His friends, indeed, lost no opportunity of informing him that he was a tremendously favored young man, but this phase of the affair had caused him little thought, simply because the girl herself had come so swiftly to overshadow, in his regard, every other consideration—even her own wealth and position. At the same time he could not but be aware that his standing in his little world was subtly altered as soon as he became known as the favored suitor of Wayne Wayland's daughter. He began to receive favors from comparative strangers; unexpected social privileges were granted him; his way was made easier in a hundred particulars. From every quarter delicately gratifying distinctions came to him. Without his volition he found that he had risen to an entirely different position from that which he had formerly occupied; the mere coupling of his name with Mildred Wayland's had lifted him into a calcium glare. It affected him not at all, he only knew that he was truly enslaved to the girl, that he idolized her, that he regarded her as something priceless, sacred. She, in turn, frankly capitulated to him, in proud disregard of what her world might say, as complete in her surrender to this new lover as she had been inaccessible in her reserve toward all the rest.

And when he had graduated, how proud of her he had been! How little he had realized the gulf that separated them, and how quick had been his awakening!

It was Wayne Wayland who had shown him his folly. He had talked to the young engineer kindly, if firmly, being too shrewd an old diplomat to fan the flame of a headstrong love with vigorous opposition.

"Mildred is a rich girl," the old financier had told Boyd, "a very rich girl; one of the richest girls in this part of the world; while you, my boy—what have you to offer?"

"Nothing! But you were not always what you are now," Emerson had replied. "Every man has to make a start. When you married, you were as poor as I am."

"Granted! But I married a poor girl, from my own station in life. Fortunately she had the latent power to develop with me as I grew; so that we kept even and I never outdistanced her. But Mildred is spoiled to begin with. I spoiled her purposely, to prevent just this sort of thing. She is bred to luxury, her friends are rich, and she doesn't know any other kind of life. Her tastes and habits and inclinations are extravagant, to put it plainly—yes, worse than extravagant; they are positively scandalous. She is about the richest girl in the country, and by virtue of wealth as well as breeding she is one of the American aristocracy. Oh! people may say what they please, but we have an aristocracy all the same which is just as well marked and just as exclusive as if it rested upon birth instead of bank accounts."

"You wouldn't object to our marriage if I were rich and Mildred were poor," Emerson had said, rather cynically.

"Perhaps not. A poor girl can marry a rich man and get along all right if she has brains; but a very rich girl can't marry a very poor man and be happy unless she is peculiarly constituted. I happen to know that my girl isn't so constituted. She is utterly impossible as a poor man's wife. She can't do anything: she can't economize, she can't amuse herself, she can't be happy without the things she is accustomed to; it is in her blood and training and disposition. She would try, bless you! she would try all right—for a while—but I know her better than she knows herself. You see, I have the advantage of knowing myself and of having known her mother before her. She is a hothouse flower, and adversity would wither her. Mind you, I don't say that her husband must be a millionaire, but he will need a running start on the road to make her happy, and—well, the fellow who gets my girl will make her happy or I'll make him damned miserable!" The old fellow had squared his jaws belligerently at this statement.

"You have nothing against me—personally, I mean?"

"Nothing."

"She loves me."

"She seems to. But both of you are young and may get over it before you reach the last hurdle."

"Then you forbid it?" Boyd had queried, his own glance challenging that of her father.

"By no means. I neither forbid nor consent. I merely ask you to stand still and use your eyes for a little while. You have intelligence. Don't be hasty. I am going to tell her just what I have told you, and I think she is sensible enough to realize the truth of my remarks. No! instead of forbidding you Mildred's society, I am going to give you all you want of it. I am going to make you free at our house. I am going to see that you meet her friends and go where she goes. I want you to do the things that she does and see how she lives. The more you see of us, the better it will suit me. I have been studying you for some time, Mr. Emerson, and I think I have read you correctly. After you have spent a few months with us, come to me again and we will talk it over. I may say yes by that time, or you may not wish me to. Perhaps Mildred will decide for both of us."

"That is satisfactory to me."

"Very well! We dine at seven to-night; and we shall expect you."

That Mr. Wayland had made no mistake in his judgment, Emerson had soon been forced to admit; for the more he saw of Mildred's life, the more plainly he perceived the barriers that lay between them. Those months had been an education to him. He had become an integral part of Chicago's richer social world. The younger set had accepted him readily enough on the score of his natural good parts, while the name of Wayne Wayland had acted like magic upon the elders. Yet it had been a cruel time of probation for the young lover, who continually felt the searching eyes of the old man reading him; and despite the fact that Mildred took no pains to conceal her preference for him, there had been no lack of other suitors, all of whom Boyd hated with a perfect hate.

They had never discussed the matter, yet both the lovers had been conscious that the old man's words were pregnant with truth, and after a few months, during which Emerson had made little progress in his profession, Mildred had gone to her father and frankly begged his aid. But he had remained like adamant.

"I have been pretty lenient so far. He will have to make his own way without my help. You know he isn't my candidate."

Recognizing the despair which was possessing her lover, and jealous for her own happiness, Mildred had arranged that both of them, together, should have a talk with her father. The result had been the same. Mr. Wayland listened grimly, then said:

"This request for assistance shows that both of you are beginning to realize the wisdom of my remarks of a year ago."

"I'm not asking aid from you," Emerson had blazed forth. "I can take care of myself and of Mildred."

"Permit me to show you that you can't. Your life and training have not fitted you for the position of Mildred's husband. Have you any idea how many millions she is going to own?"

No, and I don't care to know."

"I don't care to tell you either, but the Wayland fortune will carry such a tremendous responsibility with it that my successor will have to be a stronger man than I am to hold it together. I merely gathered it; he must keep it. You haven't qualified in either respect yet."

Mildred had interrupted petulantly. "Oh, this endless chatter of money! It is disgusting. I only wish we were poor. Instead of a blessing, our wealth is an unmitigated curse—a terrible, exhausting burden. I hear of nothing else from morning till night. It gives us no pleasure, nothing but care and worry and—wrinkles. I can do without horses and motors and maids, and all that. I want to live, really to live." She had arisen and gone over to Boyd, laying her hand upon his shoulder. "I will give it all up. Let us try to be happy without it."

It had been a tense moment for both men. Their eyes had met defiantly, but, reading in the father's face the contempt that waited upon an unmanly decision, Boyd's pride stood up stiffly.

"No," he replied, "I can't let you do that. Not yet, anyhow. Mr. Wayland is right, in a way. If he had not been so decent I would have married you anyhow, but I am indebted to him. He has shown me a lot more of your life than I knew before, and he has made his word good. I am going to ask you to wait, however; for quite a while, it may be. I am going to take a gambler's chance."

"What is it?"

"A gold strike has been made in Alaska—"

"Alaska!"

"Yes! The Klondike. You have read of it? I am told that the chances there are like those in the days of '49, and I am going."

So it was that he had made his choice, fixing his own time for returning, and so it was that Mildred Wayland had awaited him.

If to-day, after three years of deprivation, she seemed to him more beautiful than ever—the interval having served merely to enhance her charm and strengthen the yearning of his heart—she seemed in the same view still further removed from his sphere. More reserved, more dignified, in the reserve of developed womanhood, her cession was the more gracious and wonderful.

His story finished, Boyd went on to tell her vaguely of his future plans, and at the last he asked her, with something less than an accepted lover's confidence:

"Will you wait another year?"

She laughed lightly. "You dear boy, I am not up for auction. This is not the 'third and last call.' I am not sure I could induce anybody to take me, even if I desired."

"I read the rumor of your engagement in a back number of a San Francisco paper. Is your retinue as large as ever?"

She smiled indifferently. "It alters with the season, but I believe the general average is about the same. You know most of them." She mentioned a number of names, counting them off on her finger-tips. "Then, of course, there are the old standbys, Mr. Macklin, Tommy Turner, the Lawton boys—"

"And Alton Clyde!"

"To be sure; little Alton, like the brook, runs on forever. He still worships you, Boyd, by the way."

"And there are others?"

"A few."

"Who?"

"Nobody you know."

"Any one in particular?" Boyd demanded, with a lover's insistence.

Miss Wayland's hesitation was so brief as almost to escape his notice. "Nobody who counts. Of course, father has his predilections and insists upon engineering my affairs in the same way he would float a railroad enterprise, but you can imagine how romantic the result is."

"Who is the favored party?" the young man asked, darkly. But she arose to push back the heavy draperies and gaze for a moment out into the deepening twilight. When she answered, it was in a tone of ordinary indifference.

"Really it isn't worth discussing. I shall not marry until I am ready, and the subject bores me." An instant later she turned to regard him with direct eyes.

"Do you remember when I offered to give it all up and go with you, Boyd?"

"I have never forgotten for an instant,"

"You refused to allow it."

"Certainly! I had seen too much of your life, and my pride figured a bit, also."

"Do you still feel the same way?" Her eyes searched his face rather anxiously.

"I do! It is even more impossible now than then. I am utterly out of touch with this environment. My work will take me back where you could not go— into a land you would dislike, among a people you could not understand. No; we did quite the sensible thing."

She sighed gratefully and settled upon the window-seat, her back to the light. "I am glad you feel that way. I—I—think I am growing more sensible too. I have begun to understand how practical father was, and how ridiculous I was. Perhaps I am not so impulsive—you see, I am years older now—perhaps I am more selfish. I don't know which it is and—I can't express my feelings, but I have had sufficient time since you went away to think and to look into my own soul. Really I have become quite introspective. Of course, my feeling for you is just the same as it was, dear, but I—I can't—" She waved a graceful hand to indicate her surroundings. "Well, this is my world, and I am a part of it. You understand, don't you? The thought of giving it up makes me really afraid. I don't like rough things." She shook herself and gave voice to a delicious, bubbling little laugh. "I am frightfully spoiled." Emerson drew her to him tenderly.

