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Title: The Challenge of the North 

Author: James Hendryx 

Release Date: May 10, 2006 [EBook #18366] 

Language: English 

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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHALLENGE OF 
THE NORTH *** 




Produced by Al Haines 










THE CHALLENGE OF THE NORTH 


BY 

JAMES HENDRYX 





GARDEN CITY --------- NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

1922 




COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
  INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES 

AT 

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 


_First Edition_ 




The Challenge of the North 

I 

Oskar Hedin, head of the fur department of old John McNabb's 
big store, looked up from his scrutiny of the Russian sable 
coat spread upon a table before him, and encountered the 
twinkling eyes of old John himself. 

"It's a shame to keep this coat here--and that natural black 
fox piece, too.  Who is there in Terrace City that's got 
thirty thousand dollars to spend for a fur coat, or twenty 
thousand for a fox fur?" 

Old John grinned.  "Mrs. Orcutt bought one, didn't she?" 

"Yes, but she bought it down in New York----" 

"An' paid thirty-five thousand for a coat that runs half a 
dozen shades lighter, an' is topped an' pointed to bring it 
up to the best it's got. Did I ever tell ye the story of 
Mrs. Orcutt's coat?" 

"No." 

"It goes back quite a ways--the left-handed love me an' Fred 
Orcutt has for one another.  We speak neighborly on the 
street, an' for years we've played on opposite sides of a 
ball-a-hole foursome at the Country Club, but either of us 
would sooner lose a hundred dollars than pay the other a 
golf ball. 

"It come about in a business way, an' in a business way it's 
kept on. Not a dollar of McNabb money passes through the 
hands of Orcutt's Wolverine Bank--an' he could have had it 
all, an' he knows it. 

"As ye know, I started out, a lad, with the Hudson's Bay 
Company, an' I'd got to be a factor when an old uncle of my 
mother's in Scotlan' died an' left me a matter of twenty 
thousand pounds sterling.  When I got the money I quit the 
Company an' drifted around a bit until finally I bought up a 
big tract of Michigan pine.  There wasn't any Terrace City 
then.  I located a sawmill here at the mouth of the river 
an' it was known as McNabb's Landin'. 

"D'ye see those docks?  I built 'em, an' I've seen the time 
when they was two steamers warped along each side of 'em, 
an' one acrost the end, an' a half a dozen more anchored in 
the harbor waitin' to haul McNabb's lumber.  The van stood 
on this spot in the sawmill days, an' when it got too small 
I built a wooden store.  Folks began driftin' in.  They 
changed the name from McNabb's Landin' to Terrace City, an' 
I turned a many a good dollar for buildin' sites. 

"The second summer brought Fred Orcutt, an' I practically 
give him the best lot of the whole outfit to build his bank 
on.  The town outgrew the wooden store an' I built this one, 
addin' the annex later, an' I ripped out the old dam an' put 
in a concrete dam an' a power plant that furnished light an' 
power for all Terrace City.  Money was comin' in fast an' I 
invested it here an' there--Michigan, an' Minnesota, an' 
Winconsin pine, an' the Lord knows what not.  Then come the 
panic, an' I found out almost over night that I was land 
poor.  I needed cash, or credit at the bank, or I had to 
take a big loss.  I went to see Fred Orcutt--I banked with 
him, those days, an' he knew the fix I was in. Yes, the bank 
would be glad to accommodate me all right; if you could of 
been there an' heard Fred Orcutt lay down his terms you'd 
know just how damn glad they'd of been to accommodate me.  
It kind of stunned me at first, an' then I saw red--the man 
I'd befriended in more ways than one, just layin' back till 
he had me in his clutches!  Well, I lit out an' told him 
just what I thought of him--an' he got it in log camp 
English.  It never fazed him.  He just sat there leanin' 
back in his chair, bringin' the points of his fingers 
together an' drawin' 'em apart again, an' lookin' me square 
in the face with them pale blue fishy eyes of his.  When I'd 
used up all the oaths an' epithets in common use, an' some 
new ones, an' had to quit, he says, in the same cold, even 
voice that he'd used in layin' down his terms, he says, 
'You're a little excited now, John, and I'll not hold it 
against you. Just drop in sometime to-morrow or next day and 
we'll fix up the papers.'" 

"I walked out of the bank with a wild scheme in my head of 
going to Detroit or Chicago for the money.  But I knew it 
was no use--and so did Orcutt.  He thought he had me right 
where he wanted me--an' so did I. Meanwhile, an' about six 
months previous, a young fellow named Charlie Bronson--
president of the First National now--had opened up a little 
seven-by-nine bank in a tin-covered wooden shack that I'd 
passed a dozen times a day an' hadn't even looked into.  I'd 
met Bronson once or twice, but hadn't paid no attention to 
him, an' as I was headin' back for the store, he stood in 
his doorway.  'Good mornin' Mr. McNabb,' he says.  I don't 
think I'd of took the trouble to answer him, but just then 
his bank sign caught my eye.  It was painted in black 
letters an' stuck out over the sidewalk.  I stopped an' 
looked past him through the open door where his bookkeeper-
payin'-an'-receivin'-teller-cashier, an' general factotum 
was busy behind the cheap grill.  Then I looked at Bronson 
an' the only thing I noticed was that his eyes was brown, 
an' he was smilin'.  'Young man,' I says, 'have you got any 
money in that sardine can?' 

"'Quite a lot,' he answers with a grin.  'More than I wish I 
had.' 

"'You got a hundred thousand?' I asks--it was more than I 
needed, but I thought I'd make it big enough to scare him. 

"'More than that,' he answers, without battin' an eye.  
'But--what's the matter with the Wolverine?' 

"'The Wolverine?' I busted out.  'Young man, if I was to 
tell you what I think of the Wolverine here on the street, 
I'd be arrested before I'd got good an' started.' 

"'Better come inside, then,' he grins, an' I followed him 
into a little box of a private office.  'Of course,' I says 
later, when I'd told him what I wanted, 'most of my 
collateral is pine timber, an' I suppose, as Orcutt says, 
it's depreciated----' 

"'Depreciated?' he asks.  'Why has it depreciated?  It's all 
standin' on end, ain't it?' he says.  An' it ain't gettin' 
no smaller, is it? An' they're layin' down the pine a damn 
sight faster than God Almighty can grow it, ain't they?'  
An' when I admitted that such was the facts, he laughed.  
'Well then, we'll just go over your reports an' estimates, 
an' I don't think we'll have any trouble about doin' 
business.' 

"An we never have had no trouble, an' we've been doin' 
business every day since." 

"But the coat?" reminded Hedin, after an interval of several 
minutes. 

"I'm coming to that.  Orcutt ain't human, but his wife is.  
When he found out I'd slipped out of his clutches an' swung 
all my business over to Bronson's bank he never by so much 
as a word or a look let on that he even noticed it.  They 
still have an account at the store; they can't help it, 
because no other store in Terrace City keeps the stock we 
do.  But Mrs. Orcutt does all her real shoppin' in New York 
or Chicago." 




II 

Oskar Hedin loved fur, and the romance of fur.  From his 
earliest recollection he had loved it as he had curled up 
and listened to the stories of his father, a great 
upstanding Viking of a sailor man, who year after year had 
forced his little vessel into the far North where he traded 
with the natives, and who had lost his life in the ice floes 
of the frozen sea while sailing with Nordenskjold. 

Furs were to Hedin an obsession; they spoke a language he 
knew.  He hated the grosser furs, as he loved the finer.  He 
despised the trade tricks and spurious trade names by which 
the flimsiest of furs are foisted upon the gullible 
purchasers of "seal," "sable," "black fox," "ermine," and 
"beaver."  He prided himself that no misnamed fur had ever 
passed over his counter, and in this he was backed up by his 
employer.  The cheaper furs were there, but they sold under 
their true names and upon their merits. 

In the social democracy of the town of twenty thousand 
people Oskar Hedin had earned a definite place.  After 
graduating from the local high school he had entered the 
employ of McNabb, and within a very few years had been 
promoted to head his department.  At the Country Club he 
could be depended upon to qualify with the first flight in 
the annual golf tournament, and the "dope" was all upset 
when he did not play in the finals on the courts.  He lived 
at the city's only "family hotel," drove his own modest car, 
and religiously spent his Sundays on the trout streams. 

Hedin picked up the coat and reverently deposited it in the 
fur safe. "It's a coat fit for a queen," he decided as he 
closed and locked the door.  And Jean was the one woman in 
the world to wear it.  Jean with the red blood coursing 
through her veins, her glow of health, and the sparkle of 
her eyes--McNabb's own daughter.  "And, yet, I can't suggest 
it because--" Hedin muttered aloud and scowled at the floor.  
"I'd have asked her before this," he went on, "if that 
Wentworth hadn't butted in.  Who knows anything about him, 
anyway?  I'll ask her this afternoon."  He stopped abruptly 
and smiled into the eyes of the girl who was hurrying toward 
him down the aisle. 

"Oh, Oskar, I've just got a minute.  I stopped in to remind 
you that this is Saturday, and we're going tobogganing this 
afternoon, and I've asked Mr. Wentworth and some of the 
crowd, and there'll be four or five toboggans, and it will 
be no end jolly.  And this is my birthday, and you're a dear 
to think of it and send me all those flowers, and I'm going 
to wear 'em to-night.  Listen, Elsie Campbell is giving a 
dinner for me this evening and of course you're not invited 
because it's just too funny the way she has snubbed you 
lately, and there's a show in town and after dinner we're 
going.  Of course it won't be any good, but she's making a 
theatre party of it, and it sounds grand anyway.  And I must 
hurry along now because I must remind Dad that he promised 
me a fur coat the day I was twenty-one, and I'll be back 
after a while and you can help me pick it out.  Good-by, see 
you later!"  And she was gone, leaving Hedin gazing after 
her with a smile as he strove to digest the jumble of 
uncorrelated information of which she had unburdened 
herself.  "Wentworth, and some of the crowd!  Oh, it will be 
jolly, all right--damn Wentworth!" 

Old John McNabb looked up from his papers as his daughter 
burst into his private office and, rushing to his side, 
planted a kiss squarely upon the top of his bald head.  "I 
came in to tell you I'm twenty-one to-day," she announced. 

"Well, well, so ye are!  Ye come into the world on the first 
of March, true to the old sayin', an' ye've be'n boisterous 
ever since. Twenty-one years old, an' tell me now, what have 
ye ever accomplished? When I was your age I'd be'n livin' in 
the bush north of 60 for two years, an' could do my fifty 
miles on snowshoes an' carry a pack." 

"Maybe I can't do fifty miles a day on snowshoes, and I'm 
sure it isn't my fault I don't live north of 60.  But I'm in 
a hurry; I promised to help Mr. Wentworth pick out a 
toboggan cap.  I stopped in to remind you that you promised 
me a fur coat on my twenty-first birthday." 

The old man regarded her thoughtfully.  "So I did, so I 
did," he repeated absently.  "This Wentworth, now--he's been 
kickin' around an uncommon lot, lately.  Tell me again, who 
is he?  What does he do for a livin'?" 

"Why, he's a civil engineer--hydraulic work is his 
specialty.  He has been employed by some company that 
intended to put in a power plant of some kind on Nettle 
River, and either the company broke up, or they found the 
plan was not feasible, or something, and they abandoned it. 
So Mr. Wentworth isn't doing anything, at present.  But he 
is a fine fellow--so jolly, and so good looking, and he has 
a wonderful war record.  He was with the engineers in 
Russia." 

"U-m-m, where d'ye get hold of his war record?" 

"Why--why--he--he has told us about the things they did--his 
company." 

"Um--hum," Old John was stroking his nose. 

"But, if he's civil engineer, an' out of a job, you might 
tell him to stop in a minute--after he gets the right color 
of a toboggan cap picked out." 




III 

When the door closed behind the girl old John readjusted his 
nose glasses and leaned back in his chair.  "A clever 
engineer he is, beyond a doubt," he mused.  "For I kept my 
eye on him while he was layin' out Orcutt's Nettle River 
project.  If he'd made a botch of the job 'twould have saved 
me offerin' my plant to the city.  But he has the look of a 
man ye couldn't trust in the dark--an' 'twould be clever 
engineerin' to marry a million.  I'll set him a job that'll 
show the stuff that's in him.  If he's a crook, I'll give 
him the chance to prove it."  Reaching into a pigeon-hole of 
his desk, McNabb withdrew a thick packet of papers and 
removed the rubber band. 

