the way, one of the packers told me that the man who's coming up to run the plant—Carsley, isn't it?—has arrived. There were some fittings or something wrong and he stopped behind to investigate, but the packer seemed to think he'd get through soon after I did. That turns us loose, doesn't it?"

"I dare say I could hand things over to him in about a week," replied Lisle. "Then we'll clear out. I suppose you won't be sorry?"

Crestwick stretched out his feet to display his broken boots and rent trousers.

"Well," he said, "since I left here, I've spent a good deal of my time in an icy creek, and it's nearly a week since I had any sleep worth speaking of. We had to make a bridge for the freighters to bring those castings over and we'd no end of trouble to get the stringers fixed—the stream was strong and we had to build a pier in it. Not long ago, I'd have considered anybody who did this kind of thing without compulsion mad, but in some mysterious way it grows on you. I don't pretend to explain it, but it won't be with unmixed delight that I'll go back to the city."

He paused and fumbled in his pocket.

"I was forgetting your mail. I'm afraid it's rather pulpy, but I couldn't help that. By the way, I'd a letter from Bella, written at the Frontenac, Quebec. She's brought Carew out; they're going to Glacier very soon, and she still intends to look me up."

Lisle opened the letters handed him and managed to read them, though their condition fully bore out Crestwick's description. Two or three were on business matters, but there was one from Millicent, and he started at the first few lines.

"Miss Gladwyne and Miss Hume have sailed—they must have landed a week ago," he announced. "She wants to go over the ground her brother traversed—you have heard of that project. Nasmyth sailed a week earlier to arrange matters at this end; but I don't know how Miss Hume will get along."

"It's merely a question of transport," asserted Crestwick with the air of an authority on the subject. "So long as you provide sufficient packers, with relays from supply bases, you can travel in comparative comfort, though it's expensive." Then an idea occurred to him. "They're pretty sure to run across Bella; Miss Gladwyne knows Carew."

Lisle sat silent a few minutes, conscious of a strong satisfaction. Millicent was in Canada, and there was no mention of Gladwyne! Then it struck him as curious that Bella should have come over at the same time. As Millicent knew Carew, it was very probable that Bella would insist on joining the expedition, which Millicent might agree to, if, as seemed likely, her rather elderly companion had to be left behind. Nasmyth had, no doubt, already reached British Columbia; and it looked as if those indirectly brought together by George Gladwyne's tragic death would be reunited at the scene of it. This was, Lisle reflected, merely the result of a natural sequence of events, but there was for all that something strangely significant about it.

"Well," he said, "it has been arranged that I'm to act as guide, and Miss Gladwyne says they'll wait for me. As that's the case, I don't see why I shouldn't start as soon as Carsley gets through. I shouldn't wonder if he brings a letter from Nasmyth. It will be a tough journey, and I'll have to break a new trail. Are you coming, or will you head for Vancouver to join Bella?"

"We'll stick together," replied the lad. "Bella's to stay over here some months, and if she decides to join Miss Gladwyne she'll leave Glacier long before I could reach the place."

Lisle rose and shook out his pipe.

"Then," he responded, "I'll take a look around, and you had better start off the first thing to-morrow and hurry those castings on. There's a good deal to be done if we're to get away when Carsley turns up."



CHAPTER XXV

A RELIABLE MAN

The sun had just dipped behind a black ridge of hills, and the lake lay still, mirroring the tall cedars on its farther shore. A faint chill was creeping into the mountain air, which was scented with resinous smoke, and somewhere across the water a loon was calling. A cluster of tents stood upon the shingle, and in front of the largest Millicent reclined in a camp-chair. Near her Miss Hume sat industriously embroidering; and Nasmyth lay upon the stones. Bella occupied another camp-chair, a young man with a pleasant brown face sitting at her feet; and farther along the beach a group of packers in blue shirts and duck trousers lay smoking about a fire. By and by one rose and when he began to hack at a drift-log the sharp thudding of his ax startled the loon which departed with a peal of shrieking laughter.

The party had reached the fringe of the wilderness after a long stage journey from the railroad through a rugged country. They had met with no mishaps beyond a delay in the transport of some of their baggage, and everything had been made comparatively easy for them; but they knew that henceforward there might be a difference. Man must depend largely upon his own natural resources in the wilds, where, after furnishing the traveler with the best equipment and packers to carry it, the power of wealth is strictly limited. A recognition of the fact hovered more or less darkly in all their minds, but Millicent was the first to hint at it.

"So far we have had absolutely nothing to complain of except a little jolting in the stage," she said. "I'm beginning to understand why adventurous sight-seers are coming out here—it's a glorious country!"

"It's my duty to point out that it won't be quite the same as we go on," Nasmyth remarked. "What do you say, Carew?"

"It doesn't matter; he's said it all before," Bella broke in. "I've had to listen to appalling accounts of his previous adventures in Canada, which were, no doubt, meant to deter me; but the reality is that the hotels at Banff and Glacier are remarkably comfortable, and I haven't the least fault to find with this camp. We ought to be grateful to Millicent for letting us come, and though Arthur hinted that it would be a rather sociable honeymoon, I said that was a safeguard. One's illusions might get sooner shattered in a more conventional one." She stooped and ruffled her husband's hair. "Still, he hasn't deteriorated very much on closer acquaintance, and perhaps I'm fortunate in this."