"My darling, I understand perfectly, and I love you too well to take you away from it all; but you will wait for me, won't you?"

"Of course," she replied, quickly. "As long as you wish."

"But I am going to have you!" he cried, insistently. "You are going to be my wife," He repeated the words softly, reverently: "My wife."

She gazed up at him with a puzzled little frown. "What bothers me is that you understand me and my life so well, while I scarcely understand you or yours at all. That seems to tell me that I am unsuited to you in some way. Why, when you told me that story of your hardships and all that, I listened as if it were a play or a book, but really it didn't mean anything to me or stir me as it should. I can't understand my own failure to understand. That awful country, those barbarous people, the suffering, the cold, the snow, the angry sea; I don't grasp what they mean. I was never cold, or hungry, or exhausted. I—well, it is fascinating to hear about, because you went through it, but why you did it, how you felt"—she made a gesture as if at a loss for words. "Do you see what I am trying to convey?"

"Perfectly," he answered, releasing her with a little unadmitted sense of disappointment at his heart. "I suppose it is only natural."

"I do hope you succeed this time," she continued. "I am growing deadly tired of things. Not tired of waiting for you, but I am getting to be old; I am, indeed. Why, at times I actually have an inclination to do fancy- work—the unfailing symptom. Do you realize that I am twenty-five years old!"

"Age of decrepitude! And more glorious than any woman in the world!" he cried.

There was a click outside the library door, and the room, which unnoticed by them had become nearly dark, was suddenly flooded with light. The portieres parted, and Wayne Wayland stood in the opening.

"Ah, here you are, my boy! Hawkins told me you had returned."

He advanced to shake the young man's hand, his demeanor gracious and hearty. "Welcome home. You have been having quite a vacation, haven't you? Let's see, it's two years, isn't it?"

"Three years!" Emerson replied.

"Impossible! Dear, dear, how time flies when one is busy."

"Boyd has been telling me of his adventures," said Mildred. "He is going to dine with us."

"Indeed." Mr. Wayland displayed no great degree of enthusiasm. "And have you returned, like Pizarro, laden with all the gold of the Incas? Or did Pizarro return? It seems to me that he settled somewhere on the Coast." The old man laughed at his own conceit.

"I judge Pizarro was a better miner than I," Boyd smiled. "There were plenty of Esquimau princes whom I might have held for ransom, but if I had done so, all the rest of the tribe would have come to board with them."

"Have you come home to stay?"

"No, sir; I shall return in a few weeks."

Mr. Wayland's cordiality seemed to increase in some subtle manner.

"Well, I am sorry you didn't make a fortune, my boy. But, rich or poor, your friends are delighted to see you, and we shall certainly keep you for dinner. I am interested in that Northwestern country myself, and I want to ask some questions about it."



CHAPTER X

IN WHICH BIG GEORGE MEETS HIS ENEMY



It was well on toward midnight when Emerson reached his hotel, and being too full of his visit with Mildred to sleep, he strolled through the lobby and into the Pompeian Room. The theatre crowds had not dispersed, and the place was a-glitter; for it was the grand-opera season. The room was so well filled that he had difficulty in finding a seat, and he made his way slowly, meditating gloomily upon the fact that out of all this concourse in which he had once figured not a single familiar face greeted him. Finding no unoccupied table, he was about to retreat when he heard his name spoken and felt a vigorous slap upon the back.

"Boyd Emerson! By Jove, I'm glad to see you!" He turned to face an anaemic youth whose colorless, gas-bleached face was wrinkled into an expansive grin.

"Hello, Alton!"

They shook hands like old friends, while Alton Clyde continued to express his delight.

"So you've been roughing it out in Nebraska, eh?"

"Alaska."

"So it was. I always get those places mixed. Come over and have a drink. I want to talk to you. Funny thing, I just met a Klondiker myself this evening. Great chap, too! I want you to know him: he's immense. Only watch out he don't get you full. He's an awful spender. I'm half kippered myself. His name is Froelich, but he isn't a Dutchman. Ever meet him up there?"

"I think not."

"Come on, you'll like him."

Clyde led his companion toward a table, chattering as they went. "Y' know, I'm democratic myself, and I'm fond of these rough fellows. I'd like to go out to Nebraska—"

"Alaska."

"—and punch cows and shoot a pistol and yell. I'm really tremendously rough. Here he is! Mr. Froelich, my old friend Mr. Emerson. We played football together—or, at least, he played; I was too light."

Mr. Froelich shoved back his chair and turned, exposing the face of "Fingerless" Fraser, quite expressionless save for the left eyelid, which drooped meaningly.

"'Froelich'!" said Boyd, angrily; "good heavens, Fraser, have you picked another? I thought you were going to stick to 'Frobisher.'" Turning to Clyde, he observed: "This man's name is Fraser. One of his peculiarities is a dislike of proper names. He has never found one that suited him."

"I like 'Froelich' pretty well," observed the imperturbable Fraser. "It sounds distanguay, and—"

"Don't believe anything he tells you," Boyd broke in, seating himself. "He is the most circumstantial liar in the Northwest, and if you don't watch him every minute he will sell you a hydraulic mine, or a rubber plantation, or a sponge fishery. Underneath his eccentricities, however, he is really a pretty decent fellow, and I am indebted to him for my presence here to-night."

Alton Clyde made his astonishment evident by inquiring incredulously of Fraser, "Then that scheme of yours to establish a gas plant at Nome was all—"

"Certainly!" Emerson laughed. "The incandescent lamp travels about as fast as the prospector. Nome is lighted by electricity, and has been for years."

"Is it?" demanded Fraser, with an assumption of the supremest surprise.

"You know as well as I do."

"H'm! I'd forgotten. Just the same, my plan was a good one. Gas is cheaper." He reached for his glass, at which Clyde's eye fell upon his missing fingers, and the young clubman exploded:

"Well! If that's the kind of pill you are, maybe you didn't lose your mit in the Boer War either."

Emerson answered for the adventurer: "Hardly! He got blood-poisoning from a hangnail."

Clyde began to laugh uncontrollably. "Really! That's great! Oh, that's lovely! Here I've been gobbling fairy tales like a black bass at sunset. He! he! he! I must introduce Mr. Froel—Mr. Fra—Mr. What's-his-name to the boys. He! he! he!"

It was evident that Fraser was not accustomed to this sort of treatment; his injured pride took refuge in a haughty silence, which further stirred the risibilities of Clyde until that young man's thin shoulders shook, and he doubled up, his hollow chest touching his knees. He pounded the tiles with his cane, stamped his patent-leather boots, and wept tears of joy.

"What's the joke?" demanded the rogue. "Anybody would think I was the sucker."

"Where is George?" questioned Boyd, to change the subject.

"In his trundle-bed, I suppose," said Fraser, stiffly.

"Along about nine o'clock he begins to yawn like a trained seal. That's how I came to fall in with—this." He indicated the giggling Clyde. "I didn't have anything better to do."

"Did you show George around, as I asked?"

"Sure! After that fairy—farrier, I should say—finished his front feet, I took him out and let him look at the elevated railroad. Then he came back and hunted up the janitor of the building. He spent the evening in the basement with the engineer. Oh, he's had a splendid day!"

"I say, Boyd, have you got another one like—like this?" Clyde asked, nodding at Fraser, who snorted indignantly.

"Not exactly. Balt is quite the antithesis of Mr. Fraser. He is a fisherman, and he has never been East before."

"He's learning the manicure business," sniffed the adventurer. "He has his nails curried every day. Says it tickles."

"Oh, glory be!" ejaculated the clubman. "I must meet him, too. Let me show him the town, will you? I'll foot the bills; I'll make it something historic. Please do! I'm bored to death."

"We can't spare the time; we are here on business," said Emerson.

"Business!" Clyde remarked. "That sounds interesting. I haven't seen anybody for years who was really busy at anything that was worth being busy at. It must be a great sensation to really do something."

"Don't you do anything?"

"Oh yes; I'm as busy as a one-legged sword-dancer, but I don't do anything. It's the same old thing: leases to sign, rents to collect, and that sort of rot. My agent does most of it, however. I wish I were like you, Boyd; you always were a lucky chap." Emerson smiled rather grimly at thought of the earlier part of the evening and of his present fortune.

"Oh, I mean it!" said Clyde. "Look how lucky you were at the university. Everything came your way. Even M—" He checked himself and jerked his head in the direction of the North Side. "You know! She's never been able to see any of us fellows with a spy-glass since you left, and I have proposed regularly every full moon." He wagged his curly head solemnly and sighed. "Well, there is only one man I'd rather see get her than you, and that's me—or I—whichever is proper."

"I'm not sure it's proper for either of us to get her," smiled Boyd.

"Well, I'm glad you've returned anyhow; for there's an added starter."

"Who is he?"

"He's some primitive Western fellow like yourself! I don't know his name— never met him, in fact. But while we Chicago fellows were cantering along in a bunch, watching each other, he got the rail."

"From the way her father spoke and acted I judged he had somebody in sight." Boyd's eyes were keenly alight, and Clyde continued.

"We've just got to keep her in Chicago, and you're the one to do it. I tell you, old man, she has missed you. Yes, sir, she has missed you a blamed sight more than the rest of us have. Oh, you don't know how lucky you are."

"I lucky! H'm! You fellows are rich—"

"Bah! I'm not. I've gone through most of what I had. All that is left are the rents; they keep me going, after a fashion. Now that it is too late, I'm beginning to wake up; I'm getting tired of loafing. I'd like to get out and do something, but I can't; I'm too well known in Chicago, and besides, as a business man I'm certainly a nickel-plated rotter."

