Books: THE PROSPECTOR
R >>
RALPH CONNOR >> THE PROSPECTOR
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 | 13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21
"It's my opinion," said Ike, who with The Kid had made a habit of
dropping in for a visit to the sick man, and then would dispose
themselves outside for a smoke, listening the while to the flow of
song and story wherewith his daughter would beguile the old man from
his weariness; "it's my opinion that it aint either that rheumatism
nor that there pewmonia,"--Ike had once glanced at the doctor's
label which distinguished the pneumonia medicine from that
prescribed for rheumatism,--"it aint either the rheumatism nor that
there pewmonia," he repeated, "that's a-killin' him."
"What then do you think it is, Ike?" said the doctor, to whom Ike
had been confiding this opinion.
"It's frettin'; frettin' after the trail and the Lost River. For
thirteen years he's chased that river, and he'll die a-chasin' it."
"Well, he'll certainly die if he starts after it in his present
condition."
"Maybe so, doctor. I wouldn't interdict any opinion of yours. But I
reckon he'd die a mighty sight easier."
"Well, Ike, my boy," said the doctor in his gentle voice, "perhaps
you are right, perhaps you're right. The suggestion is worth
considering."
And the result seemed to justify Ike's opinion, for from the day
that the doctor fixed the time for the Old Prospector's departure
the fever abated, his philosophic calm returned, he became daily
stronger and daily more cheerful and courageous, and though he was
troubled still with a cough he departed one bright day, with
Perault, in high spirits.
"I shall remember you all," he cried, waving his hand gaily in
farewell. "Doctor, I shall build you a hospital where your skill
will have opportunity and scope. Mr. Macgregor, your heart will be
delighted with that church-manse-school building of yours." This was
Shock's pet scheme for the present. "To all of you suitable rewards.
This time I see success. Farewell."
After he had turned away he reined back his pony and addressed Shock
again.
"Mr. Macgregor," he said, with almost solemn earnestness, "I give my
daughter into your charge. I am sure you will watch over her. She
will be comfortable with Josie, and she will be safe under your
care."
His spirit of enthusiastic confidence caught all the crowd standing
by, so that they gave him a hearty cheer in farewell.
"Did not say what he would give us, eh, Carroll?" said Crawley, who
with Carroll stood at the back of the crowd.
"Blanked old fool!" growled Carroll.
"And yet he has a marvellous instinct for mines," said Crawley, "and
this time he has got something more than usual in his head, I
believe. He has been particularly secretive. I could not get
anything out of him. Guess he means to euchre us out of our share of
anything big, partner."
"Curse him for an owld thief!" said Carroll. "I'll have it out av
his hide, so I will, if he tries that."
"Then, Carroll, you'll have to do it when his big friend is not
round."
Carroll's answer was a perfect flood of profanity, copious enough to
include not only the Old Prospector, Shock, all the relatives living
and dead, but Crawley, who stood listening with a sarcastic grin on
his evil face.
"Well, well," at last said Crawley soothingly, "your time will come.
And, partner, you may depend on me when it comes. I owe him
something, too, and I would rather pay it than get a mine."
The days that followed the Old Prospector's departure were lonely
enough for his daughter. Her father's illness had brought to them
both the inestimable boon of mutual acquaintance and affection. It
was the girl's first experience of having near her one to whom she
could freely give the long-hoarded treasures of her love; and now
that he was gone she could only wonder how she could have lived so
long without him. It was well for her that she had her school, which
she transferred now to her father's house, for though Shock occupied
the inner room he was very little at home.
In addition to the school there was Patsy, who, never very strong,
had not regained even his puny strength since the operation. Every
fine day Marion would take the little lad for a glorious canter up
the trail that ran along The Lake, but the day was never complete to
Patsy unless it included a visit to the Jumping Rock, and there a
tale, and at least one song. In these rides Stanton, as often as he
visited the village, would join, and then it was the Swallow that
the little cripple would ride, holding his reins in cowboy style
high in one hand, and swaying with careless security in the saddle,
and all the more because of the strong arm about him.
These were happy days to Patsy, happy to young Stanton, happier than
she knew to Marion, and all the happier by contrast to the dark, sad
days that followed.
About three weeks after the Old Prospector's departure a half-breed,
on a cayuse wet and leg-weary, appeared at the Loon Lake Stopping
Place, asking for the preacher.
"Blanked if I know!" growled Carroll. "Off on some fool hunt or
other."
"Ask Ike there," said Crawley, who was sitting on the stoop. "You
belong to his flock, don't you, Ike? Elder, aint you?"