A few moments later Jean entered, the office followed by a 
rather well set up young man, whose tiny mustache was 
chopped square, like a miniature section of box hedge.  
"This is Mr. Wentworth, Dad," introduced the girl.  "And now 
I'll leave you two men, because Oskar has promised to help 
me pick out a coat, and it's after ten o'clock. And, by the 
way, Dad, what kind of a coat shall I get?  I want a good 
one." 

"I'll warrant ye do!  Well, just you tell Oskar to let you 
pick out a pony, or a crummer, or a baum marten, or a 
squirrel.  They're all good." 

As the door closed behind his daughter, old John McNabb 
motioned the younger man to a chair.  "My daughter tells me 
you're an engineer," he began. 

"Yes, sir, temporarily unemployed." 

"Come up here on the Nettle River project, I hear.  What's 
the matter? Couldn't you dam the river?" 

"Oh, yes.  The Nettle River presents no serious engineering 
problem.  I spent four months on the ground and reported it 
favorably, and then all of a sudden, I was informed that the 
project had been abandoned, at least for the present.  The 
trouble, I presume, was in the financing. It certainly was 
not because of any physical obstacles." 

"What was the idea in building the dam in the first place?" 

"Why, for power purposes.  I believe it was their intention 
to induce manufacturing enterprises to locate in Terrace 
City, and to furnish them electric power at a low rate----" 

"An' underbid me on the lightin' contract--an' then unload 
onto the city at a big profit." 

Wentworth smiled.  "I was not advised as to the financial 
end of it.  I suppose, though, that that would have been the 
logical procedure." 

Old John chuckled.  "You're right, it would, with Fred 
Orcutt mixed up in it.  But they didn't catch me nappin', 
an' I slipped the word to the city dads that I'd sell out to 
'em, lock, stock, an' barrel, at a figure that would have 
meant a loss to Orcutt's crowd to meet.  So I'm the one that 
busted the Nettle River bubble, an' seein' I knocked ye out 
of a job, it's no more than fair I should offer ye another." 

"Why, thank you----" 

"Don't thank me yet," interrupted McNabb.  "Ye may not care 
to tackle it.  It's a man's size job, in a man's country.  
Part of it's the same kind of work you've been doin' here--
locatin' a dam to furnish power to run a pulp mill.  Then 
you'll have to check up the land covered by that batch of 
options, an' explore a couple of rivers, an' locate more 
pulpwood, an' get options on it.  An' lay out a road to the 
railway. It's in Canada, in the Gods Lake Country, three 
hundred miles north of the railhead." 

"How soon would you expect me to start?" 

"Monday wouldn't be none too soon; to-morrow would be 
better.  It's this way.  I've got options on better than 
half a million acres of pulpwood lyin' between Hayes River 
an' the Shamattawa.  Ten years ago I cut the last of my 
pine, an' I got out my pencil an' begun to figure how I 
could keep in the woods.  I pig-ironed a little--got out 
hardwood for the wooden specialty factories to cut up into 
spools, an' clothes-pins, an' oval dishes an' whatnot--an' 
then I turned my attention to the pulpwood.  I figured it 
wouldn't be long before the papermills would be hollerin' 
for raw materials the way they was turnin' out the paper, so 
I nosed around a bit an' bought options on pulpwood land 
here an' there.  An' now's the time to get busy, with the 
big newspapers an' the magazines all howlin' for paper, an' 
all the mills workin' overtime." 

"Do you mean that you're going to manufacture paper 
yourself--way up there?  How do you expect to get your 
product to market?" 

"Easy enough.  Make the paper in the woods, an' float it a 
little better than a hundred miles to Hudson Bay in barges, 
or scows.  You see, the Shamattawa runs into Hayes River, 
an' Hayes River empties into the Bay just across a spit of 
land from Port Nelson.  And the railway from The Pas to Port 
Nelson is being pushed to completion.  With the paper on the 
Bay, I can ship by rail or boat to the market." 

"And you want to locate the mill on the Hayes River?" 

"No; the Hayes runs too flat.  Either on the upper 
Shamattawa, or on Gods River, which lies between the two, 
an' flows into the Shamattawa. There's plenty of water in 
either one, an' I think both or 'em have got fall enough.  I 
want the mill where it will be easy to get the wood to it, 
an' at the same time, where we'll have a good head of water-
-an' it's got to be done quick.  The options expire the 
first of August, an' I've nosed around an' found out there's 
no chance to renew 'em on decent terms.  When you get the 
mill located, then you've got to slip down the river an' 
find out what kind of scows we'll need, an' lay out a road 
to the new Hudson Bay Railway that's headed for Port Nelson. 
We'll haul in the material an' save time.  An' when you've 
finished that, you can make a survey of the pulpwood 
available outside our present holdin's." 

"Quite a job, take it all in all." 

"Yes--an' takin' it all in all, it'll take quite a man to 
fill it," retorted McNabb brusquely.  "The man that puts 
this through won't never need to hunt another job, because 
this is only the beginnin' of the pulpwood game for me----"  
The telephone on the desk rang, and after a moment's 
conversation, McNabb arose and tossed the packet of papers 
into Wentworth's lap.  "I've got to step out for a matter of 
ten or fifteen minutes," he said.  "Here's the papers, an' a 
map of the country.  Look 'em over, an' if you care to 
tackle it, let me know when I come back." 

Alone in the office, Wentworth studied the map fully five 
minutes; then he read over the option contract.  Suddenly, 
he straightened in his chair, and read the last clause of 
the contract carefully: 

Be it further agreed that if the said John McNabb, or his 
authorized representative, does not demand fulfillment of 
the terms of this agreement, and accompany the said demand 
by tender of at least ten percent of the purchase price 
named herein, on or before noon of the first day of July, 
nineteen hundred and twenty-one, this agreement shall 
automatically become null and void in its entirety. 

Be it further agreed between the said John McNabb, and the 
said Canadian Wild Lands Company, Ltd., that aforementioned 
demand and tender of payment shall be made at and in the 
store of that trading post of the Hudson's Bay Company, 
situated upon the north shore of Gods Lake, and known as 
Gods Lake Post. 

Swiftly Wentworth stepped to the desk and, lifting the 
receiver from its hook, called a number.  "Hello!  Wolverine 
Bank?  I want to speak with Mr. Orcutt.  Hello, Mr. Orcutt?  
This is Wentworth--No, I don't want any money.  Listen, I 
must see you at once.  I'm on the trail of something big, 
and I need you to help swing it.  There's a million in it--
can't say more now.  What?  One o'clock at the bank?  Right, 
I'll be there.  Good-by." 

A few moments later McNabb entered the office.  "Well, did 
you look the proposition over?  Ye see by the map how we can 
get the paper to the Bay.  What d'ye say?  Take it, or leave 
it?" 

"I'll take it," answered Wentworth. 

"An' ye'll start to-morrow?" 

"Why--it's pretty short notice--but--yes, I'll start to-
morrow." 

Old John McNabb drew a check which he handed to Wentworth. 

"Expenses, an' a month's advance salary," grunted the older 
man. 

"And when do you want a report on the mill site?" 

"As soon after the ice goes out as you can make it." 

"And you will be up during the summer?" 

"Some time in July--I've got to be there on the first of 
August to close that option.  Take those location papers 
with ye.  Ye'll need them, an' the map--I have another copy 
in the vault at the bank.  I'll bring 'em up when I come, so 
if somethin' comes up so you couldn't be at the post on the 
first of August, it won't hold up the deal.  Run along now, 
I must catch the 11:45 train for Grand Rapids--see you in 
July." 




IV 

Upstairs in the fur department Oskar Hedin paused in the act 
of returning some fox pieces to their place, and greeted the 
girl who had halted before the tall pier glass to readjust 
her hat and push a refractory strand of hair into place.  
"Back again?" he smiled.  "And now for the coat!" 

"Now for the coat," she repeated.  "What kind of a coat do I 
want, Oskar?  I want to try on lots of them.  I don't know a 
thing in the world about furs.  All I know is that I've seen 
some I liked, and some that I didn't care much for." 

For half an hour Jean tried on coats, until her choice had 
narrowed down to a handsome dark baum marten, and a shimmery 
gray squirrel. 

"I think they're both lovely, and I can't quite make up my 
mind," she said at last, in a tone of mock despair.  "It's 
worse than picking out toboggan caps.  I just helped Mr. 
Wentworth select one--and, oh, by the way, I believe dad is 
going to find a place for him." 

"For who?" asked Hedin, and Jean noticed tiny wrinkles 
gather between his eyes. 

"Why, for Mr. Wentworth, of course.  You see, I told dad 
that he'd just lost his position with that old Nettle River 
thing they were trying to put through, and Dad said if he 
was a civil engineer, and out of a job, to tell him to drop 
in and see him, so I took him in and introduced him and I 
guess they're still talking." 

"Humph," grunted Hedin. 

"You don't need to be so grumpy about it.  Mr. Wentworth is 
awfully nice, and all the girls are crazy about him." 

"I don't think that gives you any call to rave much over him 
when it was Fred Orcutt that brought him here, and he 
brought him for no other purpose than to knife your father," 
replied Hedin dryly. 

Jean laughed.  "You take Dad too seriously.  He really 
believes Mr. Orcutt has it in for him, and he sees an 
ulterior motive in everything he does in a business way.  
But, really, the Orcutts are all right. There was some 
business deal, years and years ago, in which Dad fancied Mr. 
Orcutt tried to get the best of him, and he has never 
forgotten it. You see, Dad is the dearest thing that ever 
lived, but he is sort of crusty, and it isn't everybody that 
knows how to take him.  Why, Mr. and Mrs. Orcutt are going 
to be at dinner this evening, and are going to the theatre, 
too.  They know it is my birthday party, so that doesn't 
look as though they were such fierce enemies of the McNabbs, 
does it? 

"Let's get back to the subject of coats.  This squirrel is 
beautiful, but I believe I like the dark fur the better.  I 
think I'll try that marten again." 

Hedin was thinking rapidly.  He had known from the first 
that the darker fur was the fur for her, yet he had 
refrained from making any direct suggestion. 

"Just a moment, please," he said.  "Won't you button that 
coat once more, I want to get an artificial light effect."  
As he spoke, he moved toward the windows and drew the 
shades.  Returning in the gloom, he reached swiftly into the 
fur safe and withdrew the Russian sable coat which he deftly 
deposited on top of the marten coat that lay with several 
others upon a nearby table.  As the girl turned from the 
glass, he switched on the light. 

"All right," he said, a moment later.  "If you care to try 
on the marten again, we'll see how that shows up under the 
artificial." Deftly he lifted the squirrel from her 
shoulders, and, picking up the Russian sable, held it while 
she slipped her arms into the sleeves.  As she buttoned it, 
he stepped back, and viewed the result through critically 
puckered eyes.  With an effort he refrained from voicing his 
enchantment with the living picture before him.  Old John 
was right--it was a coat fit for a queen! 

"I like this one best.  I'll take it." 

Hedin agreed.  "I think you have chosen wisely," he 
answered, adding, as she started to loosen the garment at 
the throat, "Just a minute--the set of the collar in the 
back----"  He stepped behind her, raised the collar a trifle 
with his fingers, smoothed it into place, and stepped aside 
to note the effect.  "Just a trifle low," he said, "but it's 
too late to have it altered to-day." 

"Oh, bother!  I think the set is all right.  Who would ever 
notice it? Let it go." 

Hedin smiled.  "You can wear it to-night, all right, but you 
must promise me to send it down the first thing Monday 
morning for the alteration. 

"I will bring it to the house this afternoon." 

A sudden caprice seized her.  "Why, I think I'll wear it!" 
she answered.  "Just help me on with it, Oskar.  And thank 
you so much for helping me select it.  Here comes Mr. 
Wentworth, now.  I wonder whether he will like it.  I'm 
crazy about it.  What kind of a marten did you say it is?  
Everybody will be asking me, and I want to be able to tell 
them what my own coat is." 

"Baum marten," answered Hedin stiffly, heartily wishing the 
coat safe in its accustomed place.  In vain he regretted the 
wild impulse that had led him to substitute the sable coat 
for the marten.  The impulse had come when the girl told him 
that Mrs. Orcutt was to be one of the theatre party.  The 
plan had flashed upon him with overwhelming brilliance.  He 
knew that Jean would in all probability never notice that 
the coat was not a marten.  And he knew that Mrs. Orcutt 
most certainly would, for McNabb had once publicly compared 
it with her coat, much to the New York coat's detriment and 
Mrs. Orcutt's humiliation.  It was not altogether loyalty 
for his employer that led him to plot the woman an 
uncomfortable evening, for he owed her a grudge on his own 
account.  Ever since the coming of Wentworth, whom she had 
taken under her special patronage, Hedin had been studiously 
omitted from her scheme of social activities--and Jean 
McNabb had been as studiously included.  He knew that McNabb 
was leaving town to be gone until the following evening, and 
that the chance of his seeing the garment was exceedingly 
small, and he had invented the fiction of the low collar in 
order to get the coat back on Monday morning when he would, 
of course, substitute the baum marten and return the sable 
to its safe.  But now he felt vaguely uneasy. 