"I'll give you a chance to recoup," said Boyd. "I am here to raise some money on a good proposition."

The younger man leaned forward eagerly. "If you say it's good, that's all I want to know. I'll take a chance. I'm in for anything from pitch-and- toss to manslaughter."

"I'll tell you what it is, and you can use your own judgment."

"I haven't a particle," Clyde confessed. "If I had, I wouldn't need to invest. Go ahead, however; I'm all ears." He pulled his chair closer and listened intently while the other outlined the plan, his weak gray eyes reflecting the old hero-worship of his college days. To him, Boyd Emerson had ever represented the ultimate type of all that was most desirable, and time had not lessened his admiration.

"It looks as if there might be a jolly rumpus, doesn't it?" he questioned, when the speaker had finished.

"It does."

"Then I've got to see it. I'll put in my share if you'll let me go along."

"You go! Why, you wouldn't like that sort of thing," said Emerson, considerably nonplussed.

"Oh, wouldn't I? I'd eat it! It's just what I need. I'd revel in that out-door life." He threw back his narrow shoulders. "I'm a regular scout when it comes to roughing it. Why, I camped in the Thousand Islands all one summer, and I've been deer-hunting in the Adirondacks. We didn't get any—they were too far from the hotel; but I know all about mountain life."

"This is totally different," Boyd objected; but Clyde ran on, his enthusiasm growing as he tinted the mental picture to suit himself.

"I'm a splendid fisherman, too, and I've plenty of tackle."

"We shall use nets."

"Don't do it! It isn't sportsmanlike. I'll take a book of flies and whip that stream to a froth." Emerson interrupted him to explain briefly the process of salmon-catching, but the young man was not to be discouraged.

"You give me something to do—something where I don't have to lift heavy weights or carry boxes—and watch me work! I tell you, it's what I've been looking for, and I didn't know it; I'll get as husky as you are and all sunburnt. Tell me the sort of furs and the kind of pistols to buy, and I'll put ten thousand dollars in the scheme. That's all I can spare."

"You won't need either furs or firearms," laughed Boyd. "When we get back to Kalvik the days will be long and hot, and the whole country will be a blaze of wild flowers."

"That's fine! I love flowers. If I can't catch fish for the cannery, I'll make up for it in some other way."

"Can you keep books?"

"No; but I can play a mandolin," Clyde offered, optimistically. "I guess a little music would sound pretty good up there in the wilderness."

"Can you play a mandolin?" inquired "Fingerless" Fraser, observing the young fellow with grave curiosity.

"Sure; I'm out of practice, but—"

"Take him!" said Fraser, turning upon Emerson.

"He can set on the front porch of the cannery with wild flowers in his hair and play La Paloma. It will make those other fish-houses mad with jealousy. Get a window-box and a hammock, and maybe Willis Marsh will run in and spend his evenings with you."

"Don't josh!" insisted Clyde, seriously. "I want to go—"

"Me josh?" Fraser's face was like wood.

"I'll think it over," Emerson said, guardedly.

Without warning, the adventurer burst into shrill laughter.

"Are you laughing at me?" angrily demanded the city youth.

Fraser composed his features, which seemed to have suddenly disrupted. "Certainly not! I just thought of something that happened to my father when I was a little child." Again he began to shake, at which Clyde regarded him narrowly; but his merriment was so impersonal as to allay suspicion, and the young fellow went on with undiminished enthusiasm:

"You think it over, and in the mean time I'll get a bunch of the fellows together. We'll all have lunch at the University Club to-morrow, and you can tell them about the affair."

Fraser abruptly ended his laughter as Boyd's heel came heavily in contact with his instep under the table. Clyde was again lost in an exposition of his fitness as a fisherman when Fraser burst out:

"Hello! There's George. He's walking in his sleep, and thinks this is a manicure stable."

Emerson turned to behold Balt's huge figure all but blocking the distant door. It was evident that he had been vainly trying to attract their attention for some time, but lacked the courage to enter the crowded room, for, upon catching Boyd's eye, he beckoned vigorously.

"Call him in," said Clyde, quickly. "I want to meet him. He looks just my sort." And accordingly Emerson motioned to the fisherman. Seeing there was no help for it, Big George composed himself and ventured timidly across the portal, steering a tortuous course toward his friends; but in these unaccustomed waters his bulk became unmanageable and his way beset with perils. Deeming himself in danger of being run down by a waiter, he sheered to starboard, and collided with a table at which there was a theatre party. Endeavoring to apologize, he backed into a great pottery vase, which rocked at the impact and threatened to topple from its foundation.

"I'd rather take an ox-team through this room than him," said Fraser. "He'll wreck something, sure."

Conscious of the attention he was attracting on all sides, Big George became seized with an excess of awkwardness; his face blazed, and the perspiration started from his forehead.

"I hope the head waiter doesn't speak to him," Boyd observed. "He is mad enough to rend him limb from limb." But the words were barely spoken when they saw a steward hasten toward George and address him, following which the big fellow's voice rumbled angrily:

"No, I ain't made any mistake! I'm a boarder here, and you get out of my way or I'll step on you." He strode forward threateningly, at which the waiter hopped over the train of an evening dress and bowed obsequiously. The noise of laughter and many voices ceased. In the silence George pursued his way regardless of personal injury or property damage, breaking trail, as it were, to his destination, where he sank limply into a chair which creaked beneath his weight.

"Gimme a lemonade, quick; I'm all het up," he ordered. "I can't get no footholt on these fancy floors, they're so dang slick."

After a half-dazed acknowledgment of his introduction to Alton Clyde, he continued: "I've been trying to flag you for ten minutes." He mopped his brow feebly.

"What is wrong?"

"Everything! It's too noisy for me in this hotel. I've been trying to sleep for three hours, but this band keeps playing, and that elevated railroad breaks down every few minutes right under my window. There's whistles blowing, bells ringing, and—can't we find some quiet road-house where I can get an hour's rest? Put me in a boiler-shop or a round-house, where I can go to sleep."

"The hotels are all alike," Boyd answered. "You will soon get used to it."

"Who, me? Never! I want to get back to God's country."

"Hurrah for you!" ejaculated Clyde. "Same here. And I'm going with you."

"How's that?" questioned George.

"Mr. Clyde offers to put ten thousand dollars into the deal if he can go to Kalvik with us and help run the cannery," explained Emerson.

George looked over the clubman carefully from his curly crown to his slender, high-heeled shoes, then smiled broadly.

"It's up to Mr. Emerson. I'm willing if he is." Whereupon, vastly encouraged, Clyde proceeded to expatiate upon his own surpassing qualifications. While he was speaking, a party of three men approached, and seated themselves at an adjoining table. As they pulled out their chairs, Big George chanced to glance in their direction; then he put down his lemonade glass carefully.

"What's the matter?" Boyd demanded, in a low tone, for the big fellow's face had suddenly gone livid, while his eyes had widened like those of an enraged animal.

"That's him!" George growled, "That's the dirty hound!"

"Sit still!" commanded Fraser; for the fisherman had shoved back from the table and was rising, his hands working hungrily, the cords in his neck standing out rigidly. Seeing the murder-light in his companion's eyes, the speaker leaned forward and thrust the big fellow back into the chair from which he had half lifted himself.

"Don't make a fool of yourself," he cautioned.

Clyde, who had likewise witnessed the giant's remarkable metamorphosis, now inquired its meaning.

"That's him!" repeated George, his eyes glaring redly. "That's Willis Marsh."

"Where?" Emerson whirled curiously; but there was no need for George to point out his enemy, for one of the strangers stood as if frozen, with his hand upon the back of his chair, an expression of the utmost astonishment upon his face. A smile was dying from his lips.

Boyd beheld a plump, thick-set man of thirty-eight in evening dress. There was nothing distinctive about him except, perhaps, his hair, which was of a decided reddish hue. He was light of complexion; his mouth was small and of a rather womanish appearance, due to the full red lips. He was well groomed, well fed, in all ways he was a typical city-bred man. He might have been a broker, though he did not carry the air of any particular profession.

That he was, at all events, master of his emotions he soon gave evidence. Raising his brows in recognition, he nodded pleasantly to Balt; then, as if on second thought, excused himself to his companions and stepped toward the other group. The legs of George's chair scraped noisily on the tiles as he rose; the sound covered Fraser's quick admonition:

"Take it easy, pal; let him talk."

"How do you do, George? What in the name of goodness are you doing here? I hardly recognized you." Marsh's voice was round and musical, his accent Eastern. With an assumption of heartiness, he extended a white-gloved hand, which the big, uncouth man who faced him refused to take. The other three had risen. George seemed to be groping for a retort. Finally he blurted out, hoarsely:

"Don't offer me your hand. It's dirty! It's got blood on it!"

"Nonsense!" Marsh smiled. "Let's be friends again, George. Bygones are bygones. I came over to make up with you and ask about affairs at Kalvik. If you are here on business and I can help—"

"You dirty rat!" breathed the fisherman.

"Very well; if you wish to be obstinate—" Willis Marsh shrugged his shoulders carelessly, although in his voice there was a metallic note. "I have nothing to say." He turned a very bright and very curious pair of eyes upon George's companions, as if seeking from them some hint as to his victim's presence there. It was but a momentary flash of inquiry, however, and then his gaze, passing quickly over Clyde and Fraser, settled upon Emerson.

"Mr. Balt and I had a business misunderstanding," he said, smoothly, "which I hoped was forgotten. It didn't amount to much—"

At this Balt uttered a choking snarl and stepped forward, only to meet Boyd, who intercepted him.