"His flock?" echoed Ike. "Wouldn't mind if I did. I'd be sure of my
company, which I can't always be almost anywhere else. Want the
preacher, eh?" turning to the half-breed.
"Letter from de old man."
"What old man? Let me see it," said Crawley quickly. "Ah! 'Rev. Mr.
Macgregor, or one of his friends.' Guess this is from the Old
Prospector, eh?"
The half-breed nodded.
"Where is he?"
"Way up in mountain," he said, waving his hand toward the hills.
"Well, the preacher isn't here. It must be important," continued
Crawley. "I suppose I might as well open it, especially as it is
likely it will be something about outfit. Eh, Carroll?"
He was about to tear the letter open when Ike interposed.
"Hold up, there. It strikes me you're a little rapid in your
conclusions. Let's have a look at the letter."
Crawley very unwillingly gave it up.
"One of his friends," read Ike, with some difficulty, "You count
yourself in there, do you?" to Crawley. "You'd be mighty lucky if he
agreed with you on that there point. Now I judge this ought to go to
the preacher or, if he aint round, to the young lady."
So saying, Ike, without another glance at the disappointed Crawley,
strode away with the letter to find Marion.
He found her busy in the school. She read the letter, looked at Ike
with white face and wide-open eyes, read it a second time, and said,
"He wants Mr. Macgregor, quick--and me. He is ill. Oh, Ike!" she
cried suddenly, "he is ill, and Mr. Macgregor is away."
"Where did he go?" said Ike shortly.
"I heard him say to Willow Creek, to the Martins. The doctor is with
him."
"The Martins, eh? Why, that's only eight miles, I reckon. Well, git
yourself ready and your horse. I'll be back in an hour and a half."
He turned away, but after he had gone a few steps he strode back.
"No use lookin' like that," he said almost gruffly. "We'll git a
wagon and bring him home easy. A wagon's easier than ridin', though
'taint likely he's very bad."
"Bad!" exclaimed Marion, with a sob. "Oh, Ike you don't know my
father. If he were not bad he would not--" Here her voice failed
her.
"Don't you worry, miss. We'll be on the trail in two hours. And look
here, we'll want beddin' and lots of things, so hustle." And Ike set
off with long strides. "Hustle's the word for her. Got to keep her
busy, poor girl!" he said to himself. "Guess he's a goner. You bet
that old chap don't weaken for no belly-ache. He's right bad."
The only wagon in the place belonged to Carroll. "Want your wagon
and outfit, Carroll," said Ike briefly. "Old Prospector's pretty
bad. Got to get him home."
Carroll growled a refusal. He had never recovered his wanted good
nature since his encounter with Shock, and his resentment against
the one man, seemed to poison his whole nature against all.
"What!" said Ike, amazed at Carroll's refusal. In that country men
in need of anything helped themselves without reference to the
owner.
"Why, sure, Carroll," interposed Crawley hastily. "You'll let Ike
have that wagon. I tell you what, I'll drive it for him. Shut up,
Carroll!" he said in an aside. "When do you start, Ike? Two hours?
I'll be there."
In an hour and a half, true to his word, Ike was back with Shock and
the doctor. Before another half hour had gone past they were all on
the trail, Marion riding her pony, Shock and the doctor in the
buckboard, and Crawley driving the wagon, in which, besides mattress
and bedding, were saddles for use when the trail should forbid
wheels.
After long hesitation Ike decided that he ought not to join the
party.
"That there Crawley," he argued to himself, "aint to be trusted,
especially when he's goin' round lookin' like a blank hyena. But I
guess I'll have to let him go and git back to the ranch." And so
with an uneasy feeling Ike watched them set off.
Half-way back to the ranch he met his boss.
"Hello, Ike," saluted The Kid gaily. "You're needing a powder. Off
your feed, eh?"
"Howdy, boss," replied the cowboy gravely.
"I'm feelin' proper enough, but there's others not so frisky."
"What's up, Ike? Your grandmother poorly?"
"Well, do you know," said Ike, watching The Kid keenly with his half
shut eyes, "there's been a great mix-up at The Lake there. A breed,
half dead with the saddle, came from the Old Prospector askin' for
the preacher. Guess the old chap's about quittin' the trail."
The Kid's hand tightened on the reins.
"Hit him there, I reckon," grunted Ike to himself, but the other
paid no attention. "So," continued Ike, "they've all gone off."
"Who?"
"Why the hull town, seemingly. There's the preacher, and the doctor,
and that there Crawley, with Carroll's wagon outfit. They looked a
little like a circus, except that there want any wild animals.
