A Damaged Reputation Read online

  VIII.

  A BOLD VENTURE.

  It was a hot morning shortly after Brooke's return to the Elktail mine,and Saxton sat in his galvanized shanty with his feet on a chair and acigar in his hand. The door stood open and let a stream of sunlight andbalsamic odors of the forest in. He wore soil-stained jean, and seemedvery damp, for he had just come out of the mine. Thomas P. Saxton waswhat is termed a rustler in that country, a man of unlimited assuranceand activity, troubled by no particular scruples and keen to seize onany chances that might result in the acquisition of even a very fewdollars. He was also, like most of his countrymen, eminently adaptable,and the fact that he occasionally knew very little about the task hetook in hand seldom acted as a deterrent. It was characteristic thatduring the past hour he had been endeavoring to show his foreman how torun a new rock-drilling machine which he had never seen in operationuntil that time.

  Brooke, who had been speaking, sat watching him with a faint ironicalappreciation. The man was delightfully candid, at least with him, andthough he was evidently not averse from sailing perilously near the windit was done with boldness and ingenuity. There was a little twinkle inhis keen eyes as he glanced at his companion.

  "Well," he said, "one has to take his chances when he has all to gainand very little to let up upon. That's the kind of man I am."

  "I believe you told me you had got quite a few dollars together not verylong ago," said Brooke, reflectively.

  The smile became a trifle plainer in Saxton's eyes. "I did, but very fewof them are mine. Somehow I get to know everybody worth knowing in theprovince, and now and then folks with dollars to spare for a venturehand them me to put into a deal."

  "On the principle that one has to take his chances in this country?"

  Saxton laughed good-humoredly. "Well," he said, "I never go back upon apartner, anyway, and when we make a deal the other folks are quite atliberty to keep their eyes on me. They know the rules of the game, andif they don't always get the value they expected they most usually lielow and sell out to another man instead of blaming me. It pays their waybetter than crying down their bargain. Still, I have started off millsand wild-cat mines that turned out well, and went on coining dollars foreverybody."

  "Which was no doubt a cause of satisfaction to you!"

  Saxton shook his head. "No, sir," he said. "I felt sorry ever after Ihadn't kept them."

  Brooke straightened himself a trifle in his chair, for he felt that theywere straying from the point.

  "Industrial speculations in this province remind me of a game we have inEngland. Perhaps you have seen it," he said, reflectively. "You bet ashilling or half-a-crown that when you lift up a thimble you will find apea you have seen a man place under it. It is not very often that youaccomplish it. Still, in that case--there is--a pea."

  "And there's nothing but low-grade ore in the Dayspring? Now, nobodyever quite knows what he will find in a mine if he lays out enoughdollars looking for it."

  "That," said Brooke, drily, "is probably correct enough, especially ifhe is ignorant of geology. What I take exception to is the sprinkling ofthe mine with richer ore to induce him to buy it. Such a proceedingwould be called by very unpleasant names in England, and I'm not quitesure it mightn't bring you within the reach of the law here. Mind, whatyou may think fit to do is, naturally, no concern of mine, but I havetolerably strong objections to taking any further personal part in thescheme."

  "The point is that we're playing it off on Devine, the man who robbedyou, and has once or twice put his foot on me. I was considerablyflattened when I crawled from under. He's a big man and he puts it downheavy."

  "Still, I feel it's necessary to draw the line at a swindle."

  Saxton made a little whimsical gesture. "Call it the game with the peaand thimble. Devine has got a notion there's something in the mine, andI don't know any reason why I shouldn't humor him. He's quite oftenright, you see."

  "It does not affect the point, but are you quite sure he isn't rightnow?"

  "You mean that Allonby may be?"

  "I shouldn't consider it quite out of the question."

  Saxton laughed softly. "Allonby's a whisky-skin, and I keep him becausehe's cheap and it's a charity. Everybody knows that story of his, and heonly trots it out when he has got a good bottle of old rye into him. Atmost other times he's quite sensible. Anyway, Devine doesn't want themine to keep. He has to get a working group with a certain output andassays that look well all round before he floats it off on the Englishmarket. If he knew I was quietly dumping that ore in I'm not quite sureit would rile him."

  Brooke sat silent a space. He had discovered by this time that it is notadvisable to expect any excess of probity in a mining deal, and that itis the speculator, and not the men who face the perils of thewilderness (which are many, prospecting), who usually takes the profit.A handful or two of dollars for them, and a big bank balance for thetrickster stock manipulator appeared to be the rules of the game. Still,nobody can expect to acquire riches without risk or labor, and it seemedno great wrong to him that the men with the dollars should lose a few ofthem occasionally. Granting that, he did not, however, feel it warrantedhim in taking any active part in fleecing them.