"Behave yourself!" he ordered. "Don't make a scene," and before the big fellow could prevent it he had linked arms with him, and swung him around. The movement was executed so naturally that none of the patrons of the cafe noticed it, except, perhaps, as a preparation for departure. Marsh bowed civilly and returned to his seat, while Boyd sauntered toward the exit, his arm which controlled George tense as iron beneath his sleeve. He felt the fisherman's great frame quivering against him and heard the excited breath halting in his lungs; but possessed with the sole idea of getting him away without disorder, he smiled back at Clyde and Fraser, who were following, and chatted agreeably with his prisoner until they had reached the foyer. Then he released his hold and said, quietly:

"You'd better go up to your room and cool off. You came near spoiling everything."

"He tried to shake hands," George mumbled, "with me! That thieving whelp tried to shake—" He trailed off into an unintelligible jargon of curses and threats which did not end until he had reached the elevator. Here Alton Clyde clamored for enlightenment as to the reason for this eruption.

"That is the fellow we will have to fight, "Boyd explained. "He is the head of the cannery combination at Kalvik, and a bitter enemy of George's. If he suspects our motives or gets wind of our plans, we're done for."

Clyde spoke more earnestly than at any time during the evening. "Well, that absolutely settles it as far as I am concerned. This is bound to end in a row."

"You mean you don't want to join us?"

"Don't want to! Why, I've just got to, that's all. The ten thousand is yours, but if you don't take me along I'll stow away."



CHAPTER XI

WHEREIN BOYD EMERSON IS TWICE AMAZED



Nearly a month had elapsed when Emerson at last expressed to George the discouragement that for several days had lain silently in both men's minds.

"It looks like failure, doesn't it?"

"Sure does! You've played your string out, eh?"

"Absolutely. I've done everything except burglary, but I can't raise that hundred thousand dollars. From the way we started off it looked easy, but times are hard and I've bled my friends of every dollar they can spare. In fact, some of them have put in more than they can afford."

"It's an awful big piece of money," Balt admitted, with a sigh.

"I never fully realized before how very large," Boyd said. "And yet, without that amount the Seattle bank won't back us for the remainder."

"Oh, it's no use to tackle the business on a small scale." Big George pondered for a moment. "We can't wait much longer. We'd ought to be on the coast now. We're shy twenty-five thousand dollars, eh?"

"Yes, and I can't see any possible way of raising it. I've done the best I could, and so has Clyde, but it's no use."

The strain of the past month was evident in Emerson's face, which was worn and tired, as if from sleepless nights. Of late he had lapsed again into that despondent mood which Fraser had observed in Alaska, his moments of depression growing more frequent as the precious days slipped past. Every waking hour he had devoted to the promotion of his enterprise. He had laughed at rebuffs and refused discouragement; he had solicited every man who seemed in any way likely to be interested. He had gone from office to office, his hours regulated by watch and note-book, always retailing the same facts, always convincingly lucid and calmly enthusiastic. But a scarcity of money seemed prevalent. Those who sought investment either had better opportunities or refused to finance an undertaking so far from home, and apparently so hazardous.

During those three years in the North, Boyd had worked with feverish haste and suffered many disappointments; but never before had he used such a vast amount of nervous force as in this short month, never had fortune seemed so maddeningly stubborn. But he had hung on with bulldog tenacity, not knowing how to give up, until at last he had placed his stock to the extent of seventy-five thousand dollars, only to realize that he had exhausted his vital force as well as his list of acquaintances. In public he maintained a sanguine front, but in private he let go, and only his two Alaskan friends had sounded the depths of his disappointment.

One other, to be sure, had some inkling of what troubled him, yet to Mildred he had never explained the precise nature of his difficulties. She did not even know his plans. He spent many evenings with her, and she would have given him more of her society had he consented to go out with her, for the demands upon her time were numerous; but this he could never bring himself to do, being too wearied in mind and body, and wishing to spare himself any additional mental disquiet.

Neither Mildred nor her father ever spoke of that unknown suitor in his presence, and their very silence invested the mysterious man with menacing possibilities which did not tend to soothe Boyd's troubled mind. In fact, Mr. Wayland, despite his genial manner, inspired him with a vague sense of hostility, and, as if he were not sufficiently distracted by all this, Fraser and George kept him in a constant state of worry from other causes. The former was continually involving him in some wildly impossible enterprise which seemed ever in danger of police interference. He could not get rid of the fellow, for Fraser calmly included him in all his machinations, dragging him in willy-nilly, until in Boyd's ears there sounded the distant clank of chains and the echo of the warden's tread. A dozen times he had exposed the rogue and established his own position, only to find himself the next day wallowing in some new complication more difficult than that from which he had escaped. Ordinarily it would have been laughable, but at this crisis it was tragic.

As for George, he had been very quiet since the night of his encounter with Marsh, and he spent much of his time by himself. This was a relief to Boyd, until he happened several times to meet the big fellow in strange places at unexpected hours, surprising in his eyes a look of expectant watchfulness, the meaning of which at first puzzled him. It took but little observation, however, to learn that the fisherman spent his days in hotel lobbies, always walking about through the crowd, and that by night he patrolled the theatre district, slinking about as if to avoid observation. Emerson finally realized with a shock that George was in search of his enemy; but no amount of argument could alter the fellow's mind, and he continued to hunt with the silence of a lone wolf. What the result of his meeting Marsh would be Boyd hesitated to think, but neither George nor he discovered any trace of that gentleman.

These various cares, added to the consequences of his inability to finance the cannery project, had reduced Emerson to a state bordering upon collapse. Balt had entered his room that morning for his daily report of progress, and after his partner's confession of failure had fetched a deep sigh.

"Well, it's tough, after all we've went through," he said. Then, after a pause, "Cherry will be broken-hearted."

"I hadn't thought of her," confessed the other.

"You see, it's her last chance, too."

"So she told me. I'm sorry I brought you all these thousands of miles on a wild-goose chase, but—"

"I don't care for myself. I'll get back somehow and live in the brush, like I used to, and some day I'll get my chance. But she's a woman, and she can't fight Marsh like I can."

"Just who or what is she?" Boyd inquired, curiously, glad of anything to divert his thoughts from their present channel.

"She's just a big-hearted girl, and the only person, red, white, or yellow, who gave me a kind word or a bite to eat till you came along. That's all I know about her. I'd have gone crazy only for her." The big man ground his teeth as the memory of his injuries came uppermost.

Before Boyd could follow the subject further, Alton Clyde strolled in upon them, arrayed immaculately, with gloves, tie, spats, and a derby to match, a striped waistcoast, and a gold-headed walking-stick.

"Salutations, fellow-fishermen!" he began. "I just ran in to settle the details of our trip. I want my tailor to get busy on my wardrobe to- morrow." Boyd shook his head.

"Ain't going to be no wardrobe," said Balt.

"Why? Has something happened to scare the fish?"

"I can't raise the money," Emerson confessed.

"Still shy that twenty-five thou?" questioned the clubman.

"Yes! I'm done."

"That's a shame! I had some ripping clothes planned—English whip-cord—"

"That stuff won't rip," George declared. "But over-alls is plenty good."

Clyde tapped the narrow points of his shoes with his walking-stick, frowning in meditation. "I'm all in, and so are the rest of the fellows. By Jove, this will be a disappointment to Mildred! Have you told her?"

"No. She doesn't know anything about the plan, and I didn't want to tell her until I had the money. Now I can't go to her and acknowledge another failure."

"I'm terribly disappointed," said Clyde. There was a moment's silence; then he went to the telephone and called the hotel office: "Get me a cab at once—Mr. Clyde. I'll be right down."

Turning to the others, he remarked: "I'll see what I can do; but as a promoter, I'm a joke. However, the trip will do me good, and I am hungry for the fray; the smell of battle is in my nostrils, and I am champing at my bit. Woof! Leave it to me." He smote the air with his slender cane, and made for the door with an appearance of fierce determination upon his colorless face. "You'll hear from me in the morning. So long!"

His martial air amused the two, but Boyd soon dismissed him from his mind and spent that evening in such moody silence that, in desperation, Big George forsook him and sought out the manicure parlor. Fraser was busied on some enterprise of his own.

The thought of Alton Clyde's raising twenty-five thousand dollars where he had failed was ridiculous to Emerson. He was utterly astounded when that radiantly attired youth strolled into his room on the following morning and tossed a thick roll of bills upon the table, saying, carelessly:

"There it is; count it."

"What?"

"Twenty-five one-thousand-dollar notes. Anyhow, I think there are twenty- five of them, but I'm not sure. I counted them twice: once I made twenty- four and the next time twenty-six, but I had my gloves on; so I struck an averages and took the paying teller's word for it."

Emerson leaped to his feet, staring at the dandy as if not comprehending this sudden turn of fortune.

"Did you rustle this money without any help?" he demanded.

"Abso-blooming-lutely!"

"Is it your own?"

"Well, hardly! It is so far from it that I was sorely tempted to spread my wings and soar to foreign parts. It wouldn't have taken much of a nudge to butt me clear over into Canada this morning."

"Where in the world did you get it, Al?"

"What difference does that make? I got it, didn't I?" He slapped his trousers leg daintily with his stick. "You can issue the stock in my name."

Boyd seized the little fellow and whirled him around the room, laughing gleefully, lifted in one moment from the pit of despair to the height of optimism.

"Stop it! I'm all rumpled!" gasped Clyde, finally, sinking into a chair "When I get rumpled in the morning I stay rumpled all day. Don't you touch me!"

"Whose money is this? What good angel took pity on us?"

Clyde's faded eyes dropped. "Well, I turned a trick, and to all intents and purposes it is mine. There it is. I didn't steal it, and—you don't have to know everything, do you? That is why I got the check cashed."