Hedin saw that Wentworth was staring at the coat with a 
swiftly appraising eye.  "It's a baum marten," Jean went on.  
"It took me a long time to choose between this and a 
squirrel.  There was one that was a luscious gray, but I 
like this better--don't you?" 

Wentworth nodded.  "I certainly do," he agreed.  "And I do 
not believe it would have taken me long to decide between 
that and a squirrel."  He turned to Hedin.  "What do you 
think, Mr.--ah--Haywood?  That the choice was a wise one?  
This is certainly a handsome--er--what did you say it is?" 

"Baum marten," snapped Hedin, with scarcely a glance at the 
questioner, as he turned and began to replace the coats that 
lay upon the table. Wentworth watched Hedin return the baum 
marten to its place, and Jean stepped swiftly to Hedin's 
side. 

As she spoke, he saw that her eyes were flashing angrily. 

"If your surly mood doesn't change," she whispered, "you 
will not add much to the enjoyment of our coasting party." 

"I shall neither add to, nor detract from it," answered 
Hedin, meeting her gaze squarely.  "Please don't wait for 
me.  I find that I shall not be able to attend." 




V 

The United States Government formally entered the world war 
in April, and the following month Ross Wentworth had been 
graduated from a technical college, and through the auspices 
of an influential relative was commissioned a captain of 
engineers, and assigned to duty in one of the larger 
cantonments.  In due course of events he was sent overseas, 
and was attached to the forces operating in northern Russia.  
During the sixteen months of his service in the land of the 
erstwhile Czar, he acquired a fund of military terms, both 
official and slang.  Also he built and maintained in a state 
of inutility, nine and one-half miles of military swamp 
road, over which no gun nor detachment of troops ever 
passed.  The abrupt termination of hostilities caught him 
with a formidable and inexplicable discrepancy of company 
funds--which discrepancy was promptly and liberally met by 
the aforementioned relative.  Whereupon, Captain Wentworth 
was honorably discharged from the service of his country. 

For many months after his discharge he lived by his wits and 
looks, but when this grew unproductive of ready cash, he 
decided to seek employment in his accredited vocation. 

This decision he arrived at while sojourning in the home of 
a wealthy fruit-grower who was interested in the Nettle 
River project, and who furnished him a letter of 
recommendation to Orcutt, who promptly employed him.  
Thereafter all went well until McNabb's ultimatum brought 
the Nettle River project to as sudden a termination as the 
armistice had brought the war.  Whereupon Wentworth found 
himself in the uncomfortable predicament of having no 
available assets and many pressing liabilities, incurred in 
the course of his endeavor to win the good graces of the 
wealthy Jean McNabb. 

While scarcely knowing Hedin, Wentworth recognized him as a 
possible rival.  He, himself, was no connoisseur of fur, but 
at least he knew a Russian sable when he saw one, and as he 
preceded Jean down the aisle, his brain worked rapidly. 

By the time he reached the street, a daring scheme was half-
formed in his brain--a scheme which, if successful, would 
work the utter ruin of Hedin, and leave him a clear field 
with the girl.  At the first corner he excused himself. 

Hardly was the girl's back turned when Wentworth dodged 
around the corner and entered McNabb's store by another door 
just in time to see old John rush from the building, bag in 
hand, and hurry down the street in the direction of the 
station. 

McNabb's was the only big store in Terrace City, and being a 
department store, it kept city hours, so while on Saturday 
evenings all the other stores remained open for business 
until a late hour, McNabb's closed at noon.  Passing 
unnoticed down the aisle, Wentworth's eyes darted here and 
there in search of a place of concealment, until at length 
he took up a position close beside McNabb's private office, 
the door of which, he noted with satisfaction, stood 
slightly ajar. 

Watching his opportunity, Wentworth slipped unnoticed into 
the private office, closed the door softly behind him, and 
sank comfortably into McNabb's desk chair. 

A gong sounded, and was repeated, dimly, upon the floors 
above. Wentworth could hear the tramp of feet in the aisles 
as the clerks poured from the building through a door that 
gave on to a side street. In a few minutes the rush was 
over, and then they came scatteringly, singly, and by twos 
and threes.  He could hear the opening of the door, and the 
click of the lock as it closed behind them.  The footsteps 
ceased.  He drew his watch and waited.  Noises from the 
street reached him, sounding far off and muffled, but the 
store was silent as a tomb. Twelve minutes ticked away.  A 
footstep sounded.  Wentworth could trace it descending the 
stairs, and walking the length of an aisle.  Followed the 
sound of the opening door, and the click of the latch.  Some 
belated department head, he thought.  Possibly Hedin, 
himself--and he grinned at the thought. 

In the silence of the great building Wentworth suddenly 
realized that he was nervous.  It was all well enough to 
plan a thing, but the carrying out of the plan was quite 
another matter.  He took a silent turn or two the length of 
the office, his footsteps making no sound upon the soft 
carpet.  He waited twenty minutes and, hearing no sound, 
closed his watch and dabbed at his forehead with the 
handkerchief which he drew from his sleeve.  Turning the 
knob, he stepped out upon the uncarpeted floor.  The sound 
of his footsteps upon the hardwood seemed to reverberate 
through the whole building.  He walked a few steps on 
tiptoe, and then decided that in case anyone should see him, 
the tiptoeing would look furtive.  So he walked to the foot 
of the stairway, his footsteps sounding in his ears like the 
ring of a hammer on an anvil.  As he ascended the stairs he 
called out, "Hey, isn't there any one here?  I am locked in, 
and can't get out!  Hello! Someone show me the way out!" 

Swiftly he ascended to the third floor and crossed to the 
fur case. Silently he slid back the door and lifted the baum 
marten coat from its place, and stepping to a counter upon 
which was fixed a huge roll of wrapping paper, he proceeded 
to make the coat into a package.  This done, he hastened 
toward the stairway with the package under his arm. Down the 
stairs he flew, taking them two and three at a time, down 
the next flight, and across the floor, until he brought up 
panting at the door with the spring lock by which the 
employees had left the building. 

Thought of material gain had not until this point entered 
into the scheme.  He had merely plotted the undoing of a 
rival, but at the sudden realization of his status in the 
eyes of the world, a new thought struck him.  "If I can get 
away with it--why not?  A Russian sable!  Why, it's worth 
_thousands_!" 

It took a concentrated effort to open the door a tiny crack 
and peer through.  Swiftly opening the door, Wentworth 
stepped onto the sidewalk, closed the door behind him, and 
clutching his package tightly, hurried down the street.  He 
had entirely gained his composure by the time he reached his 
hotel, and hastening to his room, placed the package in his 
trunk and turned the key.  He glanced at his watch.  It 
lacked three minutes of one, and remembering his appointment 
with Orcutt, he hastened to the Wolverine Bank. 




VI 

Orcutt greeted his caller without enthusiasm.  For despite 
the assurance over the telephone that Wentworth wanted no 
money, he felt that he was in for a touch. 

The younger man was quick to note the attitude, and hastened 
to dispel it.  "In the first place, Mr. Orcutt, I am going 
to ask you to cash a check for three thousand dollars, but--
--" 

"Three thousand!" exclaimed Orcutt, his eyes narrowing.  
"Whose check is it?" 

"John McNabb's." 

"John McNabb's!"  A look of suspicion flashed into his eyes. 

"Yes--isn't it good?" 

"Good!  Hell--yes, of course it's good!  But what are you 
doing with McNabb's check for three thousand?" 

Reaching into his pocket, Wentworth drew out the packet of 
papers and held it in his hand.  "Eight or ten years ago 
McNabb bought options on a half million acres of pulp-wood 
lying between two certain rivers.  He sent for me--said he 
heard I was out of a job, and that as he was the one that 
was responsible for my losing out, it was only fair that he 
should offer me another.  Then he went on to outline the 
whole proposition, told me the options expired on August 
first; then he was called out of the office for a minute and 
asked me to look over the maps and papers and let him know 
if I wanted to tackle it or not. 

"In going over the contract, I found that the options expire 
on July first, instead of August first, as he said.  It was 
then I called you up, for the whole scheme hit me like a 
flash.  Don't you see it?  If I worked for him, I'd draw a 
salary, and a good one--and nothing more. But if I should 
interest sufficient capital to step in on the first day of 
July when those options expire, and buy up the whole tract, 
where would McNabb be?" 

Orcutt tapped thoughtfully upon his desk pad with the tip of 
his pencil.  "I wonder," he muttered aloud, more to himself 
than to Wentworth, "I wonder if John has made a slip at 
last?" 

"That is just what he has done!  And he is so cocksure of 
his ground that he didn't even glance at the papers to 
refresh his memory--I doubt if he has looked at them since 
he made the deal." 

The banker eyed the younger man shrewdly.  "And in case I 
should interest myself in the proposition to the extent of 
organizing the capital to swing the deal, what would you 
expect out of it?" 

"A share in the business, and a salary of ten thousand a 
year." 

"You don't want much!" exclaimed Orcutt. 

"Not any more than you could well afford to give me.  You 
don't realize what a big thing this is--it's going to take a 
lot of capital to swing it." 

"About how much?" 

"You'll have to get your figures on the paper mill from 
someone that knows more about it than I do.  The pulp-wood 
will cost, I imagine, somewhere between six and ten dollars 
an acre.  McNabb's options call for purchase at five 
dollars, and he told me he could not renew at that figure.  
But even at ten dollars, there is a mint in it.  You will 
have to pay down ten percent of the purchase price in cash." 

Orcutt whistled.  "Ten percent of the purchase price, at 
say, ten dollars, would be half a million.  Besides the cost 
of the mill and the interest on four million and a half!" 

"It is a big proposition," agreed Wentworth.  "If it is too 
big for you to handle, I can find someone who will.  I have 
a friend in Detroit whose father will jump at the chance.  
It isn't too big for McNabb." 

"Who said anything about it being too big?" snapped Orcutt.  
"If McNabb could find the money, I can.  But, mind you, I'm 
not going to spend a damned cent on the proposition until 
after McNabb's options have expired and we've got our hands 
on the pulp-wood.  Mind you; you don't draw any advance 
money." 

"Not a cent," agreed Wentworth.  "But you'd better have the 
money right on hand on the first day of July; those options 
expire at noon, and we don't want any delay about getting 
hold of the property.  And, by the way, I want a written 
contract--make my share a ten percent interest in the 
business." 

After some demurring on the part of Orcutt, he called a 
stenographer and drew a contract, which he duly signed and 
handed to Wentworth, who thrust it into his pocket with the 
packet of papers. 

"Let's see those papers of McNabb's," said Orcutt. 

Wentworth smiled.  "That is hardly necessary, do you think?  
I will vouch for the date--and the location need not concern 
you at present. All you need to know is that at noon on the 
first day of July, you, or your legal representative, must 
be at the Gods Lake post of the Hudson's Bay Company, with a 
half million dollars in cash, or its equivalent--and you'd 
better have all your arrangements made in advance, and allow 
plenty of time to get there." 




VII 

On the whole the afternoon was a disappointing one for Jean 
McNabb. She had been deeply hurt by Hedin's curt refusal to 
attend the coasting party, and Wentworth had proved a very 
luke-warm cavalier.  She had started out to be extremely 
vivacious so all might see that the absence of Hedin was a 
matter of no concern, but Wentworth's preoccupied manner 
soon dampened her ardor, until for her the coasting party 
became a monotonous affair. 

She breathed a sigh of relief when it was over, and after a 
walk, during which neither ventured a word, she parted from 
Wentworth at the gate and rushed to her room.  She was 
furious with Hedin, furious with Wentworth, and furious with 
herself for being furious. 

When he parted from Jean McNabb after the coasting party, 
Wentworth proceeded to the railway station, where he 
purchased his ticket and arranged with a truckman to call 
for his trunk at exactly eight o'clock.  Hastening to the 
hotel, he dressed for dinner. 