  "Still, if another bag of ore goes into the Dayspring you can count meout," he said. "No doubt, it's a trifle inconsistent, but you willunderstand plainly that I take no further share in selling the mine."

  Saxton shook his head reproachfully. "Those notions of yours are goingto get in your way, and it's unfortunate, because we have taken hold ofa big thing," he said. "I'm an irresponsible planter of wild-cat miningschemes, you're nobody, and between us we're going to best Devine, thebiggest man in his line in the province, and a clever one. Still, that'sone reason why the notion gets hold of me. When you come in ahead of thelittle man there's nothing to be got out of him, and Devine's good forquite a pile when we can put the screw on."

  Again Brooke was sensible of a certain tempered admiration for hiscomrade's hardihood, for it seemed to him that the project he hadmooted might very well involve them both in disaster.

  "You expect to accomplish it?" he said.

  "Well," said Saxton, drily, "I mean to try. We can't squeeze him much onthe Dayspring, but we want dollars to fight him with, and that's howwe're going to get a few of them. It's on the Canopus I mean to strikehim."

  "The Canopus!" said Brooke, who knew the mine in question was considereda rich one. "How could you gain any hold on him over that?"

  "On the title. By jumping it. Devine takes too many chances now andthen, and if one could put his fingers on a little information I have anotion the Canopus wouldn't be his. I guess you know that unless you dothis, that, and the other, after recording your correct frontage on thelead or vein, you can't hold a mine on a patent from the Crown. Supposeyou have got possession, and it's found that there was anything wrongwith the papers you or your prospectors filed, the minerals go back tothe Crown again, and the man who's first to drive his stakes in canre-locate them. It's done now and then."

  Brooke sat silent a space. A jumper--as the man who re-locates theminerals somebody else has found, on the ground of incorrect record ornon-compliance with the mining enactments, is called--is not regardedwith any particular favor in that province, or, indeed, elsewhere, buthis proceedings may be, at least, perfectly legitimate, and there was acertain simplicity and daring of conception in the new scheme that hadits effect on Brooke.

  "I will do what I can within limits," he said.

  Saxton nodded. "Then you will have to get into the mine, though I don'tquite know how we are going to fix it yet," he said. "Anyway, we'vetalked enough for one day already, and you have to go down to thesettlement to see about getting those new drills up."

  Brooke set out for the settlement, and slept at a ranch on the way,where he left his horse which had fallen lame, for it was a two days'journey, while it was late in the afternoon when he sat down to restwhere the trail crossed a bridge. The latter was a somewhat rudimentarylog
structure put together with the axe and saw alone, of a width thatwould just allow one of the light wagons in use in that country to crossover it, and, as the bottom of the hollow the river swirled through waslevel there, an ungainly piece of trestle work carried the road up toit. There was a long, white rapid not far away, and the roar of it rangin deep vibrations among the rocks above. Brooke, who had walked a longway, found the pulsating sound soothing, while the fragrance the duskycedars distilled had its usual drowsy effect on him, and as he watchedthe glancing water slide by his eyes grew heavy.

  He did not remember falling asleep, but by and by the sombre wall ofconiferous forest that shut the hollow in seemed to dwindle to thelikeness of a trim yew hedge, and the river now slid by smooth andplacidly. There was also velvet grass beneath his feet in place ofwheel-rutted gravel and brown fir needles. Still, the scene he gazedupon was known to him, though it seemed incomplete until a girl withbrown eyes in a long white dress and big white hat appeared at his side.She fitted the surroundings wonderfully, for her almost stately serenityharmonized with the quietness and order of the still English valley, butyet he was puzzled, for there was sunlight on the water, and he feltthat the moon should be shining round and full above her shoulder. Thenwhen he would have spoken the picture faded, and he became suddenlyconscious that his pipe had fallen from his hand, and that he wasdressed in soil-stained jean which seemed quite out of keeping with theEnglish lawn. That was his first impression, but while he wonderedvaguely how he came to have a pipe made out of a corn-cob, which costhim about thirty cents, at all, a rattle of displaced gravel andpounding of hoofs became audible, and he recognized that somethingunusual was going on.

  He shook himself to attention, and looking about him saw a man sittingstiffly erect on the driving seat of a light wagon and endeavoring tourge a pair of unwilling horses up the sloping trestle. They wereCayuses, beasts of native blood and very uncertain temper, bred byIndians, and as usual, about half-broken to the rein. They also appearedto have decided objections to crossing the bridge, for which any one newto the province would scarcely have felt inclined to blame them. Theriver frothed beneath it, the ascent was steep with a twist in it, and asmall log, perhaps a foot through, spiked down to the timbers, served assole protection. It would evidently not be difficult for a pair offrightened horses to tilt a wheel of the very light vehicle over it.