"I beg your pardon," Boyd apologized; "I didn't mean to pry into your affairs, and it is none of my business, anyhow. I'm glad enough to get the money, no matter where it came from. I'd forgive you if you had stolen it." He began to dress hurriedly. "You are the fairy prince of this enterprise, Alton, and you can go to Kalvik and pick flowers or play the mandolin or do anything you wish. Now for a telegram to the bank at Seattle. We leave to-morrow."

"Oh, here, now! I can't get my wardrobe ready."

"Ward—nothing! You don't need any clothes! You can get all that stuff in Seattle."

"Must have wardrobe," firmly maintained Clyde. "No can do without."

"George and I will be in Seattle for several weeks, so you can come on later."

"No, sir! I'm going to trail my bet with yours. I might change my mind if I hung around here alone. I'll make my tailor work all night to-night; it will do him good. But it upsets me to be hurried; it upsets me worse than being rumpled in the morning."

That was a busy day for Boyd Emerson, but he was too elated to notice fatigue, even while dressing for the Waylands'. He had arranged to come an hour before dinner, that Mildred and he might have a little time to themselves, and his haste to acquaint her with the news of his success brought him to the Lake Shore house ahead of time. She did not keep him waiting, however, and when she appeared, gowned for dinner, he fairly swept her off her feet with his abruptness.

"It's a go, my Lady; I have succeeded."

"I knew it by your smile. I am so glad!"

"Yes. I have all the money I need, and I am off for the Coast to-morrow."

"Oh!" She drew back from him. "To-morrow! Why, you wretch! You seem actually glad of it!"

"I am."

"Confusion! Of all the discourteous lovers—!" She simulated such an expression of injury that his dancing eyes became grave. "My poor heart!"

"Are you sorry?"

"Sorry? Indeed! La, la!" She gave a dainty French shrug of her bare shoulders and tossed her head. "I summon my pride. My spirit is aroused. I rejoice; I laugh; I sing! Sorry? Pooh!" Then she melted with an impulsiveness rare in her, saying, "Tell me all about it, please; tell me everything."

He held her slender hand. "This morning I was bluer than a tatooed man, but to-night I am in the clouds, for I have overcome the greatest obstacle that stands between us. It is only a question of months now until I can come to your father with sufficient means to satisfy him. Of course, there are chances of failure, but I don't admit them. I have such a superabundance of courage now that I can't imagine defeat."

"Do you know," she said, hesitatingly, "you have never told me anything about this plan of yours? You have never takes me into your confidence in the slightest degree."

"I didn't think you would care to know the details, dear. This is so entirely a business matter. It is so sordidly commonplace, and you are so very far removed from sordid things that I didn't think you would care to hear of it. My mind won't associate you with commercialism. I have always burned incense to you; I have always seen you in shaded light and through the smoke of altar fires, so to speak."

"I realize that I don't appreciate the things that you have done," said the girl, "but I should like to know more about this new adventure."

"I warn you, it is not romantic," he smiled, "although to me anything which brings me closer to you is invested with the very essence of romance." He told her briefly of his enterprise and the difficulties he had conquered. "It looks like plain sailing now," he concluded. "I will have to work hard, but that just suits me, for it will occupy the time while I am away from you. There will be no mail or communication with the outside world after we sail, except at long intervals. But I am sure you will feel the messages I shall send you every hour."

"And so you are going to put fish into little tin cans?" said Mildred.

"Very prosy, isn't it?"

"Of course, you will have men to do it. You won't do that sort of thing yourself?"

"Assuredly not. There will be some hundreds of Chinese."

"Will you have to catch the fish? Will you pull on a long fish-line? I should think that would be rather nice."

"No," he laughed.

"At any rate, you will wear oilskins and a 'sou'wester,' won't you?"

"Yes, just like the pictures you see on bill-boards."

She meditated for an instant. "Why don't you build a railroad or do something such as father does? He makes a great deal of money out of railroads."

"He is also a director in the largest packing concern at the Stock Yards," Boyd reminded her. "This is much the same sort of thing."

"To be sure! Do you know, he has become greatly interested in your country of late. I have heard him speak of Alaska frequently. In fact, I think that is one reason why he has been so nice to you; he wants to learn all he can about it."

"Why?"

"Oh, dear, I never know why he does anything."

"Tell me, does he still legislate in favor of this mysterious suitor whose identity you have never revealed to me?"

"Nonsense!" said the girl. "There is no mysterious suitor, and father does not legislate for or against any one. He isn't that sort."

"And yet I never seem to meet this stranger."

"Indeed!" she observed, a trifle indifferently. "It is your own fault. You never go out any more. However, you won't have long to wait. Father telephoned that he is to dine with us."

"To-night?"

"Yes."

"But, Mildred, this is our last evening together," said Emerson, seriously. "Can't we have it alone?"

"I am afraid not. I had nothing to say in the matter. It is some business affair."

So the fellow was a business associate of the magnate, thought Boyd. "Who is he?"

"He is merely—" Mildred paused to listen. "Here they are now. Please don't look so tragic, Othello."

Hearing voices outside the library, the young man asked, hurriedly: "Give me some time alone with you, my Lady. I must leave early."

"We will come in here while they are smoking," she said.

There was time for no more, for Wayne Wayland entered, followed by another gentleman, at the first sight of whom Emerson started, while his mind raced off into a dizzy whirl of incredulity. It could not be! It was too grotesque—too ridiculous! What prank of malicious fate was this? He turned his eyes to the door again, to see if by any chance there were a third visitor, but there was not, and he was forced to respond to Mr. Wayland's greeting. The other man had meanwhile stepped directly to Mildred, as if he had eyes for no one else, and was bowing over her hand when her father spoke.

"Mr. Emerson, let me present you to Mr. Marsh. I believe you have never happened to meet here." Marsh turned as if reluctant to release the girl's hand, and not until his own was outstretched did he recognize the other. Even then he betrayed his recognition only by a slight lift of the eyebrows and an intensification of his glance.

The two mumbled the customary salutations while their eyes met. At their first encounter Boyd had considered Marsh rather indistinct in type, but with a lover's jealousy he now beheld a rival endowed with many disquieting attributes.

"You two will get along famously," said Mr. Wayland. "Mr. Marsh is acquainted with your country, Boyd."

"Ah!" Marsh exclaimed, quickly. "Are you an Alaskan, Mr. Emerson?"

"Indeed, he is so wedded to the country that he is going back to-morrow," Mildred offered.

Marsh's first look of challenge now changed to one of the liveliest interest, and Boyd imagined the fellow endeavoring to link him, through the affair at the restaurant, with the presence of Big George in Chicago. Although the full significance of the meeting had not struck the young lover yet, upon the heels of his first surprise came the realization that this man was to be not only his rival in love, but the greatest menace to the success of his venture—that venture which meant the world to him.

"Yes," he answered, cautiously, "I am a typical Alaskan—disappointed, but not discouraged."

"What business?"

"Mining!"

"Oh!" indifferently. Marsh addressed himself to Mr. Wayland: "I told you the commercial opportunities in that country were far greater than those in the mining business. All miners have the same story." Sensing the slight in his tone, rather than in his words, Mildred hastened to the defence of her fiance, nearly causing disaster thereby.

"Boyd has something far better than mining now. He was telling me about it as—"

"You interrupted us," interjected Emerson, panic stricken. "I didn't have time to explain the nature of my enterprise."

The girl was about to put in a disclaimer, when he flashed a look at her which she could not help but heed. "I am very stupid about such things," she offered, easily. "I would not have understood it, I am sure." To her father, she continued, leaving what she felt to be dangerous ground: "I didn't look for you so early."

"We finished sooner than I expected," Mr. Wayland answered, "so I drove Willis to his hotel and waited for him to dress. I was afraid he might disappoint us if I let him out of my sight. I couldn't allow that—not to- night of all nights, eh?" The magnate laughed knowingly at Marsh.

"I have never yet disappointed Miss Wayland, and I never shall," the new- comer replied, eying the girl in such a way that Boyd felt a sudden desire to choke him until his smooth, expressionless face matched the color of his evening coat. "I can imagine your daughter's feminine guests staying away, Mr. Wayland, but her masculine friends, never!"

"What rot!" thought Emerson.

"Well, I couldn't take any chances to-night," the father reasserted, "for this is a celebration. I will tell Hawkins to open a bottle of that Private Cuvee, '86."

"What machinations have you precious conspirators been at now?" queried Mildred.

"My dear, I have effected a wonderful deal to-day," said her father. "With the help of Mr. Marsh, I closed the last details of a consolidation which has occupied me for many months."

"Another trust, I suppose."

"Certain people might call it that," chuckled the old man. "Willis was the inspiring genius, and did most of the work; the credit is his."

"Not at all! Not at all!" disclaimed the modest Marsh. "I was but a child in your father's hands, Miss Wayland. He has given me a liberal education in finance."

"It was a beautiful affair, eh?" questioned the magnate.

"Wonderful."

"May I inquire the nature of this merger?" Emerson ventured, amazed at this disclosure of the intimate relations existing between the two.

"Certainly," replied Wayne Wayland. "There is no longer any secret about it, and the papers will be full of the story in the morning. I have combined the packing industries of the Pacific Coast under the name of the North American Packers' Association."

Boyd felt himself growing numb.

"What do you mean by 'packing industries'?" asked Mildred.

"Canneries—salmon fisheries! We own sixty per cent. of the plants of the entire Coast, including Alaska. That's why I've been so keen about that north country, Boyd. You never guessed it, eh?"

"No, sir," Boyd stammered.

"Well, we control the supply, and we will regulate the market. We will allow only what competition we desire. Oh, it is all in our hands. It was a beautiful transaction, and one of the largest I ever effected."