Millicent sat silent for a few moments. She knew, to her sorrow, one man who did not improve the more one saw of him, and that was the man she had tacitly agreed to marry. She could not tell why she had done so—she had somehow drifted into it. Interest, family associations, a feeling that could best be described as liking, even pity, had played their part in influencing her, and now she realized that she could not honorably draw back when he formally claimed her. She laughed as one of the packers who had a good voice broke into a song.

"That's the climax; it needs only the cockney accent to make the thing complete," she said. "When I was last in London, one heard that silly jingle everywhere. I suppose it's a triumph of the music-halls."

"Or of modern civilization—a rendering of distance of no account," suggested Carew. "There's a good deal to be said for the latter achievement, as we are discovering."

"Distance," declared Bella, "still counts for something here. I've been thinking about Jim all day; imagining him dragging his canoe through the timber beyond those hills, and wondering whether he'd find us when he got to the other side."

"She has been doing more," her husband broke in. "Though she hasn't confessed it, she has been looking out for him ever since this morning. In fact, I discovered that our cook is keeping a supper ready that would satisfy four or five men."

Bella turned to Millicent with a smile.

"Do you think the meal will be wasted?" she asked.

"No; I can hardly believe it."

"Mark the assurance of that answer," commented Carew. "A man couldn't feel it; it's irrational. Miss Gladwyne speaks with a certainty that our guide will come, though she has nothing to base her calculations on—she doesn't know the distance or the difficulties of the way."

"What does that matter?" Bella retorted. "She knows the man."

Carew made a grimace.

"A woman's reasoning. As we've nothing better to do, I'll try to show the absurdity of it. A man, so far as he concerns this discussion, consists of a certain quantity of bones, with muscles and tendons capable of setting them in motion—"

"Be careful," Bella warned him. "It's safer to avoid these details. Besides, you're leaving something out; I don't mean the nerve-cells, but the inner personality, whatever it is, that commands them."

"I'm trying to show that, as a mechanical structure, he is capable of moving his own weight and so much extra a limited distance in a given time, so long as he can secure the necessary food and sleep. Neither the weight nor the distance can be increased except by an effort which, if continued, will soon reduce them below their former level."

Bella laughed.

"Yes," she said, "that's how you reason—mechanically. We're different."

"I'll take quite another line," Nasmyth interposed. "Lisle's traversing a country new to him; he can't tell what rapids, ranges, or thick timber may cause delay. No amount of determination will enable one, for instance, to knock more than a few minutes off the time needed to carry a canoe round a portage, nor by any effort can one cross a range as quickly as one can walk up a valley. Isn't that clear, Millicent?"

There was a smile in the girl's eyes.

"Yes," she replied, "but, all the same, Lisle's supper's waiting."

"Such confidence makes one jealous," grumbled Carew. "Lisle, whom I haven't met, is evidently a man who keeps his promise. That means a good deal."

"A very great deal," Bella assured him. "Since one's bound to meet with difficulties one can't foresee, it proves that one man has resource, resolution, and many other eminently useful qualities; but all this is getting too serious. I'd better point out that Lisle hasn't even promised to meet us here at any particular time." She paused and laughed mischievously. "Millicent merely sent for him, mentioning to-morrow as the day she would like to start."

A little color crept into Millicent's face, but Bella went on:

"She called and I haven't the least doubt that our guide set out, over ranges, up rapids, across wide lakes. One can't imagine that man taking it easily, and there's the obvious fact that Jim will have to keep up with him. He will find it hard, but I dare say it will do him good."

Nasmyth laughed and strolled away with Carew. The sunset green grew dimmer behind the hills and a pale half-moon appeared above the shadowy woods. It was very still, except for the lapping of the water upon the stones.

Bella leaned back lazily in her chair.

"This is delightful," she exclaimed. "Didn't Clarence want to come?"

The unexpectedness of the question startled Millicent into answering:

"He didn't know."

"Ah! Then you didn't tell him? Why didn't you?"

It was difficult to reply, but there was something in Bella's voice that disarmed Millicent's resentment. Bella had grown gentler since her marriage and less often indulged in bitterness.

"I think," said Millicent, "I didn't want any one to distract me; I'm going to make photographs and sketches for the book, you know."

"But you let us come!"

"Yes," assented Millicent; "you're different."

"That's true. We won't disturb you; and Nasmyth wouldn't count. He's an unobtrusive person, only to the front when he is wanted, which is a good deal to say for him; he doesn't expect anything. No doubt, the same applies to Lisle."

Millicent made no answer and Bella wondered whether she had gone too far.

"But didn't Clarence hear that you were going?" she asked.

"He was in Switzerland with his mother. She had been recommended to try a change."

Bella asked no more questions and Millicent sat wondering how far she had been influenced by the reason she had given for leaving Clarence behind. She had undoubtedly desired to be free to devote herself to the gathering of material for her book, but that was not quite all. She had also half-consciously shrunk from the close contact with Clarence which would have been one result of their life in camp, but this she refused to admit. It was clearer that she desired an extension of the liberty which she must sometime relinquish. Taking it all round, she was rather troubled in mind.