Unless you'd count Crawley for a monkey, which would be rather hard
on the monkey, I guess."
Ike chuckled, a rare chuckle that seemed to begin a long way below
his diaphragm and work slowly up to his lips.
"What the deuce are you talking about?" enquired The Kid. "What has
Crawley got to do with this?"
"Why," said Ike in a surprised tone, "dunno, onless he's a friend of
the old man's. They do have a lot of business together seemingly. Or
perhaps as company for the gel."
"The girl! Steady there, Swallow," to his mare, for Swallow had
given a sudden spring. "What girl?" demanded The Kid. "Why don't you
talk sense? You didn't say anything about a girl."
"Why, didn't I mention about that gel? Well, I'm gettin' forgetful.
Why, what gel do you think? They aint growin' on rose bushes or old
willows round here, so far as I've seen. Now, how many gels have you
observed in your pilgrimages round that town?"
"Oh, blank you for an idiot!" said The Kid wrathfully. "Do you mean
that the--Miss Mowbray has gone off with the rest?" In spite of his
splendid self-control, as The Kid spoke the name a red flush on his
face could be suddenly seen through the brown tan.
Ike nodded gravely.
"Yes, she's gone. But she'll be all right. The preacher's there.
He'll be busy with the old man, of course, but he'll find some time
for her. And then there's the other chap, you know. He's been mighty
kind to-day, mighty kind, and considerable, too. Can't say as I'd
just cotton to him, but when he likes he's ingraciousin' ways,
mighty ingraciousin' ways."
"Oh!" roared The Kid. "Crawley" Then he looked at his cowboy's face.
"Confound you, Ike! So you were pulling my leg a little, were you?
Never mind, my day will come."
With this he turned the Swallow toward the Lake and set off.
"Good-bye," called out Ike. "Where you going?"
"Oh, I say," cried The Kid, wheeling the Swallow.
"What trail did they take?"
"You mean Crawley?" inquired Ike.
With a curse The Kid bore down upon him.
"Which way did they go?" he demanded.
"Okanagan trail," said Ike, with a slow grin. "So long."
"Good-bye, Ike. You'll see me when I come back."
And The Kid waved his hand, and gave the Swallow her head.
Ike looked after him, and allowed himself the very, unusual
indulgence of a hearty laugh.
"Well," he said, "I tried to help Crawley a little, but somehow it
didn't seem to go right."
A tail chase is a long chase, and so The Kid found it, for the speed
and endurance of the Swallow were both fully tested before the
advance party were overtaken.
As he came in sight of them he pulled himself up with the question,
"What am I doing here? What is my business with that party?" For a
mile or so he rode slowly, keeping out of their sight, trying to
find such answer to this question as would satisfy not so much
himself but those before him, to whom, somehow, he felt an answer
was due. The difficulty of explaining his presence became sensibly
greater as he pictured himself attempting to make it clear to
Crawley.
"It is none of his business, anyway," at length he said impatiently.
"She doesn't want him around. How did he know?"
Crawley was a man of some parts. He had money and ability. He was a
scholar, and could talk well about rocks and plants. The Kid had
heard him discourse to the Old Prospector and Marion many a day on
these subjects, and intelligently, too.
"Well," he said at length, "I may be of some use, anyway. Surely a
fellow has a right to offer his services to his friends in trouble."
With this explanation on his lips he sailed down upon the company.
Marion and the half-breed were riding far in front, Crawley
following as closely as he could with the wagon. Some distance in
the rear were Shock and the doctor in the backboard. The Kid could
hear Crawley pointing out to Marion in a loud voice the striking
features of the beauty that lay around them in such a wealth and
variety of profusion. The words of Ike came to his mind, "mighty
ingraciousin'."
"Confound his impudence!" he growled. "I wonder if she knows the
kind of snake he is? I believe I'll tell her, for her own sake. No,
that won't do, either. Well, I guess I must wait my chance."
Put the chance seemed slow in coming.
"Thought I would ride after you and offer--see if you--if I could be
of service."
"And we are very glad to have you," said Shock heartily.
"Yes, we found you useful on occasion before, and doubtless shall
again," said the doctor, in a tone of pleasant sufferance.
The Kid reined up behind the buckboard, waiting for an excuse to
ride forward, but for miles finding a none.
"I wonder now," said Shock at length, "if we had not better stop and
have tea, and then ride till dark before we camp. If Marion is not
tired that would be the better way."
"I'll ride up and ask," said The Kid eagerly, and before any other
suggestion could be made he was gone.
The proposition found acceptance with Marion and, what was of more
importance, with the half-breed guide.