Was he dreaming? Boyd wondered. His mouth was dry, but he managed to inquire:

"What about the independent canneries?"

Marsh laughed. "There is no sentiment in business! There are about forty per cent. too many plants to suit us. I believe I am capable of attending to them."

"Mr. Marsh is the General Manager," Wayland explained. "With the market in our own hands, and sufficient capital to operate at a loss for a year, or two years, if necessary, I don't think the independent plants will cost us much."

Emerson found his sweetheart's eyes fixed upon him oddly. She turned to her father and said: "I consider that positively criminal."

"Tut, tut, my dear! It sounds cruel, of course, but it is business, and it is being done every day; isn't it, Boyd?"

Boyd made no answer, but Marsh hastened to add:

"You see, Miss Wayland, business, in the last analysis, is merely a survival of the fittest; only the strong and merciless can hold their own."

"Exactly," confirmed her fatner. "One can't allow sentiment to affect one. It isn't business. But you don't understand such things. Now, if you young people will excuse me, I shall remove the grime of toil, and return like a giant refreshed." He chuckled to himself and left the room, highly pleased with the events of the day.



CHAPTER XII

IN WHICH MISS WAYLAND IS OF TWO MINDS



That Willis Marsh still retained some curiosity regarding Emerson's presence at the Annex on that night four weeks before, and that the young man's non-committal reply to his inquiry about the new enterprise mentioned by Mildred had not entirely satisfied him, was proved by the remark which he addressed to the girl the moment her father's departure afforded him an opportunity.

"You said Mr. Emerson's new proposition was better than mining, did you not?" He was the embodiment of friendly interest, showing just the proper degree of complaisant expectancy. "I am decidedly curious to know what undertaking is sufficiently momentous to draw a young man away from beauty's side up into such a wilderness, particularly in the dead of winter."

Miss Wayland's guarded reply gave Emerson a moment in which to collect his thoughts. He was still too much confused by the recent disclosures to adjust himself fully to the situation. The one idea uppermost in his mind was to enlighten Marsh as little as possible; for if this new train of events was really to prove his undoing, as already he half believed, he would at any rate save himself from the humiliation of acknowledging defeat. If, on the other hand, he should decide to go ahead and wage war against the trust as an independent packer, then secrecy for the present was doubly imperative.

Once Marsh gained an inkling that he and Big George were equipping themselves to go back to Kalvik—to Kalvik, Marsh's own stronghold, of all places!—he could and would thwart them without doubt. These thoughts flashed through Boyd's mind with bewildering rapidity, yet he managed to equal the other's show of polite indifference as he remarked:

"I am not far enough along with my plans to discuss them."

"Perhaps if I knew their nature I might—"

Boyd laughed. "I am afraid a hydraulic proposition would not interest such a hard-headed business man as you." To himself he added: "Good heavens! I am worse than Fraser with his nebulous schemes!"

"Oh, hydraulic mining? Well, hardly!" the other replied. "I understood Miss Wayland to say that this was something better than a mine."

"Is a hydraulic a mine?" inquired Mildred; "I thought it was a water-power of some sort!"

"Once a miner always a miner," the younger man quoted, lightly.

As if with a shadow of doubt, Marsh next inquired:

"Didn't I meet you the other evening at the Annex?"

Boyd admitted the fact, with the air of one who exaggerates his interest in a trifling topic for the sake of conversation. He was beginning to be surprised at his own powers of dissimulation.

"And you were with George Balt?"

"Exactly. I picked him up on my way out from Nome; he was so thoroughly disgusted with Alaska that I helped him get back to the States."

Marsh's eyes gleamed at this welcome intelligence for certain misgivings had preyed upon him since that night of the encounter. He turned to the girl with the explanation:

"This fellow we speak of is a queer, unbalanced savage who nurses an insane hatred for me. I employed him once, but had to discharge him for incompetence, and he has threatened my life repeatedly. You may imagine the start it gave me to stroll into a cafe, at this distance from Kalvik, and find him seated at a near-by table."

"How strange!" Miss Wayland observed. "What did he do?"

"Mr. Emerson prevented him from making a scene. Only for his interference I might have been forced to—protect myself."

In spite of himself Boyd could not but wonder if Marsh were really the sort of man he had been painted; or if, as might appear sufficiently credible, he had been maligned through Cherry's prejudice and George Balt's hatred. To-night he seemed the most kindly and courteous of men.

Under Mildred's skilful direction the conversation had drifted into other channels by the time Mr. Wayland returned. Now, all at once, Boyd beheld the magnate in a new guise. Until to-night he had seen in him nothing more than a prospective father-in-law, a stubborn, dominant old fellow whose half-contemptuous toleration, unpleasant enough at times, never really amounted to active enmity. Now, however, he recognized in Wayne Wayland a commercial foe, and his knowledge of the man's character gave sufficient assurance that he might expect no mercy or consideration from him one moment after it transpired that their financial interests were in conflict.

So far the two had never seriously clashed, but sooner or later the capitalist must learn the truth; and when he did, when that iron-jawed, iron-willed autocrat once discovered that this youth whom he had taken into his home with so little thought of possible harm had actually dared to oppose him, his indignation would pass all bounds.

And then, for the first time, Emerson realized the impropriety of his own present position. He was here under false pretences; they had bared to him secrets not rightly his, with which he might arm himself. When this, too, became known to the financier, he would regard him not only as a presumptuous enemy, but as a traitor. Boyd knew the old tyrant too well to doubt his course of action; thenceforth there would be war to the hilt.

The enterprise which an hour ago had seemed so certain of success, the enterprise which he had fathered at such cost of labor and suffering, now seemed entirely hopeless. The futility of trying to oppose these men, equipped as they were with limitless means and experience, struck him with such force as to make him almost physically faint and sick. Even had his canning plant been open and running, he knew that they would never take him in; Wayne Wayland's consistent attitude toward him showed that plainly enough. And with nothing more tangible to offer than a half-born dream, they would laugh him to scorn. Furthermore, they had proclaimed their determination to choke all rivalry.

A sort of panic seized Boyd. If his present scheme fell through, what else could he do? Whither could he turn, even for his own livelihood, except back to the hateful isolation of a miner's life? That would mean other years as black as those just ended. There had been a time when he could boldly have taken the bit in his teeth and forced Mr. Wayland to reckon with him, but since his return Mildred herself had withdrawn her consent to a marriage that would mean immediate separation from the life that she loved. That course, therefore, was closed to him. If ever he was to win her, he must play this game of desperate chances to the end.

The announcement of dinner interrupted his dismayed reflections, and he walked out in company with Mr. Wayland, who linked arms with him as if to afford Willis Marsh every advantage, fleeting though it might prove.

"He is a wonderful fellow," the old gentleman observed, sotto voce, indicating Marsh—"one of the keenest business men I ever met."

"Yes?"

"Indeed, he is. He is a money-maker, too; his associates swear by him. If I were you, my boy, I would study him; he is a good man to imitate."

At the dinner-table the talk at first was general, and of a character appropriate for the hour, but Miss Wayland, oddly enough, seemed bent upon leading the discussion back into its former course, and displayed such an unusual thirst for information regarding the North American Packers' Association that her father was moved to remark upon it.

"What in the world has come over you, Mildred?" he said. "You never cared to hear about my doings before."

"Please don't discourage me," she urged. "I am really in earnest; I should like to know all about this new trust of yours. Perhaps my little universe is growing a bit tiresome to me."

"Miss Mildred is truly your daughter," Marsh observed, admiringly. "But I fear the matter doesn't interest Mr. Emerson?"

"Oh, indeed it does," Mildred smilingly responded. "Doesn't it, Boyd?"

He flushed uncomfortably as he acquiesced.

"Now, please tell me more about it," the girl went on. "You know you are both full of the thing, and there are only we four here, so let's be natural; I am dreadfully tired of being conventional."

"Tut, tut!" exclaimed her father. "That comes of association with these untamed Westerners." Yet he plainly showed that he was flattered by her unexpected enthusiasm and more than ready to humor her.

Both men, in truth, were jubilant, and so thoroughly in tune with the subject which had obsessed them these past months that it took little urging to set them talking in harmony with the girl's wishes. Readily accepting the cue of informality, they grew communicative, and told of the troubles they had encountered in launching the gigantic combination, joking over the obstacles that had threatened to wreck it, and complimenting each other upon their persistence and sagacity.

Meanwhile, Emerson's discomfort steadily increased. He wondered if this were a deliberate effort on Mildred's part, or if she really had any idea of what bearing it all had upon his plans. The further it went, however, the more clearly he perceived the formidable nature of the new barrier between himself and Mildred which her father had unwittingly raised.

"So far it has been all hard work," Wayne Wayland at length announced, "but in the future I propose to derive some pleasure from this affair. I am tired out. For a long time I have been planning a trip somewhere, and now I think I shall make a tour of inspection in the spring and visit the various holdings of the North American Packers' Association. In that way I can combine recreation and business."

"But you detest travel as much as I do," said Mildred.

"This would be entirely different from ordinary travel. The first vice- president has his yacht on the Pacific Coast, and offers her to the board of directors for a summer's cruise."

"How far will you go?" questioned Boyd.

"Clear up to Mr. Marsh's station."

"Kalvik?"

"Yes; that is the plan," Marsh chimed in. "The scenery is more marvellous than that of Norway, the weather is delightful. Moreover, The Grande Dame is the best-equipped yacht on the Pacific, so the board of directors can take their families with them, and enjoy a wonderful outing among the fjords and glaciers beneath the midnight sun. You see, I am selfish in urging it, Miss Wayland. I expect you to join the party."