"There's one thing," remarked Bella. "He can't write you any reproachful letters for stealing away. At least, if he does so, you won't get them."

This, as Millicent recognized, was a relief, but Miss Hume broke in upon her reflections with some trifling request and soon afterward the men strolled back toward the fire. The packers had already gone to sleep; the dew was heavy, but Nasmyth lay down on the shingle and Carew took a place beside his wife's chair. Suddenly Millicent leaned forward with her face turned toward the lake.

"Listen!" she cried sharply. "Can't you hear something?"

No sound reached the others for a moment; and then Nasmyth jumped up.

"Yes," he exclaimed; "canoe paddles."

A measured beat stole out of the silence, increasing until it broke sharply through the tranquil lapping of the water. Then, far up the glittering lake, a dim black bar crept out into the moonlight and by degrees grew plainer.

"Of course, they may be Indians," Bella suggested mischievously.

Carew included Millicent in his answering bow.

"No; I believe I'm beaten. You and Miss Gladwyne were right."

The moonlight was on Millicent's face, and Bella, watching her, read something that roused her interest in its expression—it was stronger than satisfaction, a deeper feeling not unmixed with pride. She had called and the man she had summoned from the depths of the wilderness had responded.

A few minutes later the canoe grounded noisily on the shingle and Crestwick leaped out; Bella, regardless of the others, flung her arms about his neck and kissed him; and then she held him off so that she might see him. His garments were rent and tattered, his face was very lean, and one of his hands was bleeding from continuous labor with the paddle.

"Oh!" she cried; "you disreputable scarecrow! You're not fit for select society. And how long is it since you had anything to eat?"

"We had a rather rough time getting through; there was thick scrub timber in some of the valleys," Crestwick explained. "We might have made things easier by spending another few days on the trail, but Lisle wouldn't listen when I suggested it."

"Then you did suggest it," said Bella reproachfully. "Of course, I'm merely your sister."

"I don't want a better one," Crestwick rejoined, grinning. "It strikes me you're looking prettier than you did; but that's perhaps because you have taken to wearing more ladylike clothes. As regards my appearance, I'll venture to say that yours will be very much the same before you've finished this journey."

Lisle had walked toward Miss Hume and had shaken hands with her before he turned to Millicent. That pleased the girl.

"We ran it rather close, but the day isn't quite finished yet," he laughed. "We had some little trouble once or twice which prevented our turning up earlier."

Millicent smiled in a manner that sent a thrill through him.

"I can only say that we kept your supper; but that's significant, isn't it?" Then she called to Nasmyth.

"Will you see if the cook's awake?"

She had no opportunity for saying anything further, for Carew came up with Bella, who was voluble, and some time later Lisle and Crestwick sat down to a bountiful meal, while Millicent and Bella waited on them. Lisle was slightly embarrassed by their ministrations, but Crestwick openly enjoyed them.

"Put the plate where I can reach it easily," he bade his sister. "Look how you have placed that cup; if I move, it will spill!"

"You have more courage than I have, Jim," Carew remarked with a smile.

"I've needed it," the lad declared. "I've borne enough from Bella in my time. She'll no doubt say that I deserved it, and there may be some ground for the notion."

When the meal was finished they all gathered round the replenished fire, Lisle lying back in the shadow because of the state of his clothes. With the exception of Jim, the others were dressed much as they had been at home; their conversation was light and easy, and their manner tranquil. If he could have blotted out the background of tall straight trunks and shadowy rocks, he could have imagined that they were lounging on a sheltered English lawn. Double-skinned tents, camp-chairs, and other signs of a regard for physical comfort bore out the idea in his mind. These English people with their quiet confidence that what they needed—and that was a good deal—would, as had always happened, somehow be supplied, were at once exasperating and admirable. They were the same everywhere, unmoved by change, claiming all that was choicest as by right, and very much at ease on the fringe of the wilderness. They did not belong to it; one could have imagined that it belonged to them. Their journey, however, had only begun, and there were alterations that must obviously be made on the morrow.

Then Lisle yielded to a strong sense of satisfaction. For the next month or two he would be almost constantly in Millicent's company; her companions were his friends, and he thought that he would not be troubled by Gladwyne's presence. Desiring to assure himself on the latter point, he turned to Bella.

"Nobody has mentioned Clarence. I was wondering if he would join us?"

"No," she answered, smiling at him meaningly; "he wasn't invited." Then she moved away, leaving Lisle more deeply content.

Presently the party broke up, and when they reached the tent they jointly occupied, Miss Hume remarked to Millicent:

"You look unusually pleased, my dear."

"I dare say I do," Millicent smiled. "It's something to feel that one's confidence has been justified, and perhaps rather more to rest assured that everything will now go as smoothly as possible."

"I suppose you mean since Mr. Lisle has come? Apart from his practical abilities, I'm fond of that man. No doubt you noticed that he came first to me, as the eldest, though he is aware that I'm only a dependent. In a way, of course, he wasn't altogether right, Bella Carew being married and you the actual hostess."

"I wonder if such points are of any importance in the bush," Millicent answered, laughing. "But I'm glad Mr. Lisle's action won your good opinion. I like my friends to be graceful."

Miss Hume, faded, gray-haired and formal, looked reflective.