  Still, the structure compared favorably with most of those in themountains, and Brooke, who knew that it is not always advisable tointerfere in a dispute between a bush rancher and his horses, sat still,until it became evident to him that the man did not belong to thatcommunity. He was elderly, for there was grey in the hair beneath thewide hat, while something in the way he held himself and the fit of hisclothes, which appeared unusually good, suggested a connection with thecities. It was, however, evident that he was a determined man, for heshowed no intention of dismounting, and responded to the off horse'svicious kicking with a stinging cut of the whip. The result of this wasa plunge, and one wheel struck the foot-high guard with a crash. The manplied the whip again, and with another plunge and scramble the beastsgained the level of the bridge. Here they stopped altogether, and oneattempted to stand upright while Brooke sprang to his feet.

  "Hadn't you better get down, sir, or let me lead them across?" he said.

  The man, tightening both hands upon the reins, cast a momentary glanceat him, and his little grim smile and the firm grip of his long, leanfingers supplied a hint of his character.

  "Not until I have to," he said. "They're going to cross this bridge."

  Brooke moved a few paces nearer. It was one thing for a rancheraccustomed to horses and bridges of that description to take pleasure insuch a struggle, but quite another in the case of a man from the cities,and he had misgivings as to the result of it. The latter, however,showed very little concern, though the near horse was now apparentlyendeavoring to kick the front of the wagon in. Then Brooke sprangsuddenly towards them as both backed the wagon against the log. Hefancied that one wheel was mounting it when he seized the near horse'shead, but after that he had very little opportunity of noticinganything.

  The beast plunged, and came near swinging him off his feet, the wagonpole creaked portentously, and the whip fell swishing across the otherhorse's back again. Then there was a hammering of hoofs, and a rattle;the team bolted incontinently, and because the bridge was narrow,Brooke, who lost his hold, sprang upon the log that very indifferentlyguarded it. It was, however, rounded on the top, and next moment hefound himself standing knee-deep in the river, shaken, and considerablyastonished, but by no means hurt. A drop of ten feet or so is not veryapt to hurt an agile man who alights upon his feet. He saw the wagonbounce upon the half-round logs, as with the team stretching out in afurious gallop in front of it, it crossed the trestle on the oppositeside, and vanish into the forest; and then finding himself very littlethe worse, proceeded to wade back to the bridge. He was plodding up theclimbing trail beneath the firs when a shout came down and he saw theman had pulled the wagon up. When Brooke drew level he looked at himwith a little dry smile.

  "I guess you and the Cayuses came off the worst," he said.

  Brooke glanced at the horses. They were flecked with lather but quietenough now, and it was evident that the driver had beaten the spirit outof them on the ascent.

  "I fancied the result would have been different a little while ago," hesaid.

  The stranger laughed. "I 'most always get my way," he said. "Still, Ididn't pull the team up to tell you that. You're going in to thesettlement?"

  Brooke said he was, and the stranger bade him get up, which he did, andseized the first opportunity of glancing at his companion. There is, ithad already appeared to him, a greater typical likeness between thebusiness men of the Pacific slope, in which category he placed hiscompanion, than is usual in the case of Englishmen. Even when large offrame they seldom put on flesh, and the characteristic lean face andspare figure alone supply a hint of restlessness and activity, which isemphasized by mobility of features and quick nervous gesture. The manwho drove the wagon was almost unusually gaunt, and while his eyes,which were brown, and reminded Brooke curiously of somebody else's,seemed to scintillate with a faint sardonic twinkle, there was asuggestion of reticence in his firm thin lips, and an unmistakable stampof command upon him. He also held himself well, and Brooke fancied thathe was in his own sphere a man of some importance. His first observationwas, however, not exactly what Brooke would have expected from anEnglishman of his apparent station.

  "I'm much obliged to you," he said. "I don't like to be beaten, and it'sa thing that doesn't happen very often. Besides, when a horse is toomuch for a man it's kind of humiliating. There's something that doesn'tstrike one as quite fitting in the principle of the thing."

  Brooke laughed. "I'm not sure it's worth while to worry very much over apoint of that kind, especially when it seems likely to lead to nothingbeyond the probability of being pitched into a river."

  "Still," said the stranger, with the little twinkle showing plainer inhis eyes, "in this case it was the other man who fell in."

  "I fancy it quite frequently is," said Brooke, reflectively. "That isusually the result of meddling."

  The stranger nodded, and quietly inspected him. "You have been here sometime, but you are an Englishman," he said.

  "I am," said Brooke. "Is there any reason why I should hide the fact?"

  "You couldn't do it. How long have you been here?"

  "Four years in all, I think."

  "What did you come out for?"

  Brooke was accustomed to Western brusquerie, and there was nothing inhis companion's manner which made the question offensive.