This accomplished, he carefully locked his door, removed the 
coat from his trunk, concealed it within the folds of his 
own overcoat, and sat down to smoke a cigarette as he went 
over, step by step, his hastily conceived plan.  When the 
hands of his watch indicated that he would be precisely 
fifteen minutes late, he left the hotel, carrying the 
overcoat upon his arm. 

The street into which he turned was deserted, and proceeding 
to a point opposite the Campbell residence, he stepped 
behind a huge maple tree and surveyed the brilliantly 
lighted house across the way. 

"They're late getting started.  I hope they are not waiting 
on my account," he grinned, and drew closer into the shadow 
of the trees as a lone pedestrian passed along the opposite 
sidewalk.  Faintly to his ears came the sound of laughter, 
and then there was a general exodus toward the dining room.  
With a sigh of relief, Wentworth crossed the street, rang 
the doorbell, and was admitted. 

"That you, Captain Wentworth?" called his hostess.  "We 
waited for you until just this minute." 

"Awfully sorry to be late--detestable thing to do--going 
away in the morning--thousand-and-one things to attend to--
be down in a moment to offer humble apology." 

Swiftly and silently Wentworth removed the coat from within 
his own, crossed the hall, substituted the baum marten for 
the Russian sable, and reentered the gentlemen's dressing 
room, where it was but the work of a moment to conceal the 
garment within the folds of his coat.  Then he descended the 
stairs, entered the dining room, and seated himself in the 
vacant chair beside Jean McNabb. 

The dinner went as dinners do and was brought to a rather 
abrupt termination by someone's discovery that it lacked but 
five minutes to eight.  As the guests rose from the table 
Wentworth gave a startled exclamation. 

"In my haste in dressing I forgot my pocketbook.  I 
distinctly recollect removing it from my pocket and tossing 
it upon the bed, and there I must have left it."  He turned 
to Elsie Campbell.  "I hope you will pardon me if I hurry 
away but really, that pocketbook contains a rather large 
sum--expense money you know--and, I am almost certain that I 
neglected to lock my room.  I will join you at the door of 
the theatre; I can easily reach there before you, if I 
hurry." 

A moment later he rushed from the house with his overcoat 
upon his arm, and hurried to the hotel where, lifting the 
tray of his trunk, he deposited the sable coat, replaced the 
tray, locked and strapped the trunk, and finished just in 
time to respond to the knock of the truckman.  Five minutes 
later he was waiting at the theatre for the others, who 
appeared just before the rise of the curtain on the first 
act. 


&&&&&

VIII 

When Oskar Hedin left the store at the closing hour, he went 
directly to his hotel, bolted a hasty luncheon, slipped into 
outdoor togs and a half hour later was silently threading an 
old log-trail that bit deep into the jack-pines.  Mile after 
mile he glided smoothly along that silent winding white 
lane, his skis making no sound in the soft, deep snow. 

Just beyond a swamp, in the centre of a wide clearing, 
surrounded upon three sides by the encroaching jack-pines 
and poplars, and upon the fourth by a broad bend of the 
river, Hedin removed his skis and seated himself upon a 
rotting log of a tumbled-down cabin, there to think. 

So, that's why she wanted a new coat?  She was going out for 
the evening with Wentworth.  And she invited Wentworth to go 
tobogganing, on this particular afternoon of all others, 
when he had intended to whisper in her ear, as the toboggan 
flew down the steep grade, the thing that had been uppermost 
in his mind for a year.  And she had asked her father to 
give him a job.  Of course, what could be simpler? A man can 
manage to exist, somehow, without a job--but with two a job 
is essential. 

He laughed, a short, hard laugh that ended in a sneer.  
Well, he had been a fool--that's all.  He had served her 
purpose, had been the poor dupe upon whom she had practised 
her wiles, a plaything, to be lightly tossed aside for a new 
toy.  Some day, too late perhaps, she would see her mistake, 
and then she would suffer, even as he was suffering now--
but, no, to suffer one must first love, and woman had not 
the capacity to love.  "To hell with them!" he cried aloud.  
"To hell with my tame job!  And to hell with Terrace City, 
and with the civilization that calls a man from the wild 
places and sets him to selling women baubles to deck 
themselves out in." 

The jack-pine shadows reached far into the clearing as Oskar 
fastened on his skis and headed back along the tote-road.  
It was not too late--he was only twenty-five.  He, too, 
would live like a man, would go into the North, and 
henceforth only the outlands should know him. He would 
resign Monday morning.  The thought caused a pang of regret 
at parting with McNabb. 

Darkness found him still upon the tote-road.  He emerged 
from the jack-pines and paused at the long smooth hill, as 
was his wont, to look down upon the brilliant lights of 
Terrace City.  His momentum carried him skimming across a 
flat meadow, and he slowed to a stand at the very end of the 
main street where, in the white glare of an arc light he 
removed his skis, and stepped onto the sidewalk. 

Well, he would see her once more, arrayed in the coat of 
matched sable--and he would carry the picture with him to 
far places where the stars winked cold in the night sky. 

Fully twenty minutes before time for the curtain Hedin was 
in his place, tenth row on the middle aisle, eagerly 
scanning the patrons as they were ushered to their seats.  
The theatre boasted only two boxes, set just above the stage 
level, and Elsie Campbell had engaged them both. 

As time for the curtain to rise drew near, Hedin found 
himself fidgeting nervously.  Had the theatre party been 
called off?  The house was already well filled; surely there 
was no block of vacant seats that would accommodate a dinner 
party.  Then, as he had about given up hope, he raised his 
eyes to a box just as Jean McNabb entered, followed closely 
by Wentworth.  Hedin stared as if petrified, brushed his 
hand across his eyes as though to clear his vision of 
distorting film, and stared again.  For Wentworth was 
lifting a coat from Jean's shoulders, but it was not a sable 
one.  Seizing his hat and coat, Hedin rushed from the 
building, narrowly avoiding collision with an usher. 

Without pausing to put on his coat, he dashed for the store 
and letting himself in, took the stairs three at a time.  
Upon the second flight, he met the night watchman who, 
recognizing him, allowed him to pass, but noting his evident 
agitation and unaccountable haste, silently and discreetly 
followed and took up a position where he could watch every 
move of the excited department head.  Hastening to the fur 
safe, Hedin unlocked and threw it open.  He switched on the 
light, and peered into the interior.  The Russian sable coat 
was not in its accustomed place. And a hurried search of the 
safe showed that it was in no other place. Closing the door, 
he inspected the case that contained the less valuable furs, 
and it was but the work of a moment to discover that the 
baum marten coat was missing.  Dumbfounded, he stared at the 
empty space where the coat should have been.  His brief 
inspection in the theatre had told him this was the coat 
Jean McNabb was wearing--but where was the sable?  He 
distinctly remembered replacing the marten with his own 
hands, and of seeing the girl pass down the aisle wearing 
the sable. 

He sank into his chair and, leaning forward, buried his face 
in his arms upon his desk.  He tried to think clearly, but 
found himself entirely incapable of thought.  How did it 
happen?  Where was the sable? 

Calling the watchman, Hedin questioned him for half an hour, 
but learned nothing.  He even made a personal inspection of 
every door and window in the store, and sent the watchman to 
the basement on a tour of similar inspection.  When the man 
returned and reported nothing disturbed, Hedin left the 
store and proceeded directly to his room, where he spent a 
sleepless night in trying to solve the mystery. 

After breakfast the following morning Jean McNabb sat before 
the little dressing table in her room when the doorbell 
rang, and the maid announced Mr. Hedin. 

"Tell Mr. Hedin I can't see anyone this morning," she said, 
without looking up. 

Again the maid tapped at the door, and entering, handed the 
girl a hastily scribbled leaf torn from a notebook.  Jean 
read it at a glance, and her face flushed with swift anger.  
No salutation, only a few scrawled words: "Must see you at 
once.  Purely matter of business--very important--about the 
coat." 

Crossing to her desk the girl scribbled upon the reverse 
side of the paper.  "Never talk business on Sunday.  Coat 
will be at store as per agreement." 




IX 

On Monday morning old John McNabb entered his private office 
to find Hedin awaiting him.  He glanced at the younger man 
inquiringly--"What ails ye, lad?  Ye look like ye hadn't 
slept for a week." 

"I haven't slept for two nights," answered Hedin.  "There is 
no use beating around the bush.  As a matter of fact, the 
Russian sable coat is missing, and I am to blame for it." 

The old man stared incredulously.  "Missin'!" he exclaimed.  
"An' you're to blame!  What d'ye mean?" 

Hastily, in as few words as possible, Hedin recited the 
facts as he knew them, while an angry flush mounted to the 
old man's face. 

McNabb reached for the telephone and called a number.  
"Hello!  Is that you, Jean?  Come to the store at once, and 
bring your new fur coat--to my office. . . .  What?  No, 
that won't do, at all.  Bring it yourself--I'm waitin'." 

"I'll step outside while Jean--while Miss McNabb----" 

"Ye'll stay where ye are!" snapped McNabb. 

The older man turned to his desk, where for ten minutes he 
opened and closed drawers and rustled papers viciously.  
Then the door opened and Jean herself stepped into the room 
with the fur coat over her arm. "Well, Dad, here's the 
coat."  She paused abruptly, glanced inquiringly at Hedin, 
nodded coolly, and continued, "Oskar said it needed a little 
tailoring, and that I was to bring it down this morning, but 
I didn't think there was any tearing hurry about it." 

Her father took the garment, smoothed the fur with his hand, 
and asked casually, "Is this the coat ye wore from the 
store?" 

"Why, of course it is." 

"An' the one ye wore to the show?" 

"Yes, yes," answered the girl impatiently.  "I haven't so 
many fur coats that I would be apt to get them mixed." 

McNabb ignored the impatience.  "Ye've had no other coat in 
your possession since you selected this one?" 

"No, I haven't.  What's all this about?" 

"Did Oskar tell you what kind of a coat you were gettin'?" 

"Yes, a baum marten.  Why, isn't it a baum marten?" 

McNabb nodded.  "Yes, it's a baum marten.  Run along now.  I 
just wanted to see which coat ye'd got.  Here, take it along 
with ye.  The tailor can wait." 

With a puzzled glance at the two men, Jean took the coat, 
and with a toss of the head left the office. 

McNabb turned to Hedin.  "What have ye got to say now?  Did 
the girl tell the truth?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Then that was the coat she wore from the store?" 

"No--but she thinks it was.  She doesn't know the 
difference." 

For a long time John McNabb spoke no word but sat staring at 
his desk, pecking at the blotter with his pencil.  He prided 
himself upon his ability to pick men.  He knew men, and in 
no small measure was this knowledge responsible for his 
success in dealing with men.  He had been certain that Jean 
and Hedin would eventually marry, and secretly he longed for 
the day.  He had watched Hedin for years and now, despite 
the improbability of the story, he believed it implicitly.  
And it was with a heavy heart that he had watched the 
studied coldness of each toward the other.  McNabb was a man 
of snap decisions.  He would teach these young fools a 
lesson, and at the same time find out which way the wind 
blew.  With a clenching of his fists, he whirled abruptly 
upon Hedin. 

"What did ye do with the coat?" he roared.  "It'll go easier 
with ye if ye tell me!" 

"What do you mean?" cried Hedin, white to the lips, meeting 
McNabb's gaze with a look of mingled surprise, pain, and 
anger. 

"I mean just what I say.  Ye've got the coat--where is it?" 

Hedin felt suddenly weak and sick.  He had expected McNabb's 
anger at his foolish whim, and knew that he deserved it--but 
that McNabb should accuse him of theft!  Sick at heart, he 
faltered his answer, and in his own ears his voice sounded 
strange, and dull, and unconvincing.  "You think I--I stole 
it?" 

"What else am I to think?  What will the police think?  What 
will the jury think when they hear your flimsy yarn--an' the 
straightforward evidence of my daughter?  They'll think that 
the coat she wore to the show, an' that she still has, is 
the coat she wore from the store, an' that you've got the 
other.  An' when Kranz tells of your midnight visit to the 
store, what'll they think then?"  McNabb finished and, 
reaching for the telephone, called the police headquarters.  
A few minutes later the chief himself appeared, accompanied 
by the night watchman, Kranz, whose story of the nervous and 
agitated appearance of Hedin on his midnight visit to the 
store forged the strongest link in the chain of 
circumstantial evidence. 

After the watchman had been dismissed, Hedin was subjected 
to a bullying at the hands of the burly officer that stopped 
just short of personal violence, and through it all he 
stubbornly maintained his innocence. 