"The word you used is not quite the one I should have chosen. Clarence Gladwyne is graceful; I think this Canadian is something better. To-night he was actuated by genuine chivalry. My esteem may not be worth much, but it is his."

Moved by some impulse, Millicent kissed her.

"I've no doubt he'd value it. But I can't have Clarence depreciated; and it's getting very late."

Miss Hume noticed a slight change in the girl's voice as she mentioned Gladwyne. She put out the lamp but it was some time before she went to sleep. She loved Millicent, and she believed there was trouble awaiting her.



CHAPTER XXVI

LISLE TURNS AUTOCRAT

On the morning after his arrival, Lisle called the company together and first of all addressed Millicent.

"It's your wish that I should act as guide to this expedition?"

Millicent answered in the affirmative and he went on:

"The guide must be commander-in-chief, with undisputed authority. Before we start, I must ask if any one objects to that?"

They gave him full power, with acclamation, and he nodded.

"Well," he continued, "I'd better explain that the main difficulty attending any expedition into an almost uninhabited region is to keep it supplied with food and means of shelter; it's a question of transport. There are two ways of getting over the difficulty—by reducing the weight, or by increasing the number of packers; and the latter are useful only when each man can transport more than will satisfy his personal requirements. I think that's clear?"

They assented with some curiosity mixed with a slight uneasiness.

"Then," he proceeded, "I'll exercise my authority by asking you to lay out in front of each tent everything you have brought with you."

"Including our clothes?" Bella asked.

"Assuredly," said Crestwick. "You can put them in a heap; it's the quantity and not the cut that counts."

It was evident that the leader's first instructions were received with little favor. Millicent looked dubious and Miss Hume alarmed; but the orders were carried out, and Lisle accompanied by Crestwick made a tour of inspection. Stopping in front of Bella's and Carew's tent, he pointed to their rather imposing pile of baggage.

"Two-thirds of this will have to be left behind, though we'll try to pick it up again. You can make your selection." He went on to Millicent's and Miss Hume's collection. "We can't take more than half of this," he informed them. Then he addressed the company in general. "The three ladies must occupy Miss Gladwyne's tent, and the men Carew's; Nasmyth's must be abandoned. Each man's outfit must be cut down to one change of clothes and his blanket."

The announcement was received with open murmurs. They had all been accustomed to every comfort with which a high civilization could provide them; they had already cut down their belongings to the lowest limit at which, in their estimation, life could be made endurable; and many of the articles they were told must be left behind were costly and artistic. It was a severe test of obedience and even Nasmyth, who knew the wilderness, desiring to safeguard the women, was not inclined to yield. Lisle had only Crestwick to support him until Bella touched his arm.

"Stand fast," she urged, somewhat to his surprise. "If you give way an inch now, you'll be sorry."

Lisle smiled and then raised his voice.

"I'm afraid I must insist. Since you object, Carew, are you willing to carry forty pounds upon your back while you break a trail through thick timber, where we find it needful to leave the water?"

"Certainly not," said Carew decidedly.

"Then," Lisle advised dryly, "you had better leave as much as possible of the weight behind; there's no likelihood of our getting more packers. You have to choose between a camp-chair or a suitcase, for example, and your daily dinner."

For a moment or two they hesitated. Lisle had, straining his new authority to the utmost, asked them a very hard thing, for in their regard some degree of luxury was less an accidental favor than a prescriptive right. Then Bella took up a long garment and with a little resolute gesture flung it from her.

"That," she laughed, "is the first sacrifice to the stern guardians of the wilds. It ought to satisfy them, considering who made it and what it cost." She seized a small valise and hurled it after the dress. "There's the next; I'm thankful my complexion will stand the weather."

Millicent looked up at Lisle, indicating a small easel, a bulky sketch-book, and a box of water-colors.

"Are these to go?" she asked with indignant eyes.

"No," he answered gravely; "they're the reason for the whole expedition, and their transport is provided for. But you'll have to jettison something else."

The selections were made and Lisle summoned one of the packers.

"Roll these things up in Mr. Nasmyth's tent, Pete," he bade him. "You'll have to make a cache of them."

"Like burying money, isn't it?" remarked the man, regarding the pile of sundries with a grin. "Guess they won't be worth much when they're dug up again."

Half an hour later, three deeply-laden canoes left the beach; and all day the party paddled up the gleaming lake and crept with poles going up a slow, green river. Sunset was near when they landed and ate supper among a clump of cedars; and after the meal most of them, cramped with the canoe journey, climbed the steep hill-bench or strolled away along the shingle. Lisle was lying, smoking, beside the fire when Millicent sauntered toward him and sat down upon a neighboring stone.

"You were right, of course," she apologized. "Am I forgiven? It was only a momentary revolt."

He smiled, though his bronzed coloring deepened, for there was an unusual gentleness in her voice.

"It was very natural," he replied. "I had expected more determined opposition; but I didn't go farther than was necessary."

"No; I think the others realize that now."

"They'll be more convinced of it later," he responded with a trace of grimness.

"I don't think they'll give you any trouble; but since you got rid of Nasmyth's tent, where will you and Crestwick sleep?"

"Jim and I can make a shelter of some kind; we're used to the bush."