If The Kid had any doubt of his reception by the girl the glad,
grateful look in her eyes as he drew near was enough to assure him
of her welcome; and as he took the guide's place by her side she
hastened to say, "I am glad you came, Mr. Stanton. It was very kind
of you to come. It was awful riding alone mile after mile."
"Alone!" echoed The Kid.
"Well, I mean you know he cannot talk much English and--"
"Of course," promptly replied The Kid, "I am awfully glad I came,
now. Wasn't sure just how you might take it. I mean, I did not like
pushing myself in, you understand."
"Oh, surely one does not need to explain a kindness such as this,"
said the girl simply. "You see, the doctor and Mr. Macgregor are
together, and will be, and the others--well, I hardly know them."
The trail wound in and out, with short curves and sharp ascents,
among the hills, whose round tops were roughened with the rocks that
jutted through the turf, and were decked with clumps of poplar and
spruce and pine. The world seemed full of brightness to the boy. His
heart overflowed with kindness to all mankind. He found it possible,
indeed, to think of Crawley, even, with a benignant compassion.
Far up in the Pass they camped, in a little sheltered dell all thick
with jack pines, through whose wide-spreading roots ran and
chattered a little mountain brook. But for the anxiety that lay like
lead upon her heart, how delightful to Marion would have been this,
her first, experience of a night out of doors. And when after tea
Shock, sitting close by the fire, read that evening Psalm, breathing
a trust and peace that no circumstances of ill could break, the
spicy air and the deep blue sky overhead, sown with stars that
rained down their gentle beams through the silent night, made for
Marion a holy place where God seemed near, and where it was good to
lie down and rest. "I will both lay me down in peace and sleep, for
thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety"
And that sense of security, of being under tender, loving care, did
not forsake her all through the long watches of the night, and
through the weary miles of the next day's travel that brought them
at length to the Old Prospector's camp.
As they neared the camp the trail emerged out of thick bushes into a
wide valley, where great pines stood, with wide spaces between, and
clear of all underbrush. The whole valley was carpeted thick with
pine needles, and gleamed like gold in the yellow light of the
evening sun. The lower boughs under which they rode were dead, and
hung with long streamers of grey moss that gave the trees the
appearance of hoary age.
As they entered the valley instinctively they lowered their voices
and spoke in reverent tones, as if they had been ushered into an
assemblage of ancient and silent sages. On every side the stately
pines led away in long vistas that suggested the aisles of some
noble cathedral. There was no sign of life anywhere, no motion of
leaf or bough, no sound to break the solemn stillness. The clatter
of a hoof over a stone broke on the ear with startling discordance.
The wide reaches of yellow carpet of pine needles, golden and with
black bars of shadow, the long drawn aisles of tall pines, bearing
aloft like stately pillars the high, arched roof of green, the lower
limbs sticking out from the trunks bony and bare but for the pendant
streamers of grey moss, all bathed in the diffused radiance of the
yellow afternoon light, suggested some weird and mighty fane of a
people long dead, whose spirits, haunting these solemn spaces, still
kept over their temple a silent and awful watch.
Out on the trail they met Perault in a frenzy of anxious excitement.
"Tank de Bon Dieu!" he cried brokenly, with hands uplifted. "Come
wit' me, queek! queek!"
"Perault, tell us how your boss is." The doctor's voice was quiet
and authoritative. "And tell us how long he has been ill, and how it
came on. Be very particular. Take plenty of time."
Perault's Gallic temperament responded to the doctor's quiet tone
and manner.
"Oui. Bon," he said, settling down. "Listen to me. We come nice and
slow to dis place, an' den we go up dat gulch for little prospect.
Good ting, too. Good mine dere, sure. But old boss he can't stay. He
must go, go, go. Den we go up 'noder gulch, tree, four day more, for
'noder mine. Pretty good, too. Den one night we comin' back to camp,
old boss feel good. Skeep along lak small sheep. By gar, he's feel
too good! He's fall in crik. Dat's noting. No! Good fire, plenty
blanket make dat all right. But dat night I hear de ole boss groan,
and cry, and turn overe and overe. Light de fire; give him one big
drink wheesky. No good. He's go bad all dat night. Nex' day he's het
noting. Nex' day he's worser and worser. Wat I can do I can't tell.
Den de Bon Dieu he send along dat half-breed. De ole boss he write
letter, an' you come here queek."
"Thank you, Perault. A very lucid explanation, indeed. Now, we shall
see the patient; and you, Miss Marion, had better remain here by the
fire for a few moments."
The doctor passed with Shock into the Old Prospector's tent.