After another brief telephone conversation, the three 
visited the private room of the judge where, waiving a 
preliminary hearing, the prisoner was bound over to await 
the action of the grand jury, and his bail fixed at ten 
thousand dollars. 




X 

At the mouth of the alley that led from a side street to the 
rear of the jail, the policeman plucked at Hedin's sleeve, 
and turned in. Mechanically Hedin fell in beside him.  
Someone passed upon the street. "See who that was?" asked 
the officer maliciously, for he knew all the town gossip.  
Hedin scarcely heard the question.  "It was McNabb's gal. 
Her throwin' you over fer this here Wentworth didn't give 
you no license to steal her old man's fur coat, all right--
but maybe you ain't so onlucky, at that.  Folks says she's 
all right--a little gay an' the like of that--but runnin' 
the streets at midnight, like she was a Saturday, with a guy 
that goes after 'em like Wentworth!  Call it gay if they 
want to, but if it was anyone but old McNabb's daughter, 
they'd be callin' it somethin' else." 

Smash!  Hedin's fist drove with terrific force into the 
flappy jaw, and the big officer reeled, and crashed into the 
snow between a row of ash barrels, and a dilapidated board 
fence.  The young man stared in surprise as he waited for 
the other to regain his feet.  The officer's words had 
roused a sudden flash of fury, and with nerves already 
strained to the breaking point, he had struck.  But the man, 
grotesquely sprawled behind the barrels, made no move. 

Hedin glanced up and down the alley.  It was empty.  He was 
free! Swiftly he proceeded down the alley, passed the jail, 
and turned into the street.  Here he slackened his pace, and 
walking leisurely to his hotel, hastily made up a light 
pack.  Passing around to the rear, he took his skis from 
their place, walking to the edge of town, fastened them on, 
and was soon swallowed up in the jack-pines.  For an hour he 
glided smoothly over the snow, and upon the edge of a balsam 
thicket sat down on a log to rest. 

There were two courses open.  Either he could return to 
Terrace City and face the charge against him as best he 
could, or he could keep going.  It was only a few miles 
across country to Pipe Lake, where he could catch the P.M. 
for Detroit. 

His thoughts turned abruptly from the problem of flight, and 
plunged into the problem of the missing coat.  It was not 
conceivable that the garment had been destroyed; therefore 
it was still in existence.  If in existence, somebody had 
it.  Who?  One by one, Hedin considered the personnel of the 
theatre party, and one by one he eliminated them until only 
Wentworth was left.  Wentworth!  If he could only prove it!  
He remembered that someone had casually remarked that 
morning at breakfast that Wentworth had gone North for old 
John McNabb.  He had heard McNabb mention some pulp-wood 
lands in the North.  Gods Lake, wasn't it?  Why, Gods Lake 
post was old Dugald Murchison's post!  Hedin remembered 
Murchison well.  It was only last year he had spent a week 
as the guest of his old friend McNabb, and nearly every 
evening at dinner Hedin had sat at meat with them, and 
listened in fascination to the talk of the far outlands.  He 
remembered the shrewd gray eyes of Murchison--eyes that 
bespoke wisdom, and justice tempered with mercy. 

He smote his leg with his mittened fist.  He would go North, 
straight to old Dugald Murchison, and he would tell him the 
whole story. Murchison would help him, and if Wentworth were 
innocent, then he, Hedin would return to Terrace City and 
give himself up.  He would not be a fugitive from justice, 
for justice owed him the chance to prove his innocence. 

Once his mind was made up, Hedin rose to his feet and slung 
the light pack to his back.  Then he lowered the pack, and 
stood thinking.  He would hit for Pipe Lake, but Hanson, the 
storekeeper at Pipe Lake, would recognize him.  Tossing his 
pack aside, he scooped a hole in the snow, built a tiny fire 
of balsam twigs, and melted some water in his drinking cup.  
Then, setting a small hand mirror upon the log, he produced 
his razor and proceeded to shave off his mustache.  This 
done, he grinned at himself in the mirror, as he reflected 
that Hanson had never seen him except in conventional 
clothing, and that he would never recognize him in mackinaw 
and larrigans, with his mustache gone. 

Once more he stood up, kicked snow over his fire, swung the 
pack to his back, and started to skirt the swamp.  Then 
suddenly he halted in his tracks.  There was a mighty 
crackling of dry twigs close at hand, and a voice commanded 
gruffly, "Hands up!" 

Instinctively Hedin elevated his hands as he stared into the 
muzzle of a revolver.  Beyond the revolver he saw the 
grinning face of Mike Duffy, erstwhile lumberjack, then 
bootlegger, and now policeman; under the Hicks regime. 

"Shaved her off, eh?" taunted the man.  "Well, mebbe you'd 
'a' fooled most folks, but you hain't fooled me none, 
special' as I be'n layin' in the brush watchin' you fer half 
an hour.  You'd of got away from the rest of 'em too." 




XI 

Old John McNabb had not been long at his desk when the 
telephone bell rang and he picked up the receiver. 

"Hello--who?  Hicks?  He--what?  Where is he now?  Got away!  
Well, you get him!  Get him, or I'll get you!  If he ain't 
back in jail to-day, off comes your buttons to-morrow--do 
you get that?"  Old John banged the receiver onto the hook, 
and launched what would undoubtedly have been a classic of 
denunciatory profanity, had it not been interrupted in its 
inception by Jean, who had slipped into the office unnoticed 
at the beginning of the telephone conversation. 

"Why, Dad!" exclaimed the girl laughing, as the red-faced 
man whirled upon her in surprise.  "What a beastly temper 
you are in this morning! Who got away, and why are you so 
anxious to have him caught?" 

"Oskar got away," he growled, apparently somewhat mollified 
by his daughter's tone.  "Hicks started for jail with him 
an' Oskar knocked him down in the alley an' got away." 

"Oskar!  Jail!  What do you mean?" 

"I mean just what I say," answered McNabb, meeting the 
girl's startled gaze squarely.  "A thirty thousand dollar 
sable coat is missing from the store, and no one except 
Oskar and I had access to the fur safe. He made up a cock-
an'-bull story about letting you wear it Saturday to show up 
Mrs. Orcutt.  He claims he went to the theatre to enjoy the 
effect on Mrs. Orcutt, when he discovered that you were 
wearing, not the Russian sable that you had worn from the 
store, but a baum marten coat.  He hurried to the store to 
find that both the sable and the marten coats were gone----" 

Old John noticed that as he talked the color receded slowly 
from the girl's face, leaving it almost chalk white, and 
then suddenly the color returned with a rush that flamed red 
to her hair roots.  But he was totally unprepared for the 
sudden fury with which she faced him. 

"And you had him arrested!  Oskar arrested like a common 
thief!  Are you crazy?  You know as well as I do that he 
never stole a pin----" 

"No, he never stole a pin, but there's some little 
difference in value between a pin and a thirty thousand 
dollar coat.  They say every man's got his price." 

"It's a lie!" cried the girl, stamping her foot.  "But even 
if it were true, his price would be so big that there isn't 
money enough in this world to even tempt him!  You ought to 
be ashamed of yourself!  Think what people will say!" 

"I don't care what they say.  He's got that coat, an' I'm 
right here to see that he gets just what's comin' to him." 

"Well, what people will say won't hurt Oskar!" cried the 
girl. "They'll all know he didn't steal your coat!  They'll 
say you're a fool!  That's what they'll say--and they'll be 
right, too!  It won't take him long to prove his innocence, 
and then what will people think of you?" 

"He ain't got a show to prove his innocence," retorted 
McNabb.  "Your own testimony will convict him.  Didn't ye 
tell me right here in this room within the hour that the 
coat ye brought in was the one ye wore from the store, an' 
the one ye wore to the theatre?" 

"And I thought it was," flared the girl.  "But if Oskar says 
it wasn't then it wasn't.  And let me tell you this--if 
you're depending on my testimony to convict him, you might 
as well have him turned loose right this minute!  Because I 
won't say a word at their old trial.  They can put me in 
jail, too, but they can't make me talk.  The whole thing is 
an outrage, and I'm going right straight down to the jail 
and tell them to let him out this minute----" 

"He's out all right," retorted McNabb.  "He knocked Hicks 
down and escaped on the way to jail." 

"I'm glad of it!  I hope he broke that nasty old Hicks's 
head!  And if they catch Oskar you had better see that they 
let him go at once--unless you want to see your own daughter 
married to a jailbird!" 




XII 

It was nine o'clock that evening when, growling and 
grumbling, Hicks himself moved heavily down the short 
corridor of the jail, and unlocked the door of the cell that 
held Oskar Hedin.  "Come on out!" he commanded. 

Hedin stepped in the corridor, and looked inquiringly into 
the officer's face.  "What's up?" he asked. 

"Bailed out," growled Hicks. 

"Bailed out!  Why, who----?" 

"I don't know, an' don't give a damn.  Someone that's got 
more money than brains.  I wouldn't trust you as far as I 
could throw a bull by the tail, an' you needn't think I've 
forgot the poke in the jaw you give me.  I'll git you yet." 

Hedin paused upon the steps of the police station and 
glanced across the street where a light burned in the office 
of Hiram P. Buckner, attorney-at-law.  Buckner held the 
reputation of being by far the most able lawyer in the 
vicinity, and Hedin's first impulse was to retain him.  He 
crossed the sidewalk and paused abruptly as he remembered 
that Buckner was McNabb's attorney.  Of course, the 
prosecution of his case would be in the hands of the state, 
but--why jeopardize his own case by employing a man who 
stood at the beck and call of the very man who was pushing 
his prosecution?  He turned and proceeded slowly toward his 
hotel, and as he passed down the street a man stepped from 
the office of the attorney and followed.  He was a large 
man, muffled to the ears in a fur coat.  He followed 
unnoticed, into the hotel and up the stairs, and when Hedin 
entered his room and switched on the light the man stepped 
across the threshold and closed the door behind him.  He 
turned and faced Hedin, throwing back the collar of his 
coat.  Hedin gasped in amazement.  The man was old John 
McNabb, and to his utter bewilderment, Hedin caught a 
twinkle in the old Scot's eye. 




XIII 

"'Tis the truth, I'd never ha' know'd ye, an' ye hadn't told 
me who ye was," welcomed old Dugald Murchison, as he gripped 
Hedin's hand in the door of the little trading post on the 
shore of Gods Lake.  "Knock the snow from your clothes an' 
come in to the stove.  You're just in time, for by the 
signs, the storm that's on us will be a three days' 
nor'easter straight off the Bay.  Ye'd of had a nasty camp 
of it if ye'd of been a day later." 

"The guide saw it coming, and we did double time yesterday, 
and to-day we didn't stop to eat." 

Murchison nodded.  "Ye come in up the chain of lakes from 
the south. 'Tis a man's job ye've done--this time o' year.  
Ye come up from Lac Seul, an' by the guide ye've got, I see 
the hand of John McNabb in your visit.  For old Missinabbee 
won't go into the woods with everyone, though he'd go 
through hell itself for John McNabb.  But come on in an' get 
thawed out while the Injun 'tends to the dogs, an' then 
we'll eat." 

"Has Wentworth arrived yet?" asked Hedin, as he followed the 
factor toward the stove at the rear of the trading room. 

Murchison shook his head.  "Ye're the first this winter.  
But who's Wentworth?  An' what'll he be doin' here?  An' 
what are ye doin' here yourself?  I suppose it had to do 
with John's pulp-wood, but the options don't expire till 
sometime in the summer.  Why didn't he come himself?" 

It was a long story Hedin unfolded as he and Murchison sat 
late over their pipes beside the roaring stove in the long, 
low trading room. The factor puffed in silence without once 
interrupting until the younger man had finished. 

"So John is really goin' to build a paper mill up here?  But 
why did John hire this Wentworth if he figured he couldn't 
trust him, an' why did he have ye under arrest an' bail ye 
out?  Unless----" 

The old factor paused and puffed at his pipe the while his 
eyes were fixed upon the deep shadows at the far corner. 

"Unless what?" asked Hedin eagerly.  "I thought, at first, 
that he believed me guilty of stealing the coat," he went on 
when Murchison didn't answer.  "I know now that he didn't, 
but when I asked him the reason for my arrest, he only 
laughed and said that it was all part of the game."  Then 
the younger man's voice dropped, and Murchison noted that 
the look of eagerness had faded from his face.  "As to the 
hiring of Wentworth," continued Hedin, "that is another 
matter." 