"What have you done to the lad?" Millicent asked. "I can hardly realize the change in him; he's a different being."

"I've merely given him a chance he would hardly have had in England. The country has done the rest. You can ask him how much advice or admonishment he got."

"Oh," she explained, "I shouldn't expect you to give him advice; it's cheap!"

He made no reply, and her eyes rested with quiet approval on his rather embarrassed face. She had no doubt that close contact with this man had had more to do with the change in Crestwick than the influence of the country; and then she recollected that the lad's degeneration had been marked and rapid while he had taken Clarence for a model. It was a troublesome thought and she banished it with an effort.

"You didn't get here without difficulty; and our journey will keep you away from your business for some time," she observed.

"As to that, I've earned a little leisure; and I've been looking forward to this trip ever since I left England. Now it's almost like being back there again, only that in some ways it's even better."

So far as their surroundings might explain his satisfaction, Millicent could frankly agree with him. The black spires of the cedars, towering far above them, cut in rigid tracery against the splendors of the sunset sky; one stretch of the river still shone with a saffron light; the rest, which had grown dim, flowed through deepening shadow. Filmy mist trails streaked the rugged hills and the hoarse clamor of a rapid quivered in the cool air. Behind it all, there was something that set the lonely scene apart from any other that the girl had looked upon—one could realize that this was as yet an untamed and unsullied region. But her companion was accustomed to the wilderness, so there must be, she thought, another cause for his content.

"I am glad you do not grudge the time you may have to spend with us," she said.

"Grudge it!" he exclaimed; and then, restraining himself, he broke into a soft laugh. "You may accuse me of that feeling when you hear me grumble."

The ring in his voice had its meaning and it left her thoughtful. The revelation was not altogether new; she had guessed his regard for her, but she imagined that she could hold him at arm's length if it were necessary. It was with him as it was with Nasmyth, and they were alike in their self-restraint. Nasmyth had quietly accepted his dismissal when she had shown him that it was irrevocable; and the Canadian would not trouble her with futile complaints. She wondered if out of three suitors she had not chosen the least desirable in some respects; but this could not be admitted and she resolutely thrust the idea aside.

"There's a point I'd better mention," Lisle resumed in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'm not going to follow the route of the first expedition from the beginning. I've thought of a shorter and easier one; we'll strike the other by the big portage and then follow it down."

"Are you afraid of wearing out your untried followers?"

"Well," he admitted, "I'm taking no risks that can be avoided this journey."

She smilingly commended his caution, though she was conscious of a desire, which must be held in check, to see what he would do if he could be shaken out of his self-control. She approved of his restraint, because only while it was exerted could she meet him on friendly terms; but, as had happened on his last afternoon in England, it piqued her. She wondered how much it cost him.

"After all," she said with a forced laugh, "it's better to keep carefully clear of danger."

"Yes," he agreed; "but there's now and then a temptation to face the hazard. One feels that it's worth while."

"Never mind that. I think I'd rather enjoy the wildness of this scene than to philosophize. Tell me about the bear and deer we are likely to come across."

He discoursed at length, and she sat listening while the light faded and the cedars grew blacker. Then the others approached and they went back to camp.

"Breakfast will be at seven prompt," he informed them. "The packers will strike tents while you eat, so have everything ready. There are two awkward portages to be tackled to-morrow."

They started in a clammy mist which clung about them until they reached the foot of the first wild rapid, where the green and white flood came roaring over ledges and between huge boulders, with wisps of spray tossing over it. This was Millicent's first sight of the river in anger, and she watched, at first almost appalled and then thrilled with strong excitement, when Lisle and one packer took the leading canoe up the lowest rush. They stood upright in the unloaded, unstable craft, long pole in hand, guiding her with what seemed wonderful skill across madly-whirling eddies and through tumbling foam, while Nasmyth and another man, floundering deep in water, assisted them at intervals with the tracking-line. Once Nasmyth's companion lost his footing and disappeared, but he rose and Millicent saw that instead of clinging to the line for safety he loosed it, and swimming down a wild white tumult, came dripping ashore. This, she thought, was bracing work that made for more than physical vigor; but she could not imagine Clarence indulging in it. It was too elemental, too barbarous for him. He was fond of exertion in the form of sport, but he required somebody to saddle and lead out his horse and to load his second gun. There was a difference between him and those who delighted to grapple at first hand with nature.

She was astonished to see Crestwick get a heavy flour bag upon his back and move away with it over very rough stones, and she joined in Bella's laugh when Carew attempted to shoulder another and dropped it.

"It's the first time he's ever tried such a thing in his life," Bella remarked. "There's nothing like personal experience. You don't realize that it isn't easy when you give a porter sixpence to lift your biggest trunk at a station."

"The difference is that the porter's used to it," Carew, who was red-faced and breathless, pointed out.

"It looks as if that would apply to you before we've finished," Bella retorted. "If you can't do anything else, why don't you help those men in the river?"

Carew made a gesture of resignation and resolutely plunged in.

"That," laughed Bella, to Millicent and Miss Hume, "is excellent discipline; after a little of it, I believe he'll do me credit. I can think of a few overfed men that I'd like to put through a drastic course of it, only in their case I'd go in the canoe and take my heaviest luggage with me."