"I am sure you would like it, Mildred," the magnate added.

Boyd could scarcely believe his ears. Would they come to Kalvik? Would they all assemble there in that unmapped nook? And suppose they should— had he the courage to continue his mad enterprise? It was all so unreal! He was torn between the desire to have Mildred agree, and fear of the influence Marsh might gain during such a trip. But Miss Wayland evidently had an eye to her own comfort, for she replied:

"No, indeed! The one thing I abhor above land travel is a sea voyage; I am a wretched sailor."

"But this trip would be worth while," urged her father. "Why, it will be a regular voyage of discovery; I am as excited over it as a country boy on circus day."

Marsh seconded him with all his powers of persuasion, but the girl, greatly to Emerson's surprise, merely reaffirmed her determination.

"Oh, I dare say I should enjoy the scenery," she observed, with a glance at Boyd; "but, on the other hand, I don't care for rough things, and I prefer hearing about canneries to visiting them. They must be very smelly. Above all, I simply refuse to be seasick." In her eyes was a half-defiant look which Emerson had never seen there before.

"I am sorry," Marsh acknowledged, frankly. "You see, there are no women in our country; and six months without a word or a smile from your gentle sex makes a man ready to hate himself and his fellow-creatures."

"Are there no women in Alaska?" questioned the girl.

"In the mining-camps, yes, but we fishermen live lonely lives."

"But the coy, shrinking Indian maidens? I have read about them."

"They are terrible affairs," Marsh declared. "They are flat of nose, their lips are pierced, and they are very—well, dirty."

"Not always!" Boyd gave voice to his general annoyance and growing dislike for Marsh in an abrupt denial, "I have seen some very attractive squaws, particularly breeds."

"Where?" demanded the other, sceptically.

"Well, at Kalvik, for instance,"

"Kalvik!" ejaculated Marsh.

"Yes; your home. You must know Chakawana, the girl they call 'The Snowbird'?"

"No."

"Come, come! She knows you very well."

"Ah, a mystery! He is concealing something!" cried Miss Wayland.

Marsh directed a sharp glance at Boyd before answering. "I presume you refer to Constantine's sister; I was speaking generally—of course, there are exceptions. As a matter of fact, I wasn't exactly right when I said we had no white women whatever at Kalvik. Mr. Emerson doubtless has met Cherry Malotte?"

"I have," acknowledged Boyd. "She was very kind to us."

"More damning disclosures," chuckled Mr. Wayland. "Pray, who is she?"

"I should like very much to know," Emerson answered.

"Oh, delightful!" exclaimed Mildred. "First, a beautiful Indian girl; now, a mysterious white woman! Why, Kalvik is decidedly interesting."

"There is nothing mysterious about the white woman," said Marsh. "She is quite typical—just a plain mining camp hanger-on who drifted down our way."

"Not at all," Boyd disclaimed, angrily. "Miss Malotte is a fine woman;" then, at Marsh's short laugh, "and her conduct bears favorable comparison with that of the other white people at Kalvik."

Marsh allowed his eyes to waver at this, but to Mildred he apologized. "She is not the sort one cares to discuss."

"How do you know?" demanded Cherry's champion. "Do you know anything against her character?"

"I know she is a disturbing element at Kalviks and has caused us a great deal of trouble."

It was Boyd's turn to laugh. "But surely that has nothing to do with her character."

"My dear fellow"—Marsh shrugged his shoulders apologetically—"if I had dreamed she was a friend of yours, I never would have spoken."

"She is a friend," Emerson persisted doggedly, "and I admire her because she is a girl of spirit. If she had not been possessed of enough courage to disregard your instructions, I might have been forced to eject your watchman and take possession of one of your canneries."

"We can't entertain all comers. We leave that to Miss Malotte."

"And George Balt, eh?"

"Dear! dear!" laughed Miss Wayland. "I feel as if I were at a meeting of the Woman's Guild."

"In our business we must adhere to a definite policy," Marsh explained to the others. "Sometimes we are misjudged by travellers who consider us heartless, but we can't take care of every one."

"Not even your sick natives. Well, but for Miss Malotte some of your fishermen would have starved this winter, and you might have been short- handed next year."

"We give them work. Why should we support them?"

"I don't know of any legal reason, and ethics don't count for much up there. Nevertheless, Cherry Malotte has seen to it that the children, at least, haven't suffered. She saved a little brother of this Constantine you mention."

"Constantine has no brother," Marsh answered. "I happen to know, because he worked for me."

"This was a little red-headed youngster."

"Ah!" Marsh's ejaculation was sharp. "What was the matter with it?"

"Measles."

"Did it get well?"

"It was getting along all right when I left."

The other fell silent, while Miss Wayland inquired, curiously: "What is this mysterious woman like?"

"She is young, refined—thoroughly nice in every way."

"Good-looking also, I dare say?"

"Very."

She was about to pursue her inquiries further, but the dinner was finished and Mr. Wayland had asked for his favorite cigars, so she rose and Boyd accompanied her, leaving the others to smoke. But, strangely enough, Marsh remained in such a state of preoccupation, even after their departure, that Mr. Wayland's attempts at conversation elicited only the vaguest and shortest of answers.

In the music-room Mildred turned upon Boyd. "Why didn't you tell me about this woman before?"

"I didn't think of her."

"And yet she is young, beautiful, refined, lives a romantic sort of existence, and entertained you—" She tossed her head.

"Are you jealous?" he inquired, with a smile.

"Of such a person? Certainly not."

"I wish you were," he confessed, truthfully. "If you would only get really jealous, I should be delighted. I should begin to feel a little sure of you."

She seated herself at the piano and struck a few idle notes, inquiring, casually: "Kalvik is the name of the place where you are going, isn't it?"

"It is."

"I suppose you will see a great deal of this—Cherry Malotte?"

"Undoubtedly, inasmuch as we are partners."

"Partners!" Mildred ceased playing and swung about. "What do you mean?"

"She is interested in this enterprise; the cannery site is hers."

"I see!" After a moment, "Does this new affair of father's have any particular effect on your plans?"

"Yes and no," he answered, feeling again the weight of this last complication, forgotten for the moment.

"What do you wish me to do?"

"Nothing; only for the present please don't mention my scheme either to him or to Mr. Marsh. I am a bit uncertain as to my course. You see, it means so much to me that I can't bear to give it up, and yet it may lead to great—unpleasantness."

She nodded, comprehendingly.

The others joined them, and Boyd made his adieus; but in leaving he bore with him a weight of doubt and uneasiness in strange contrast with the buoyancy he had felt upon his arrival.

Willis Marsh, on the contrary, lost no time in emerging from his taciturn mood upon Boyd's departure, and seemed filled with even more than his accustomed optimism. Whatever had been the cause of his transitory depression, he could not fail to reflect that his fortunes had been singularly fair of late; and now that the other man was out of the way, Miss Wayland, for the first time in his acquaintance, began to display a lively interest in his affairs, which made his satisfaction complete. She questioned him closely regarding his work and habits in the North, letting down her reserve to such an unparalleled extent that when Mr. Wayland at last excused himself and retired to the library, Marsh felt that the psychological moment had arrived.



"This has been a day of triumphs for me," he stated, "and I am anxious to crown it with even a greater good-fortune."

"Don't be greedy," the girl cautioned.

"That is man's nature."

She laughed lightly. "Having used my poor, yielding parent for your own needs, you now wish to employ his innocent child in the same manner. Is there no limit to your ambition?"

"There is, and I can reach it with your help."

"Please don't count on me; I am the most disappointing of creatures."

But he disregarded her words. "I hope not; at any rate, I must know."

"I warn you," she said.

"Nevertheless, I insist; and yet—I don't quite know how to begin. It isn't a new story to you perhaps—what I am trying to say—but it is to me, I can assure you—and it means everything to me. I don't even have to tell you what it is—you must have seen it in my eyes. I—I have never cared much for women—I am a man's man, but—"

"Please don't," she interrupted, quietly. But he continued, unheeding:

"You must know that I love you. Every man must love you, but no man could love you more than I do. I—I could make a lot of romantic avowals, Miss— Mildred, but I am not an adept at such things. You can make me very happy if—"

"I am sorry—"

"I know. What I have said is trite, but my whole heart is in it. Your father approves, I am quite sure, and so it all rests with you."

For the first time the girl realized the deadly earnestness of the man and felt the unusual force of his personality, which made it seem no light matter to refuse him. He took his disappointment quietly, however, and raised himself immensely in her estimation by his graceful acceptance of the inevitable.

"It is pretty hard on a fellow," he smiled, "but please don't let it make any difference in our relations. I hope to remain a welcome visitor and to see as much of you as before."

"More, if you wish."

"I begin to understand that Mr. Emerson is a lucky chap." He still smiled.

She ignored his meaning, and replied: "Boyd and I have been the closest of friends for many years."

"So I have been told," and he smiled at her again, in the same manner. Somehow the smile annoyed her—it seemed to savor of self-confidence. When he bade her good-bye an hour later he was still smiling.

Mr. Wayland was busy over some rare first edition, recently received from his English collector, when she sought him out in the library. He looked up to inquire:

"Has Willis gone?"

"Yes. He sent you his adieus by me." A moment later she added: "He asked me to marry him."

"Of course," nodded the magnate, "they all do that. What did you say?"

"What I always say."

"H'm!" He tapped his eyeglasses meditatively upon the bridge of his high- arched nose. "You might do worse. He suits me."

"I have no doubt he could hold the millions together. In fact, he is the first one I have seen of whose ability in that line I am quite certain. However—" She made a slight gesture of dismissal.

"I hope you didn't offend him?"

She raised her brows.