The factor rose slowly and, crossing to the door, opened it 
and hastily closed it again as a swirl of fine snow-powder 
enveloped him.  Hedin caught the muffled roar of the wind, 
and in the draught of cold air that swept the room, the big 
swinging lamp flared smokily.  Murchison returned to his 
chair and filled his pipe.  "How's John's daughter comin' 
along?" he asked between puffs of blue smoke. 

"Why, Miss McNabb is very well, I believe," answered Hedin, 
a bit awkwardly.  "You were right about that storm," Hedin 
hastened to change the subject.  "I'm mighty glad we made 
Gods Lake to-day, or we would have been held up for the Lord 
knows how long." 

Murchison suppressed a smile, and hunched his chair a bit 
nearer the stove.  "When all's said an' done then, the case 
stands about like this.  This engineer will be along in a 
few days to begin work locatin' the power dam, an' lookin' 
up more pulpwood.  John believes that Wentworth will let the 
options expire, an' then swing the stuff over to this man 
Orcutt an' his crowd--an he's sent you up to block the 
game." 

Hedin nodded.  "That's it." 

"You're my clerk, an' your name's Sven Larson--that's a good 
Scandinavian name--an' you don't know nothin' about pulp-
wood, nor options.  I guess it would be best if we could put 
him up right here. We could be watchin' him all the while 
without seemin' to." 

"I wonder when Wentworth will be here?" speculated Hedin. 

"There's no tellin'.  It's accordin' to the outfit he packs 
an' the guide he's got.  They'll have to camp for the storm, 
an' the snow will slow them up one-half.  The storm will 
last three days or four, an' after that, a day, mebbe a 
week.  Anyways, 'twill give ye time to learn the duties of a 
factor's clerk, which is a thing the Company has never 
furnished at Gods Lake, but if John McNabb foots the bill, 
they'll not worry.  'Twould be better an' ye could play the 
dolt--not an eediot, or an addlepate--but just a dull 
fellow, slow of wit, an' knowin' nought except of fur." 

Hedin laughed.  "That won't bother me in the least." 

Murchison shook his head.  "'Twill not be so easy as ye 
think.  Askin' foolish questions here an' there, forgettin' 
to do things ye're told to do, ponderin' deep over simple 
matters, an' above all ye're to neither laugh nor take 
offense when I berate ye for a dullard.  Ye get the idea--
your knowledge of fur is your only excuse for livin'?" 

"I get it," smiled Hedin. 

Murchison studied the younger man intently.  "This 
Wentworth--how well did ye know him?  Or, rather, how well 
did he know you?" 

"You are wondering whether he will recognize me?" 

The factor nodded.  "Yes, I would not have known ye, for as 
I remember ye wore a mustache, an' were smooth of chin an' 
jaw, an' of course, ye wore city clothes.  But one who had 
known ye well wouldn't be so easy fooled." 

"He won't recognize me.  We have met only a few times.  But 
even if he had known me much better I wouldn't be afraid, 
because when I left Terrace City dressed in these togs, and 
carrying a lumberjacks' turkey on my back, I stopped into a 
cigar store and inquired the way to the station.  The clerk 
who has seen me every day for years pointed out the way 
without a flicker of recognition in his eyes--and I didn't 
have this stubby beard then either." 

Murchison seemed satisfied, and after showing his new clerk 
to his bed, he returned to the stove and knocked the ash 
from his pipe.  "John is canny," he grinned.  "As canny in 
the handlin' of women, as of men. He'll have the son-in-law 
he wants, an' careful he'll be that he's the man of the 
lass's own choosin'." 




XIV 

On the day after the big storm old Missinabbee returned to 
the southward, and the following day Wentworth arrived at 
the post, cursing his guide, and the storm, and the snow 
that lay deep in the forest. The half-breed refused to stop 
over and rest, but accepted his pay and turned his dogs on 
the back-trail.  And as Murchison accepted McNabb's letter 
of introduction from Wentworth's hand in the door of the 
post trading room, his eyes followed the retreating form of 
the guide.  For he had caught a malevolent gleam of hate 
that flashed from the narrowed black eyes as the man had 
accepted his pay. 

"Ye have not seen the last of yon," he said, turning to 
Wentworth with a nod of his head toward the breed.  "Alex 
Thumb is counted a bad man in the North.  I would not rest 
so easy, an' he was camped on my trail." 

Wentworth scowled.  "Worthless devil!  Kicked on my bringing 
my trunk. Wanted me to transfer my stuff into duffle bags 
and carry a pack to ease up on his dogs; and then to top it 
off with, he wasn't going to let me ride on the sled.  But I 
showed him who was boss.  I hired the outfit and believe me, 
I rode whenever I felt like it.  He may have you fellows up 
here bluffed, but not me." 

"Well, 'tis none of my business.  I was only givin' ye a 
friendly warnin'.  Come on now till I get my glasses on, an' 
we'll see what ye've got here." 

Presently he folded and returned the brief note.  "An' now 
what can I do for ye?  Will ye be makin' your headquarters 
here, or will ye have a camp of your own down on the river?" 

"I think I'll stay here if there's room.  When I'm exploring 
the river I can take a light outfit along." 

"There's plenty of room.  There's an empty cabin beside the 
storehouse, an' I'll have a stove set up, an' your things 
moved in.  Ye'll take your meals with me.  There's only a 
couple of Company Injuns, an' my clerk."  Murchison paused.  
"Sven!" he called.  "Sven Larson!  Where are ye?  Come down 
out of that fur loft!  I've a job for ye." 

Slow, heavy footsteps sounded upon the floor above, and a 
moment later two feet appeared upon the ladder, and very 
deliberately the clerk negotiated the descent. 

"Sven Larson, this is Mr. Wentworth.  He's from the States, 
an' he's goin' to live in the cabin.  Take Wawake an' Joe 
Irish an' set up a stove in there, an' move the stuff in 
that lays outside." 

Hedin acknowledged the introduction with a solemn bob of the 
head, and as he stared straight into Wentworth's face he 
blinked owlishly. 

"This stove?" he asked, indicating the huge cannon stove in 
which the fire roared noisily. 

"No!  No!  Ye numbskull!  One of them Yukon stoves.  An' be 
quick about it." 

"What stuff?" 

"The stuff that lays outside the door--Wentworth's stuff, of 
course!' 

"In the cabin?" 

"Yes, in the cabin!" cried the factor impatiently.  "Ye 
didn't think ye was to put it in the stove, did ye?" 

Hedin moved slowly away in search of the Company Indians, 
and Wentworth laughed.  "Hasn't got quite all his buttons, 
has he?" he inquired.  "I should say the Company had treated 
you shabbily in the matter of a clerk." 

"Well, I don't know," replied Murchison.  "I could have had 
worse. 'Tis not to be gainsaid that he's slow an' heavy of 
wit in the matter of most things, but the lad knows fur.  
More than forty years I've handled fur, an' yet to-day the 
striplin' knows more about fur, an' the value of fur, than I 
ever will know.  An' then there's the close-mouthedness of 
him.  Ye tell him a thing, an' caution him to say naught 
about it, an' no bribe nor threat could drag a word of it 
from his lips.  So, ye see, for the job he's got, I could 
scarce hope for better." 

"I presume he knows only raw furs," said Wentworth casually.  
"He could, of course, have no knowledge of the finished 
product." 

"An' there ye're wrong.  Of his early life I know nothing 
except that he's a foreigner, raised in the fur trade.  He 
can spot topped or pointed furs as far as he can see them, 
an' as for appraisin' them, he can tell almost to a dollar 
the value of any piece ye could show him. But----" 

The door opened and Murchison turned to greet a newcomer.  
"Hello, Downey!" he called.  "'Tis a long time since ye've 
favored Gods Lake with a visit.  Come up to the stove, lad, 
an' meet Mr. Wentworth. 

"Mr. Wentworth, this is Corporal Downey, of the Royal 
Northwest Mounted Police."  At the word police Wentworth 
started ever so slightly, but caught himself on the instant.  
He searched the keen gray eyes of the officer as he extended 
his hand, but if Downey noticed the momentary trepidation he 
gave no sign. 

"So you're Wentworth," he remarked casually, as he swung the 
light pack from his shoulders. 

"_Captain_ Wentworth." 

"Oh," Downey accorded him a slanting glance, and entered 
into conversation with Murchison. 

"You knew my name, do you want to see me?"  Wentworth 
interrupted after a wait of several minutes. 

"No, not in particular.  Only if I was you I'd beware of a 
dark-haired man, as the fortune-tellers say." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I met Alex Thumb a piece back on the trail." 

"Well, what of it?  What has that got to do with me?" 

"I don't know.  He mentioned your name, that's all.  An' I 
just kind of surmised from the way he done it that you an' 
him didn't part the best of friends." 

"I hired him for a guide, and he undertook to give me my 
orders on the trail.  But I soon showed him where he stood." 

Downey nodded.  "He's counted bad medicine up here." 

"I guess he won't bother me any; I'm here to stay." 

"No, he won't be apt to _bother_ you any.  Probably kill 
you, though, if you don't keep your eyes open.  But don't 
worry about that, because if he does I'll get him." 

"He can't bluff me.  I served with the engineers in Russia." 

"You'll be servin' with the devils in hell, too, if you 
don't quit makin' enemies of men like Alex Thumb." 

"They didn't use up _all_ the brains, when they made the 
Mounted, Captain." 

"_Corporal_'ll do me," corrected the officer.  "I wasn't 
with the engineers--in Russia.  I was only in the trenches--
in France." 

As Downey slung his pack to his shoulders the following 
morning he stepped close to Murchison.  The trading room was 
deserted save for those two, but the officer lowered his 
voice.  "Wentworth ain't the only one around here that needs 
watchin'," he said warningly. 

"What do ye mean?" 

"I mean your clerk ain't the fool he lets on he is.  That 
room you put me in was next to his.  The chinkin's fallen 
out in spots, an' his light was lit late, so I just laid in 
my bunk an' glued my eye to the crack.  He was readin'--an' 
enjoyin' what he read.  He'd lay down the book now an' then 
an' light a good briar pipe.  I'd get a good look into his 
face then, an' he's no more a fool than you or I.  He's 
damned smart lookin'.  An' the books he had laid out on the 
table wasn't books a fool would be readin'.  He was careful 
to hide 'em away when he rolled in--an' he cleaned his 
fingernails with a white handled dingus, an' brushed his 
teeth, an' put the tools back in a black leather case that 
had silver trimmin's.  Believe me, there's somethin' comin' 
off here between now an' summer, an' I'm goin' to ask for 
the detail!" 

Murchison laughed.  "Come on back, Downey, and you'll see 
the fun.  An' I ain't so sure you won't be needed in your 
official capacity.  But don't bother your head over Sven 
Larson.  Remember this: it takes a smart man to play the 
fool, an' play it right.  That's why John McNabb sent him up 
here.  An' his name ain't Larson; it's Hedin.  He's John's 
right-hand man--an' if I mistake not someday he'll be his 
son-in-law." 

"Oh, I'll be back all right," grinned Downey.  "I've got a 
hunch that maybe I'll be needed." 

"Ye wouldn't be sorry to have to arrest Wentworth for some 
kind of thievery, would ye, Downey?  I could see ye 
distrusted him from the moment ye laid eyes on him." 

"U-m-m-m," answered Downey.  "I was thinkin' more of, maybe, 
bringin' in Alex Thumb--for murder." 

A week later Murchison accompanied Wentworth upon a ten-day 
trip, during the course of which they visited the proposed 
mill site, the McNabb holdings, and a great part of the 
available pulp-wood territory adjoining.  With Murchison's 
help, Wentworth sketched a map of the district that showed 
with workable accuracy the location of lakes and streams, 
together with the location of Government and Hudson's Bay 
Company lands.  This done, he secured an Indian guide and 
proceeded to lay out and blaze the route of the wagon road 
to the railway. 

By the middle of May the snow had nearly disappeared, and 
the first of June saw the rivers running free of ice.  It 
was then that Wentworth "borrowed" Sven Larson from the 
factor and dropped down Gods River in a canoe to its 
confluence with the Shamattawa.  Camp was made at the head 
of the rapids.  Thereafter for five days Hedin worked under 
Wentworth's direction, while the engineer ran his levels and 
established his contour.  In the evenings as they sat by the 
campfire smoking, Hedin preserved the same stolid silence 
that he had studiously observed since the coming of 
Wentworth. 

"Murchison says you know all about fur," Wentworth suggested 
one evening.  "And the finished fur?  Do you know that, too-
-about, well, for instance kolinsky, and nutria, and Russian 
sable?" 