"It wouldn't be wise," asserted Millicent. "When they reached broken water they'd probably let you go."

She collected an armful of odds and ends and set off up-stream over the portage. The men spent several hours bringing the canoes and stores across, and there followed some laborious poling before they reached the second rapid, which was safely passed. The party was quieter than usual after supper that night. They had had their first glimpse of the strenuous life of the wilderness and it had impressed them. The effect passed off, however, as they pushed on day after day without mishap. Millicent, in particular, delighted in all she saw—the fresh green of the birches among the somber cedars, the lonely heights that ever surrounded them, the gleaming lakes, the broad green flood that here and there filled the gorges with its thunder.

She suffered no discomfort she could not laugh at; there was something that braced her in mind and body in the mountain air; and Clarence no longer held a leading place in her memory. She realized now that the thought of him had hitherto occasioned her a vague uneasiness. Indeed, she was almost glad that he was far away; liberty was unexpectedly sweet, and though she had a few misgivings, she meant to enjoy it while it lasted.

Then one afternoon when they were stopped by a fall, she slipped away from the others with her sketch-book, and wandering back through straggling bush, climbed a rocky ridge. The ascent was steep, but by clambering up a gully she reached the summit, and after strolling along it she sat down to sketch the gorge below. The work absorbed her attention and some time had passed when the lengthening shadows warned her that she would better retrace her steps to camp.

It proved difficult. She could not find the gully she had climbed up and the side of the ridge was almost precipitous and was clothed with brushwood. At last, however, she reached a spot from which it seemed possible to make the descent; but after scrambling and sliding for some distance she was suddenly stopped by a sheer drop of several yards to a ledge. Being agile, she might have reached the ledge by lowering herself by her hands, but it was narrow and slanted outwards, so that she feared to slip off in alighting and fall over the crag below. She attempted to climb back to the summit and found it impossible, for the stones she seized were loose and came away when she disturbed them. She could only stay where she was and call for assistance, though the clamor of the fall, ringing up the valley, almost drowned her voice.

By and by the sunlight faded off the rocks above, the trees below grew shadowy, and Millicent began to feel anxious and to envy the others who would, no doubt, be sitting down to their evening meal. They would miss her and set out in search; but they might not reach her until it was dark, when it would be difficult to extricate her, and she had no desire to spend the night among the rocks. She made another determined attempt to get up, but slid back, nearly slipping over the edge, while her sketch-book went clattering far below. Then she sat still, calling out at intervals.

The light grew dimmer, white mists began to trail about the heights above, and Millicent was getting cold. She was also getting angry—it looked as if the others were too busy eating or talking to care what had become of her; some of them ought to have come in search. She felt a grievance against Lisle in particular. Why she should blame him more than Nasmyth or Carew was not very clear, except that he was more used to the country; but she felt that he ought to have come to her rescue. Then, fearing that she would have to spend the night on the hillside, she carefully crept toward a small level space near a jutting rock and sat down, shivering, while dusk slowly crept across the bush.



CHAPTER XXVII

AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE

Millicent had no intention of going to sleep among the rocks, but after a while she grew drowsy, and when at length she raised her head with a start the moon hung over the hills across the river, flooding the heights above her with a silvery light. The trees below were sharper in form, but everything was very still; only the thunder of the fall seemed to have increased in depth of tone. Millicent shivered from the cold as she sent a sharp cry ringing across the woods.

This time it was answered, and she recognized the voice. Looking down, she could see Lisle's black figure moving cautiously along the ledge, for although the lower rocks were wrapped in shadow it is never altogether dark in the northern summer. Coming out into the moonlight, he examined the slab of rock which had arrested her descent, but when he spoke she was not quite pleased with his very matter-of-fact tone. It left something to be desired—she thought he might have displayed more satisfaction at finding her safe.

"Is there anything you could catch hold of at the top?" he asked. "If so, you'd better lower yourself until I can reach you."

Anxious as she was to get down, Millicent hesitated; if she did as he suggested she would descend into his arms. She was not unduly prudish, and indeed, after being left alone in the impressive solitude of the wilds, she would have been glad of the reassuring grasp of a human being. But an obscure feeling, springing, perhaps, from primitive instincts, made her shrink from close contact with this particular man.

"No," she answered coldly; "the rock is loose. Besides, the ledge is narrow, and if I came down heavily, we might both fall over."

He again examined the slab, and then stood still, considering.

"Well," he decided, "there's a crack some way up that should give me a hold, and a bit of a projection you could rest a foot on yonder. Then if you gave me one hand, I could lower you down."

He came up, thrusting his fingers into a fissure near the summit and finding a tiny support for his toes. Lowering herself cautiously, she clutched the hand he extended.

"Now," he cautioned, "as gently as possible!"

Loosing her hold above, she hung for a moment or two, half afraid to let go his hand, while his arm and body grew tense with the strain and she could hear his labored breath. Summoning her courage she relaxed her grasp. In another second she was safe upon the ledge, and, scrambling down, he stood beside her with a set, flushed face, the veins protruding on his forehead.

"I'm glad that's over; I was badly scared," he acknowledged.

She thrilled at the confession, though she thought there had been no serious risk; his concern for her safety was strangely pleasant and the strenuous grasp of his fingers had stirred her.