  "I fancy my motive was not an unusual one. To pick up a few dollars."

  "Got them yet?"

  "I can't say I have."

  The stranger appeared reflective. "There are not many folks who wouldhave admitted that," he said. "When a man has been four years in thiscountry he ought to have put a f
ew dollars together. What have you beenat?"

  "Ranching most of the time. Road-making, saw-milling, and a few otheroccupations of the same kind afterwards."

  "What was wrong with the ranch?"

  Persistent questioning is not unusual in that country, for what isconsidered delicacy depends largely upon locality, and Brooke laughed.

  "Almost everything," he said. "It had a good many disadvantages besidesits rockiness, sterility, and an unusually abundant growth oftwo-hundred-feet trees. Still, it was the man who sold it me I foundmost fault with. He was a land agent."

  "One of the little men?"

  "No. I believe he is considered rather a big one--in fact about thebiggest in that particular line."

  The little sardonic gleam showed a trifle more plainly in the stranger'seyes. "He told you the land was nicely cleared ready, and would growanything?"

  "No," said Brooke. "He, however, led me to believe that it could becleared with very little difficulty, and that the lumber was worth agood deal. I daresay it is, if there was any means whatever of gettingit to a mill, which there isn't. He certainly told me there was noreason it shouldn't grow as good fruit as any that comes from Oregon,while I found the greatest difficulty in getting a little green oatfodder out of it."

  "You went back, and tried to cry off your bargain?"

  Brooke glanced at his companion, and fancied that he was watching himclosely. "I really don't know any reason why I should worry you with myaffairs. My case isn't at all an unusual one."

  "I don't know of any why you shouldn't. Go right on."

  "Then I never got hold of the man himself. It was one of his agents Imade the deal with, and there was nothing to be obtained from him. Infact, I could see no probability of getting any redress at all. Itappears to be considered commendable to take the newly-arrived Britisherin."

  The other man smiled drily. "Well," he said, "some of them 'most seem toexpect it. Ever think of trying the law against the principal?"

  "The law," said Brooke, "is apt to prove a very uncertain remedy, and Ispent my last few dollars convincing myself that the ranch wasworthless. Now, one confidence ought to warrant another. What hasbrought you into the bush? You do not belong to it."

  The stranger laughed. "There's not much bush in this country, fromKootenay to Caribou, I haven't wandered through. I used to live init--quite a long while ago. I came up to look at a mine. I buy one upoccasionally."

  "Isn't that a little risky?"

  "Well," said the other, with a little smile, "it depends. There aregoods, like eggs and oranges, you don't want to keep."

  "And a good market in England for whatever the Colonials have noparticular use for?"

  The stranger laughed good-humoredly. "Did you ever strike any real goodsalt pork in Canada?"

  "No," said Brooke, decisively, "I certainly never did."

  "Then where does the best bacon you get in England come from? Same withcheese--and other things."

  "Including mines?"

  "Well, when any of them look like paying it's generally your folk whoget them. Know anything about the Dayspring?"

  "Not a great deal," Brooke said, guardedly. "I have been in theworkings, and it is for sale."

  "Ore worth anything at the smelter?"

  Now Brooke was perfectly certain that such a man as his companionappeared to be would attach no great importance to any informationobtained by chance from a stranger.

  "There is certainly a little good ore in it," he said, drily.

  "That is about all you mean to tell me?"

  "It is about all I know definitely."

  The stranger smiled curiously. "Well," he said, "I'm not going to worryyou, and I guess I know a little more."

  Brooke changed the topic, and listened with growing interest, and alittle astonishment, to his companion as they drove on. The man seemedacquainted with everything he could mention, including the sentimentsof the insular English and the economics as well as the history of theircountry. He was even more astonished when, as they alighted before thelittle log hotel at the pine-shrouded settlement, the host greeted thestranger.

  "You'll be Mr. Devine who wrote me about the room and a saddle horse?"he said.

  "Yes," said the other man, who glanced at Brooke with a little whimsicalsmile, "you have addressed me quite correctly."

  Brooke said nothing, for he realized then something of the nature of thetask he and Saxton had undertaken, while it was painfully evident thathe had done very little to further his cause at the first encounter. Healso found the little gleam in Devine's eyes almost exasperating, andturned to the hotel-keeper to conceal the fact.

  "Has the freighter come through?" he said.

  "No," said the man. "Bob, who has just come in, said he'd a big load andwe needn't expect him until to-morrow."

  Devine had turned away now, and Brooke touched the hotel-keeper's arm."I don't wish that man to know I'm from the Elktail," he said.

  "Well," said the hotel-keeper, "you know Saxton's business best, but ifI had any share in it and struck a man of that kind looking round formines I'd do what was in me to shove the Dayspring off on to him."