"Mr. Macgregor," cried the old man, stretching out both hands
eagerly to him, "I'm glad you have come. I feared you would not be
in time. But now," sinking back upon his balsam bed, "now all will
be--well."
"Mr. Mowbray," said Shock, "I have brought the doctor with me. Let
him examine you now, and then we shall soon have you on your feet
again."
The old gentleman smiled up into Shock's face, a smile quiet and
content.
"No," he said between short breaths, "I have taken the long trail.
My quest is over. It is not for me."
"Let the doctor have a look at you," entreated Shock.
"Most certainly," said the Old Prospector, in his wonted calm voice.
"Let the doctor examine me. I am not a man to throw away any hope,
however slight."
As the doctor proceeded with his examination his face grew more and
more grave. At length he said, "It is idle for me to try to conceal
the truth from you, Mr. Mowbray. You are a very sick man. The
inflammation has become general over both lobes of the lung. The
walls of the vessels and the surrounding tissues have lost their
vitality; the vessels are extremely dilated, while exudation and
infiltration have proceeded to an alarming extent. The process of
engorgement is complete."
"Do you consider his condition dangerous, doctor?" said Shock,
breaking in upon the doctor's technical description.
"In a young person the danger would not be so great, but, Mr.
Mowbray, I always tell the truth to my patients. In a man of your
age I think the hope of recovery is very slight indeed."
"Thank you, doctor" said the old man cheerfully. "I knew it long
ago, but I am content that my quest should cease at this point. And
now, if you will give me a few moments of close attention," he said,
turning to Shock, "and if you will see that the privacy of this tent
is absolutely secure, there is little more that I shall require of
you."
The doctor stepped to the door.
"Doctor," said the Old Prospector, "I do not wish you to go. It is
more than I hoped, that there should be beside me when I passed out
of this life two men that I can trust, such as yourself and Mr.
Macgregor. Sit down close beside me and listen."
He pulled out from beneath his pillow an oil-skin parcel, which he
opened, discovering a small bag of buckskin tied with a thong.
"Open it," he said to Shock. "Take out the paper." His voice became
low and eager, and his manner bespoke intense excitement.
"My dear friend," said the doctor, "this will be too much for you.
You must be calm."
"Give me something to drink, doctor, something to steady me a bit,
for I must convey to you the secret of my life's quest."
The doctor administered a stimulant, and then, with less excitement,
but with no less eagerness, the old man proceeded with his story.
"Here," he said, pointing with a trembling finger to a line upon the
paper Shock had spread before him, "here is the trail that leads to
the Lost River. At this point we are now camped. Follow the course
of this stream to this point, half a day's journey, not more; turn
toward the east and cross over this low mountain ridge and you come
to a valley that will strike you as one of peculiar formation. It
has no apparent outlet. That valley," said the Old Prospector,
lowering his voice to a whisper, "is the valley of the Lost River.
This end," keeping his trembling finger at a certain point on the
paper, "has been blocked up by a mountain slide. The other turns
very abruptly, still to the east. Three mountain peaks, kept in
perfect line, will lead you across this blockade to the source of
the Lost River."
"Mr. Mowbray," said Shock, "Perault tells us you only made short
excursions from this point where we are now."
"Listen," said the old man. "I made this discovery last year. I have
breathed it to no one. My claim is yet unstaked, but here," said he,
taking another small buckskin bag from his breast, "here is what I
found."
He tried in vain with his trembling fingers to undo the knot. Shock
took the bag from him and opened it up.
"Empty it out," said the old man, his eyes glittering with fever and
excitement.
Shock poured forth gold dust and nuggets.
"There," he sighed. "I found these at that spot. Empty the other
bag," he said to Shock. "These are the ones given me by the Indian
so many years ago. The same gold, the same rock, the same nuggets.
There is my Lost River. I thought to stake my claim this summer. I
ought to have staked it last year, but a terrible storm drove me out
of the mountains and I could not complete my work."
The old man ceased his tale, and lay back upon his couch with closed
eyes, and breathing quickly. The doctor and Shock stood looking at
each other in amazement and perplexity.
"Is he quite himself?" said Shock, in a low voice.
The old man caught the question and opened his eyes.
"Doctor, I am quite sane. You know I am quite sane. I am excited, I
confess, but I am quite sane. For thirteen years and more I have
sought for those little pieces of metal and rock, but, thank God! I
have found them, not for myself, but for my girl. I ruined her life-
-I now redeem. And now, Mr. Macgregor, will you undertake a charge
for me? Will you swear to be true, to faithfully carry out the
request I am to make?"
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 | 13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21