"Kolinsky and nutria are no good.  We do not have them here.  
Russian sable, and sea otter, and black fox, they are the 
best furs in the world.  We do not have them here, either, 
except once in a while a black, or a silver fox." 

"A coat of Russian sable would be very valuable?" 

"Yes.  Real Russian sable, dark, and well silvered, would be 
very valuable." 

"How much would one be worth?" 

"Nobody can tell unless they can see it.  It is all in the 
matching." 

For a full minute Wentworth studied the face across the 
little fire, the face with the unkempt beard, and the far-
off, pondering eyes. 

"I have a Russian sable coat," ventured Wentworth. 

The factor's clerk gazed at him with unwinking blue eyes, 
and the head wagged slowly.  "No.  Russian sable is woman's 
fur.  They do not make men's coats of Russian sable." 

"But this is a woman's coat," explained Wentworth.  "I got 
it in Russia when I was in the Army.  She was a Russian 
princess and I helped her escape from the country at great 
risk to myself.  It was in the winter, in the dead of night, 
and a terrible blizzard was raging.  When she safely crossed 
the border she thanked me with tears in her eyes and begged 
me to take her coat in payment, as she had no money.  I 
refused, but she tossed it into my arms, and disappeared 
into the night." 

"Maybe she died in the storm without her coat." 

"Why, no--you see, she had--that is, I had arranged for a 
car--a sleigh, I mean, to meet her there with plenty of 
robes.  But what I want to get at, is this.  If I show you 
this coat will you promise not to say a word to Murchison 
about it?  I do not want him to know I have it.  He would 
want to buy it, and he is my friend and I do not want to 
refuse him.  But I do not want to sell the coat, because 
sometime I am going to return it to its original owner.  But 
first I should like you to tell me what it is worth.  Can 
you tell me that?  And can you remember never to tell 
Murchison that I have the coat?" 

Hedin nodded.  "Yes, I can tell you how much the coat is 
worth when I see it and feel it.  And I will not tell 
Murchison.  That is why I am smart, and others are foolish.  
Because they tell me what they know, and I listen, and 
pretty soon I know that, too.  But I do not tell what I 
know, and they cannot listen.  So I know what they know, and 
they do not know what I know, and that is why I am wise and 
they don't know hardly anything at all." 

"Everything coming in, and nothing going out," laughed 
Wentworth. "That's right, Sven; you've got the system.  We 
will finish here to-morrow, and then we will return to the 
post, and you can come to my cabin, and I'll show you the 
fur." 




XV 

Ever since the evening in camp when Wentworth had confided 
in him that he had the coat, Hedin had been debating his 
course of procedure.  His first impulse had been to denounce 
Wentworth to his face, to seize the coat and obtain the 
engineer's arrest.  He knew that Downey expected to return 
to the post--but there was Jean to consider.  Jean--the girl 
of his fondest dreams, who had forsaken him and fallen under 
the spell of the courtly manners of the suave soldier-
engineer.  What would Jean think?  If she loved the man she 
would never believe in his guilt.  She would believe, with a 
woman's irrational loyalty, that he, Hedin, had in some 
manner contrived to place the coat in Wentworth's 
possession, and he knew that the engineer would never cease 
to proclaim that he had been made the dupe of a scheming 
lover.  The case against the man must be plain.  When Jean 
could be shown that Wentworth deliberately endeavored to 
cheat her father, she would then believe that he stole the 
coat.  She would be saved from throwing herself away, and 
he--Hedin's lips moved, "I will hire out to the Company, and 
ask to be sent to the northern-most post they've got." 

Upon his arrival at the post, Wentworth made out two 
reports, one to McNabb and the other to Orcutt, which he 
dispatched to the railway by a Company Indian.  Late in the 
afternoon, as he was polishing his instruments in the little 
cabin, the figure of Sven Larson appeared in the doorway.  
The engineer motioned him to enter and close the door behind 
him.  "Where is Murchison?" he asked, glancing through the 
window toward the post. 

"He has gone in a boat with Wawake to set the fish nets." 

Without a word Wentworth stepped across the room, unlocked 
his trunk, and from its depths drew the sable coat that 
Hedin had last seen upon the shoulders of Jean McNabb as she 
walked from the store upon that memorable Saturday.  With a 
conscious effort he controlled himself, and reaching out his 
hand took the coat and carried it to the window.  He was 
conscious that the engineer's eyes were fastened intently 
upon him as, inch by inch, he carefully examined the garment 
whose every skin--every hair, almost--was familiar to him.  
Still holding the coat, he spoke more to himself than to 
Wentworth.  "A fine piece.  All good dark Yakutsk skins.  
And the matching is good.  Only one skin a shade off----" 

"What's it worth?" asked Wentworth abruptly.  "I don't care 
a damn about the specifications.  They don't mean anything 
to me.  I knew it was a fine garment the minute I spotted 
it, and I knew Hedin was lying when he said it was a 
marten." 

"Hedin?" queried the clerk.  "Was that the name of the 
princess?  She must be a fool to say this is a marten." 

"No, no!  Hedin is a man.  And he is a fool, all right.  
Fool enough to let a damn fool girl make a fool of him----" 

Wentworth suddenly saw a blinding flash of light.  He felt 
himself falling; then he lay very still as a shower of 
little star-like sparks flowed upward from a black abyss. 

The instant he struck, Hedin realized the folly of his act.  
He would have given all he possessed to have recalled the 
blow.  McNabb had trusted him to carry out a carefully laid 
plan--and he had failed.  He remembered how the old Scot had 
told him frankly that Jean had fallen in love with 
Wentworth, and personally, while he believed him to be a 
good engineer, he wouldn't trust him out of his sight.  And 
then he had outlined the scheme he had laid for showing him 
up so that Jean would be convinced of his crookedness.  And 
now he had spoiled it all. 

The man on the floor stirred restlessly.  The thought 
flashed into Hedin's brain that there might still be a 
chance.  If he played his part well, it was possible. 

The next thing Wentworth knew, Sven Larson was bending over 
him, bathing his face with a large red handkerchief 
saturated with cold water.  "What in hell happened?" 
muttered the man, as he brushed clumsily at his fast 
discoloring eye with his hand.  With the help of the 
factor's clerk he sat up.  "You hit me!  Damn you!  What did 
you hit me for?" 

"I am sorry I hit you," answered Hedin heavily.  "It is in 
here--the thing that makes me strike."  He rubbed his 
forehead with his fingers. "It is like many worms crawling 
inside my head, when one speaks ill of women.  My eyes get 
hot, and the red streaks come, and then I strike. It was 
such a thing that made me strike Pollak.  But I had a hammer 
in my hand and I looked and saw that Pollak was dead, so I 
ran away from there and climbed onto the ship.  I am glad I 
did not have a hammer in my hand to-day." 

Wentworth regained his feet and glanced at his fast closing 
eye in the bit of mirror that hung above his wash bench.  
"So am I," he seconded, forcing a smile.  "Where did all 
this happen?  Who was Pollak, and where did the ship take 
you?" 

"It was in London in the place of Levinski, the furrier.  
Pollak and I worked for him in the sorting of skins.  The 
ship took me to Port Nelson.  It was a Hudson's Bay Company 
ship, and I hired out to the Company and they sent me here 
to Gods Lake.  I like it here." 

"So that's it, is it?  Well, now you listen to me.  We'll 
just forget the black eye and make a little trade.  You keep 
still about the sable coat, and about hitting me, and I'll 
keep still about your killing Pollak.  Mind you, if I should 
tell Murchison you had killed a man he would send you back 
to London, and they would hang you." 

"Yes, they would hang me because I killed Pollak.  But I do 
not tell Murchison things that I know.  If you do not tell 
him I killed Pollak, he will not send me back to get hung." 




XVI 

When John McNabb read Wentworth's report, he reached for his 
telephone and called Detroit.  "That you, Beekman?" he 
asked, recognizing the voice of the senior partner of one of 
the foremost engineering firms in the country.  "How about 
you--all set for that Gods Lake job?  Just got the 
preliminary report.  Everything O. K.  Plenty of water, 
plenty of head, and we can get it without spreading the 
reservoir over the whole country.  Hustle that road through 
as fast as you can.  Hundred miles of it--only about eight 
or ten miles of swamp.  We can truck the material in quicker 
than by shipping it clear around through the Bay and track-
lining it up the river.  Few small bridges, and one motor 
ferry.  Make it good for heavy work.  Put on men enough to 
complete the road in a month at the outside.  Most if it 
will only be clearing out timber and stumps.  As soon as the 
road is done we'll begin to shoot in the cement.  Get at it 
on the jump now, an' I'll see you in a day or two." 

The days following the return of Wentworth and Hedin from 
the survey of the rapids were busy ones at the little post 
on Gods Lake.  For it was the time of the spring trading, 
and from far and near came the men of the outlands, bringing 
in their harvest of fur. 

The post flag floated gaily at the staff head, and in the 
broad clearing about its base were pitched the tepees of the 
fur bringers. 

Each rising sun brought additional wilderness gleaners from 
afar, and additional children, and many additional starving 
dogs.  For these days were the gala days of the Northland; 
days of high feast and plenty, of boastings, and 
recountings, and the chanting of weird chants. 

The crudity, the primitive savagery of the scene gripped 
Hedin as nothing had gripped him before.  He was astonished 
that the setting held for him so little of surprise.  He 
fitted into the life naturally and perfectly as though to 
the manner born.  But his own astonishment was as nothing as 
compared to the astonishment of Murchison, who stood close 
as Hedin broke open and sorted the packs of fur.  Time and 
again his swift appraisal of a skin won a nod of approval 
from the factor, who received the skins from his hands and 
paid for them in tokens of made beaver. 

"I do not understand it," said Murchison, between puffs of 
his pipe, as at the end of a day he and Hedin sat in the 
doorway of the trading room and watched the yellow flames 
from a hundred campfires stab the black darkness of the 
night, and send wavering shadows playing in grotesque 
patterns upon the walls of the tepees.  The harsh din of the 
encampment all but drowned the factor's words, and Hedin 
smiled. 

"Do not understand what?" he asked. 

"'Tis yourself I do not understand.  Ye've never handled raw 
fur, yet in the handling of thirty packs I have not changed 
the rating of a skin.  By your own word, 'tis your first 
venture into the North, yet since the day of your coming ye 
have behaved like a man of the North. The Indians distrust a 
new-comer.  They are slow to place confidence in any white 
man.  An' yet, they have accepted your judgment of fur 
without question.  An' a good half of them ye call by name.  
'Tis a combination unheard of, an' to be believed only when 
one sees it." 

"And yet it is very simple," explained Hedin.  "For years I 
have studied fur--finished fur--and in the study I have read 
everything I could find about fur, from the habits of the 
animals up through their trapping, and the handling of the 
skins in every step of their preparation.  And as for the 
Indians themselves, I have merely moved about among them and 
got acquainted, as I would do in a city of white men." 

Murchison interrupted him with a snort.  "An' a thousand 
would try it, an' one succeed!  'Tis no explanation ye've 
given at all.  Ye cannot explain it.  'Tis a something ye 
have that's bred in the bone.  Ye're a born man of the 
North--an' God pity ye for the job ye've got!  Cooped up in 
a store all day with the fanfare of a city dingin' your ears 
from dawn till midnight, an' beyond!  An' what's the good of 
it?  When ye might be living up here in the land that still 
lays as God made it. The Company can use men like you.  You 
could have a post of your own in a year's time." 

For many minutes Hedin puffed at his pipe.  "I am glad to 
hear that," he said at length, "for I am not going back." 

"Not going back!" cried Murchison.  "D'ye mean it?  An' what 
about that lass of John McNabb's?" 

"That lass of John McNabb's has chosen another," answered 
Hedin in a dull tone. 

It was the seventh of June when Wentworth had dispatched the 
Indian with the reports to McNabb and to Orcutt, and 
thereafter he settled himself for three weeks of waiting.  
The activity at the post bored and annoyed him.  He 
complained of the noisy yapping of the night-prowling dogs, 
cursed the children that ran against his legs in their play, 
and when necessity compelled him to cross the encampment, he 
passed among the tepees, obviously avoiding and despising 
their occupants. 