"Oh," she replied, "I believe I was quite safe after you got hold of me."

He glanced at the steep face of broken rock that ran down into the shadow.

"If we'd gone over, we might not have brought up for a while," he said. "But what's that resting on yonder jutting stone?"

"I'm sorry it's my sketch-book," Millicent answered unguardedly. "It's nearly filled."

"Then wait here a little."

"You can't get it!" Millicent cried sharply. "You mustn't try!"

"It's quite easy."

Millicent could not resist the temptation to make a rather dangerous experiment.

"And yet you were afraid a minute or two ago!"

"Yes," he answered, looking at her steadily. "But that was different."

She felt her heart-beats quicken and her face grow hot, but she laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"I won't let you go."

"You must be reasonable," he urged, moving a pace away. "That book stands for a good deal of high-grade work. If you lose it, you will have wasted all the first part of your journey. Besides, I should feel very mean if I left it lying there."

He lowered himself over the edge, and moving from cranny to cranny and stone to stone, went cautiously down, while she watched him with her hands closed tight. What the actual peril was she could not estimate; but it looked appallingly dangerous, particularly when in one place he had to descend from a slightly overhanging stone. He reached the book, however, and came up, and when at length he stood beside her his expression was quite normal and he was only a little breathless. Again she felt a disconcerting thrill which was accompanied by a confused sense of pride. What he had done was in her service, and this time he had shown no sign of fear or strain.

"Thank you," she said. "But I'm a little angry—you shouldn't have gone. I should never have forgiven myself if you had got hurt."

There was light enough to show that the blood crept into his face; but he turned and glanced at the descending ledge.

"You had better put your hand on my shoulder where it's steep," he suggested. "Still, we're not going to have much trouble in getting down."

They had reached level ground before anything more was said, and then she turned to him with a smile.

"Why didn't you come before? You left me an unpleasantly long while among the rocks."

"We didn't miss you until supper," he explained. "Then I set off at once, but I didn't know which way to look and the bush was pretty thick." Stopping in the moonlight, he indicated his rent attire. "I think this speaks for itself," he added humorously. "There's one consolation—the things belong to Carew."

Millicent was glad that he was not going to be serious.

"I remember that you didn't bring much of an outfit," she replied. "I suppose you had one. What became of it?"

"I left it behind, in pieces, on the thorns and rocks along a good many leagues of trail; but it wasn't extensive—when you travel in this country you have often to choose between food and clothes. It was obviously impossible to buy any more, but the day before we reached camp I made Crestwick cut my hair. After a look at myself in Nasmyth's pocket-glass, I'm inclined to think he was unwarrantably proud of his success."

After that they chatted lightly, until they walked into the glow of the camp-fire, and while Bella and Miss Hume plied Millicent with questions and congratulations, Lisle took up Nasmyth's repeating rifle and fired it several times.

"That will bring the boys in," he explained. "Now I'll get Miss Gladwyne's supper."

During the meal the others came back and when they had all assembled, looking the worse for their scramble through the bush, Crestwick, who had occasional lapses from good behavior, addressed them collectively.

"Wasn't I right?" he asked. "I offered anybody three to one that Lisle would be the first to find her."

"Then you ought to be ashamed of it, after the expensive way in which your confidence in your opinions has often been shown to be mistaken," declared Bella. "Besides, you promised me you wouldn't waste your money that way again!"

"This time I was backing a moral certainty," Crestwick rejoined. "That isn't gambling; if you're not convinced, you can ask the others on what grounds they were so unwilling to take me."

Receiving no encouragement, he addressed Millicent, who was extremely vexed with him.

"I suppose you know that you have given us all a good deal of anxiety. You ought to feel contrite."

"I'm not sorry if I've given you a good deal of trouble," Millicent retorted. "You were a long time in coming to my rescue."

"That," he exclaimed, "is just the kind of thing Bella used to delight in saying, though I'll own that she's been much more civil lately. It's possible that Carew's patience is not so long as mine."

"Aren't you getting rather personal?" Carew hinted.

Crestwick subsided with an indulgent grimace, but when they retired to their shelter Lisle turned upon him.

"It struck me that those jokes of yours were in what you would call uncommonly bad form," he said. "It would be better if you didn't make any more of them."

"Bella doesn't mind; she's used to me," Crestwick grinned.

"I wasn't referring to Bella—she has somebody to take care of her."

"And Miss Gladwyne hasn't? Still, that's her own fault, isn't it? In my opinion, she has only to say the word." He paused, seeing his companion's face in the moonlight, for its expression was not encouraging. "Oh, well!" he added, "you needn't lose your temper. There are people who can never see when a thing's humorous; I'll wind up."

In the meanwhile Millicent sat in the entrance of her tent, looking out between the dark trunks of the cedars on the glittering river. It sluiced by, lapping noisily upon the shingle, lined with streaks of froth, and the roar of the neighboring fall filled the lonely gorge. The wildness of her surroundings had its charm; she had been happier among them than she had been at any time during the last twelve months in England, and now she was uneasily conscious of the reason. Lisle's constant watchfulness over her comfort, his cheery conversation, even the sight of him when he was too busy to talk, were strangely pleasant. She realized why she had made him take the harder way in helping her down from the rock and the knowledge was disconcerting. She had been afraid to trust herself to the clasp of his arms, but not because of any want of confidence in him.