"Forgive me. I might have known—" He stared at the page before him for a moment. "You have a certain finality about you that is almost masculine. They never return to the charge—"

"Oh yes," she demurred. "There is Alton Clyde, for instance—"

Mr. Wayland dismissed Clyde with an inarticulate grunt of contempt which measured that young man's claim to consideration more comprehensively than could a wealth of words.

"I would think it over if I were you," he advised. Then he pondered. "If you would only change your mind, occasionally, like other girls—"

"I have changed my mind to-night—since Mr. Marsh left."

"Good!" he declared, heartily.

"Yes. I have decided to go to Kalvik with you."

On that very night, in a little, snow-smothered cabin crouching close against the Kalvik bluffs, another girl was seated at a piano. Her slim, white fingers had strayed upon the notes of a song which Boyd Emerson had sung. In her dream-filled eyes was the picture of a rough-garbed, silent man at her shoulder, and in her ears was the sound of his voice. Clear to the last melting note she played the air, and then a pitiful sob shook her. She bowed her golden head and hid her face in her arms, for a memory was upon her, a forgotten kiss was hot upon her lips, and she was very lonely.



CHAPTER XIII

IN WHICH CHERRY MALOTTE BECOMES SUSPICIOUS



At the hotel Emerson found Clyde and Fraser in Balt's room awaiting him. They were noisy and excited at the success of the enterprise and at the prospect of immediate action.

Quoth "Fingerless" Fraser: "It has certainly lifted a load off my mind to put this deal through."

Emerson was forced to smile. "Now that you have succeeded," said he, "what next?"

"Back to the Coast. This town is a bum."

"Are you going west with us?"

"Sure! Why not? This game ain't opened yet."

"How long are we to be favored with your assistance?"

"Hard telling. I want to see you get off on the right foot; I'd feel bad if you fell down."

"Well, of all—"

"Let him rave," advised George. "He can't sell us nothing."

"I did my share, anyhow," Alton Clyde declared, curling up comfortably in his chair, with a smile of such beatitude that Fraser cried:

"Now purr! Nice kitty! Seems like I can see a canary feather sticking to your mustache."

"It is my debut in business," Clyde explained. "It's my commercial coming- out party. I never did anything useful before in my whole life, so, naturally, I'm all swelled up."

"It ain't necessary for me to itemize my statement," Fraser observed. "A moment's consecutive thought will show anybody who's capable of bearing the strain of that much brain effort where I came in." Gazing upon them with prophetic eye, he announced: "And mark what I say, gents: I'll be even a bigger help to you before you get through. You do the rough work; I'll be there with the bottle of oil and the hand-polish. Yes, sir! When the time comes I'll go down in the little bag of tricks and dig up anything you need, from a jig dance to a jimmy and a bottle of soup."

"I know what you call 'soup'!" exclaimed Alton, with lively interest. "Did you ever crack a safe? By Jove, that's immense!"

"I've worked in banks, considerable," "Fingerless" Fraser admitted, with admirable caution. "What I mean to say is, I'm a general handy man, and I may be useful, so you better let me stick around."

Boyd told them little of the news that had startled him earlier in the evening, beyond the bare fact that Marsh had floated a packers' trust, and that secrecy, for the present, was now doubly necessary to the success of their undertaking. The full significance of the merger, therefore, did not strike his associates, even when, on the train, the next day, they read the announcement of its formation in the newspapers. Balt alone took notice of it, and fell into a furious rage at his enemy's success.

Alton Clyde, on the other hand, was more than ever elated over his share in a conspiracy threatened by so formidable a foe; and when Emerson constituted him a sort of secretary, with duties mainly of sending and receiving telegrams, his delight was beyond measure. He grew, in fact, insufferably conceited, and his overweening sense of his own importance became a severe trial to Fraser, who was roused to his most elaborate efforts of sarcasm. The adventurer wasted hours in a search for fitting similes by which to measure the clubman's general and comprehensive ineptitude, all of which rebounded from his victim's armor of complacency.

No sooner were they fairly under way for the West than Emerson began the definite shaping of his plans. He and George carefully went over the many details of their coming work and sent many messages, with the result that outfitters in a dozen lines were awaiting them when they arrived in Seattle. Without loss of time Boyd installed himself and his friends at a hotel, secured a competent and close-mouthed stenographer, and then sought out the banker with whom he had made a tentative agreement before going to Chicago. Mr. Hilliard greeted him cordially.

"I see you have carried out your part of the programme," said he; "but before we definitely commit ourselves, we should like to know what effect this new trust is going to have on the canning business."

"You mean the N. A. P. A.?"

"Precisely. Our Chicago correspondent can't tell us any more than we have learned from the press—namely, that a combination has been formed. We are naturally somewhat cautious about financing a competitive plant until we know what policy the trust will pursue."

Here was exactly the complication Boyd had feared; therefore, it was with some trepidation that he argued:

"The trust is in business for the money, and its very formation ought to be conclusive evidence of your good judgment. However, you have backed so many plants such as mine that you know, as well as I do, the big profits to be taken."

"That isn't the point. Ordinarily we would not waver an instant, but the Wayland-Marsh outfit is apt to upset conditions. If we only knew—"

"I know!" boldly declared Boyd. "Mr. Wayland outlined his policy to me before the public knew anything about the trust."

"Indeed? Are you acquainted with Wayne Wayland?" asked Mr. Hilliard, with a new light of curiosity in his eyes.

"I know him well."

"Ah! I congratulate you. Perhaps this is—er, Wayland money behind you?"

"That I am not at liberty to discuss," the younger man replied, evasively. "However, just to make your loan absolutely sure, I have taken steps to sell my season's output in advance. The commission men will be in town shortly, and I shall contract for the entire catch at a stipulated price. Is that satisfactory?"

"Entirely so," declared Mr. Hilliard, heartily. "Go ahead and order your machinery and supplies." As Boyd rose to go, he added, "By the way, what do you know about the mineral possibilities of the region back of Kalvik?"

"Not much; the country is new. There is a—woman at Kalvik who has some men out prospecting."

"Cherry Malotte?"

"Do you know her?" asked Boyd, with astonishment.

"Very well, indeed. I have had some correspondence with her quite recently." Then, noting Boyd's evident curiosity, he went on: "You see, I have made a number of mining investments in the North—entirely on my own account," he hastened to explain. "Of course, the bank could not do such a thing. My operations have turned out so well that I keep several men just to follow new strikes."

"Has Miss Malotte made a strike?"

"Not exactly, but she has uncovered some promising copper prospects."

"H'm! That is news to me. It is rather a small country, after all, isn't it?" He would have liked to ask the banker certain further questions, but resisted the temptation, and shortly after plunged into his work so vigorously that the subject faded wholly from his mind.

Now it was that George Balt made his importance felt. In the days which followed he and Boyd toiled early and late, for a thousand things needed doing at once. Promptness was, above all things, the essence of this enterprise, and the lumber merchants, coal dealers, machinery salesmen, and ship chandlers with whom they dealt vowed they never had met men who reached their decisions so quickly and labored not only with such consuming haste, but with such unerring certainty. There was no haggling over prices, no loss of time in seeking competitive bids; and because George always knew precisely what he wanted, their task of selection became comparatively easy. With every detail of the business he was familiar, from long experience. There was no piece of machinery that he did not know better than its makers. There was never any hesitancy as between rival types or loading down with superfluous gear. His main concern was for dates of delivery.

Three weeks passed quickly in strenuous effort, and then one morning the partners awoke to the realization that there was little more for them to do. Orders were in, shipments had started. They had well-nigh completed the charter of a ship, and a sailing date had been set. There were numerous details yet to be arranged, but the enterprise was in motion, and what remained was simple. Despite their desperate hurry they had made no mistakes, and for this the credit lay largely with Big George.

Through it all Clyde had lent them enthusiastic if feeble assistance; and now that the strain was off, he gave fitting expression to his delight by getting drunk. Being temperamental to a degree, he craved company; and, knowing full well the opposition he would encounter from his friends, he annexed a bibulous following of loafers whose time hung heavy and who were at all times eager to applaud a loose tongue so long as it was accompanied by a loose purse. Toward midnight "Fingerless" Fraser, cruising in a nocturnal search for adventure and profit, found him in a semi-maudlin state, descanting vaporously to his train; and, upon catching mention of the Kalvik fisheries, snatched him homeward and put him to bed, after which he locked him into his room, threw the key over the transom, and stood guard outside until assured that he slept.

At an early hour the adventurer was peremptorily roused, to find Emerson hammering at his door in a fine fury.

"What is this?" demanded Boyd, through white lips, thrusting a morning paper before Fraser's sleepy eyes.

"It's a newspaper," yawned the other—"a regular newspaper."

"Where did this story come from?" With menacing finger Boyd indicated a front column, headed:

NEW ENEMY OF THE SALMON TRUST!

FIRST GUN FIRED IN BATTLE FOR FISHERIES!

N. A. P. A. PROMISED BITTER FIGHT FOR SUPREMACY OF ALASKAN WATERS!

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No; I never read anything but the 'Past Performances' and the funny page. What does it say?"

"It is the whole story of our enterprise, but ridiculously garbled and exaggerated. It says I have headed a new canning company to buck the trust. It tells about George's feud with Marsh, and says we have both been secretly preparing to down him. Good Lord! It's liable to queer us with the bank and upset the whole deal."

"I didn't give it out."

"It is all done in your particularly picturesque style," declared Emerson, angrily. "Alton swears he knows nothing about it, so you must have done it. It is too nearly correct to have come from a stranger."

"Well?" inquired Fraser, quietly.

"The harm is done, but I want to know who is to blame." When the other made no answer except to stare at him curiously, he flamed up, "Why don't you confess?"