Then she saw Carew kiss Bella among the cedars before she left him to walk toward the tent, and the sight stirred her blood. It was clear that she must be on her guard; her guide must be kept firmly at a distance, though this promised to be difficult. She was, to all intents and purposes, pledged to Clarence; and until Bella joined her she tried to fix her thoughts on him, wondering where he was and what he was doing, without being able to find much interest in the question.

As it happened, Clarence was then sitting in a luxurious parlor-car as a big west-bound train sped through the forests of Ontario, but his face was troubled and he felt ill at ease. A little more than a fortnight earlier he had met Marple at a Swiss hotel, and the man had informed him that Miss Gladwyne and Miss Hume had sailed for Canada. Nasmyth, he added, had gone by a previous steamer, to make arrangements for some journey they wished to undertake. This was the first intimation Clarence had received. Millicent had written to him on the day before she sailed, but the letter, following him to one of the Italian valleys, had not yet reached him, and he was filled with consternation. She had stolen away, as if she did not wish to be burdened with his company; she was going to visit the scene of her brother's death, no doubt under the guidance of Lisle, who had strong suspicions concerning it. He might communicate them to Millicent; perhaps he had done so already, which would account for her silent departure. With an effort Gladwyne roused himself to action. He made up his mind to follow her and, if necessary, attempt some defense. Perhaps, he thought, he could manage to destroy any evidence of his treachery which the Canadian had discovered.

Still, he was tormented by doubts as he lounged in the parlor-car, and, growing restless, he went out on the rear platform and lighted a cigar. There was faint moonlight, and dim trees fled past him; the rattle of wheels and the rush of the cool wind was soothing. He could not think while he stood holding on by the brass rail to protect himself against the lurching, and he found a relief in the roar as the great train swept across a foaming river. They had been detained at a junction during the afternoon, and the engineer was evidently bent on making up the wasted time.

Presently the door of the next car opened, and Gladwyne started violently as a dark figure came out on to the platform.

"Batley!" he cried. "What in the name of wonder has brought you here!"

Batley moving forward into the moonlight, regarded him with a mocking smile.

"Nothing very remarkable; I'd several motives. For one thing, I felt I'd like the trip—had a stroke of luck not long ago which justified the expense. British Columbia's nowadays almost as accessible as parts of Norway, where I've generally gone to, and I understand it's wilder."

"But how is it I haven't seen you on the train?" Gladwyne asked, in no way reassured by the man's careless explanation.

"I only got on at the last junction." Batley's tone was significant as he proceeded. "I was too late for your Allan boat; when I inquired about you in London I found that you had gone; but I caught the next New York Cunarder and came on by Buffalo. I suppose you stopped a day or two in Montreal, which explains how I've overtaken you."

"We were held up by ice off Newfoundland."

"Well," suggested Batley, "suppose we go into the smoking end of the car. I dare say you'd like a talk and it's rather noisy here. Besides, the cinders are a little too plentiful."

They went in and Batley, lounging in a seat, lighted a cigar and waited with an amused expression for the other to begin. Gladwyne was intensely uneasy. It had been a vast relief to be free from his companion, and the last thing he desired was that Batley, who was a remarkably keen-witted man, should go over the track of George's expedition in company with Lisle.

"Now," he said, "I'd be glad if you would tell me exactly why you followed me. The reason you gave didn't seem sufficient."

"Then my other object ought to be clear. You're carrying a good deal of my money; I felt it would be wiser to keep an eye on you. As I said, I'd had a stroke of luck that enabled me to get away."

"I suppose that means somebody has suffered!" Gladwyne, in his bitterness, could not help the injudicious sneer.

"Oh, no," returned Batley good-humoredly. "In this case, I'd set a man on his feet—it's now and then as profitable as pulling one down, and my methods aren't always destructive. The fellow was straight and I'm inclined to believe he was grateful. I don't think he could have found anybody else to back him, but I'm not afraid of a risk." He paused and smiled at his companion. "Sometimes I make mistakes; I did so with you."

Gladwyne flushed, but Batley proceeded:

"I may remind you that when I financed you I was led to believe that you would succeed to a handsome property; not one that was stripped of its working capital. I'll give you credit for misleading me rather cleverly. All this is to the point, because it explains my watchful attitude. You're the kind of man I prefer to keep in sight."

Disgust, humiliation and anger possessed Gladwyne, but he knew that he was in his companion's hands, and he did not think that Batley had stated all of his reasons yet. It was possible that he expected to discover something in British Columbia that would strengthen his hold on his victim.

"Well," he replied with an attempt at calmness, "we needn't quarrel, since it looks as if we'd have to put up with each other for some time. Have you finished what you have to say?"

"Not quite. There's one question yet. When do you expect to marry Miss Gladwyne?"

"What is that to you?" Clarence broke out.

"Just this—I'm anxious to form some idea as to when I'm likely to get my money back. Since Miss Crestwick dropped you, there's only Miss Gladwyne available, so far as I know, and you have got to marry money and do so pretty soon. I'm willing to do anything that may help on the match."