Upon the fifth or sixth day, to rid himself of annoyance, 
Wentworth essayed a journey to the rapids, and because no 
one could be spared from the post, he ventured forth alone.  
When not more than ten miles from the post, he turned his 
head, as he topped a rock-ribbed ridge for a casual survey 
of the broad _brule_ he had just crossed.  The next instant 
he brought up rigidly erect as his eye caught a swift blur 
of motion far back on his trail at the opposite edge of the 
_brule_.  He looked again but could make out only an army of 
blackened stumps. Entering the scrub with a vague sense of 
uneasiness, he circled among the stunted trees and took up a 
position under cover of a granite outcropping that gave him 
a view of his back trail.  He had hardly settled himself 
before a man stepped from behind a stump and struck out 
rapidly upon his trail.  The man was traveling light, 
apparently studying the ground as he walked.  Wentworth 
glanced about him and noted that the rocky ridge would give 
the man scant opportunity for trailing him to his position.  
The figure was coming up the ridge now. As it passed a 
twisted pine, Wentworth got a good look into his face, and 
the sight of it sent cold shivers up his spine that prickled 
uncomfortably at the roots of his hair.  For the face was 
that of Alex Thumb, and at close range Wentworth could see 
that the black eyes glittered evilly.  Icy fingers gripped 
the engineer's heart.  He felt suddenly weak and cold. 

Raising a shaking hand to his forehead, Wentworth withdrew 
it wet and glistening with sweat.  His brain conjured 
fantastic stories of the powers of the Indian tracker, and 
fearfully he scanned the rocks over which he had come.  
Suddenly it occurred to him that if the man were still upon 
his trail, he would have come up with him before this. 
Evidently the tracker was wasting no time on the broad rocky 
ridge, but taking it for granted that his quarry would 
proceed on his way, figured on picking up the trail again in 
the softer ground of the next valley; in which case he would 
soon discover his error and circle to correct it.  
Discarding his pack, the terrified man swiftly descended the 
ridge and crossed the _brule_ at a run.  Gaining the shelter 
of the forest he paused and looked back.  The wide clearing 
was tenantless, and regaining his breath, he resumed his 
flight, crashing through patches of underbrush, and 
splashing through streams until, just at dusk, the lights of 
the Gods Lake campfires came into view. 

Completely done up, he staggered into his cabin and, closing 
the door, fell sprawling upon his bunk, where for an hour he 
lay while his overtaxed muscles slowly regained their 
strength.  Then he stood up, lighted his candle, and 
proceeded to remove the record of his mad flight from his 
scratched skin and torn clothing. 

That evening at supper he was surprised to find that Downey 
had returned to the post.  And he wondered if he only 
fancied that the officer eyed him meaningly. 

He said nothing of his experience, but thereafter he was 
content to remain at the post, never venturing alone beyond 
the boundaries of the clearing.  He became more and more 
nervous with the passing of the days.  One by one, he 
checked them off, and during the latter days of June he 
spent hours pacing restlessly up and down, or making the 
round of the clearing, shunned by Indian dogs and Indian 
children, and ignored by their elders.  And always three 
questions were uppermost in his mind: Would Orcutt come?  
Would McNabb come?  Would they both come? And finding no 
answer, he would continue his restless pacing, or raise the 
imaginary stakes in his game of solitaire to stupendous 
proportions. 

He became more and more irritable as the tension increased.  
The breaking of a shoe lace called forth a flow of 
profanity, and when the mainspring of his watch snapped, he 
hurled the instrument against the log wall in his senseless 
rage. 




XVII 

The morning of June 29th brought Cameron, armed with 
credentials which empowered him to transact any and all 
business connected with the pulp-wood holdings of the 
Canadian Wild Lands Company, Ltd.  Murchison introduced him 
to Wentworth, who insisted that the man share his cabin. 

"So you are McNabb's man?" queried Cameron with a smile, as 
he swung his pack to the floor and seated himself upon the 
edge of a bunk.  "Do you know, we rather hoped I would not 
find you here." 

"Why?" asked Wentworth, returning the smile. 

"Pulp-wood has gone up since that contract was made.  If the 
stuff were to revert to us we could do much better with it." 

"How much better?" 

Cameron shot a keen glance at his questioner.  "Well, 
considerably," he answered non-committally. 

"A dollar an acre?" 

"Two of them." 

A brief silence ensued, during which Wentworth was conscious 
that the eyes of the other were upon him.  "Seven dollars an 
acre," he said. "Pretty high, isn't it, when you consider 
the inaccessibility to your markets?" 

Cameron laughed.  "Inaccessibility to markets don't seem to 
be worrying McNabb any.  Bringing his paper mills into the 
woods seems to have solved that problem.  I was talking to 
the engineer in charge of his road construction day before 
yesterday----" 

"Engineer in charge of road construction!" exclaimed 
Wentworth.  "What road construction--where?" 

"Why, north of here.  You knew he was building a tote-road, 
didn't you? I followed the blazed trail clear down to the 
rapids of the Shamattawa. And he's pushing it, too--got 
twenty-five or thirty miles of it ready for traffic." 

"No--I didn't know he had begun construction," admitted 
Wentworth.  "I knew there was to be a road--laid it out 
myself.  But I did not know that the work had started." 

"Well, it has, and we may as well conclude out business." 

"But the options do not expire until noon of July first." 

"No, but what is to be gained by waiting here until the last 
minute? He intends to close the deal, so why not get at it?  
I suppose you were provided with the necessary funds to make 
the initial payment?" 

Wentworth shook his head.  "No," he answered.  "In fact I 
have nothing whatever to do with the transaction.  I am an 
engineer sent up here to locate the mill site, lay out the 
tote-road, and incidentally, to make a survey of additional 
pulp-wood holdings.  I am surprised to hear that McNabb has 
begun construction of the road." 

Cameron stared at the man in astonishment.  "What do you 
mean?" he asked, "that McNabb has added the expense of road 
construction to the money he put into the options, without 
making provision for acquiring title to the property?  That 
does not sound like McNabb--what I've heard of him." 

"He has until noon of the first," reminded Wentworth. 

"Yes, but where is he?  He knows the North, and the hundred-
an'-one things that can happen to upset a schedule.  If I 
had as much invested in this thing as he has, you may 
believe I would have been here with plenty of time to 
spare." 

Wentworth nodded.  "So would I.  But in case he does not 
show up, what then?  The first man that offers seven dollars 
an acre, and is prepared to make a substantial payment takes 
the property?" 

"Just so.  If McNabb, or his representative, is not here on 
the stroke of twelve, the day after to-morrow, with tender 
of a cash payment of ten percent. of the purchase price as 
stipulated in his contract, then he is out of the reckoning 
altogether.  But why do you ask?  You speak as though there 
were some doubt in your mind as to McNabb's appearance?" 

"You can never tell," answered Wentworth.  "He told me he 
would be here himself to close the deal at the proper time.  
If he does not come, it is no affair of mine, except that I 
should be out of a job.  I need the job, so I tipped off his 
chief rival capitalist as to the date of expiration, and 
told him that in case for any reason McNabb fell down on the 
proposition, he had better show up here at the post on the 
first day of July with a big bunch of coin."  He paused and 
grinned at Cameron.  "I was merely playing safe.  If McNabb 
shows up, well and good.  If he don't, well and good again--
I still have a job, and you get seven dollars an acre, 
instead of five." 

"But will the other be here?" 

Wentworth shrugged.  "That is what I have been asking myself 
for a week.  Will McNabb come?  Will Orcutt come?  Or will 
they both come? In the latter case I may have let myself in 
for some unpleasant complications.  But I had to take a 
chance--to avoid taking a chance." 

Cameron laughed.  "Let us hope for your sake that only one 
of the parties arrives, and for my sake, that it is the 
rival, for the additional two dollars an acre will mean an 
additional million for my company." 




XVIII 

Along toward the middle of the following afternoon Orcutt 
appeared at the post, accompanied by two guides and two 
operatives of a detective agency, who were ostensibly merely 
members of a party of three, but who in reality were the 
guardians of a certain thick packet of large bills that 
reposed in the very bottom of a waterproof rucksack. 

Into the trading room he stamped, cursing the black flies 
and mosquitoes whose combined and persistent attack had left 
his face and neck red and swollen.  Hedin was behind the 
counter, and without a hint of recognition Orcutt inquired 
the whereabouts of Wentworth.  Upon being informed that he 
was probably in his cabin, he turned on his heel and stamped 
from the room. 

"This is a hell of a country!" he said in greeting, as 
Wentworth opened his door to admit him.  "The damned flies 
and mosquitoes just naturally eat a man alive!" 

"It isn't so bad when you get used to it," laughed 
Wentworth, and turned toward the man who had risen from his 
chair.  "Mr. Orcutt, this is Mr. Cameron, representative of 
the Canadian Wild Lands Company." 

"Wild lands is right," grinned Orcutt as he acknowledged the 
other's greeting.  "I never saw so much timber or so many 
insects in my life. And now," he continued, meeting 
Cameron's eyes, "I'm a busy man, and the sooner I get out of 
this God-forsaken country, the better I'll like it.  Why 
can't we go ahead and get the business over with?" 

"You forget, Mr. Orcutt, that the McNabb options do not 
expire until noon to-morrow," Cameron answered. 

Orcutt nodded impatiently.  "Yes, yes, I suppose we've got 
to wait. But as far as that goes, I don't think we've got to 
worry any.  I always make it my business to keep an eye on 
the other fellow, and I know to certainty that John McNabb 
will not be here.  As a matter of fact, he has mistaken the 
day his options expire.  He believes he has until the first 
of August." 

Cameron whistled.  "Are you sure?" he asked incredulously.  
"I don't know him personally, but his reputation for 
shrewdness----" 

"And ninety-nine times out of a hundred he's as shrewd as 
his reputation calls for," interrupted Orcutt, "but this is 
the hundredth time!  He is so dead sure he is right that I 
don't suppose he has examined his papers in years.  John 
McNabb makes damned few mistakes--I've been more than twenty 
years waiting for him to make this one.  And now, by God, 
I've got him!  What do you hold the timber at?" 

"Seven dollars an acre." 

"Make it six, and I'll take it.  It ought to be worth 
something not to have to hunt up a buyer." 

"It is," answered Cameron.  "But seven dollars is the price.  
In a month--two months it will be eight." 

"About two percent down?" 

"Ten." 

"Ten percent!" raved Orcutt.  "Three hundred and fifty 
thousand dollars!  Do you think a man takes a jaunt into the 
woods with any such amount of money as that in his 
possession?" 

"I think you did.  If not, then as you people say in the 
States, you are out of luck." 

"I'll buy an option on it." 

Cameron shook his head.  "No, the time has come for a sale.  
We can't afford to hold timber ourselves, and as to finding 
purchasers, I know a dozen men who would snap it up at seven 
dollars." 

"All right," growled Orcutt.  "Make out your papers and I'll 
sign 'em. At least, we can get the routine business all 
finished to-day so all there will be left to do to-morrow 
noon will be to sign up and pay over the money." 

"No harm in that," agreed Cameron.  "I shall proceed at once 
to draw up a contract of sale.  Just a question or two will 
give me all the information I need.  In the first place, is 
the prospective purchaser an individual or a corporation?" 

"Corporation.  The Eureka Paper Company." 

"And their home office?" 

"Orcutt, Canada." 

"Orcutt?  Where is Orcutt?" 

Orcutt smiled.  "There isn't any--now.  But there will be 
one as soon as we start construction of the mill.  The 
enterprise will be of sufficient magnitude to necessitate a 
town at the mill site, and the name of that town will be 
Orcutt." 

"Very good.  I think that is all I need to know." 

"About the subsequent payments----" began Orcutt, but 
Cameron interrupted him: 

"Let us not discuss that now.  The better way will be for 
you to allow me to draw up the contract, and then to-morrow 
morning we can go over it, clause by clause." 

"Good idea," agreed Orcutt.  "Come on, Wentworth," and 
leading the way from the cabin, he spent half an hour 
strolling about among the tepees viewing their owners, their 
_lares_, _penates_ and offspring as he would have inspected 
an exhibit at a fair.  Tiring of this, he led the way to a 
fallen log at the edge of the clearing, and produced his 
cigar case. 

"How is everything in Terrace City?" asked Wentworth, as he 
lighted his cigar. 

"Oh, about as usual, I guess.  Been so damned busy getting 
this paper deal in shape for the last two months that I 
haven't had much time to keep track of things.  By the way, 
you remember Hedin--that clerk in old John McNabb's fur 
department?" 

"Yes, I believe I do." 

"Well, old John trusted him to the limit--made a kind of a 
pet of him--and what does the fellow do but slip up to the 
store one night and steal a Russian sable coat, worth 
somewhere around thirty thousand. Then the damned fool, 
instead of getting out of the country, stayed right on the 
job.  Of course old John missed the coat next day, and the 
night watchman told of Hedin's visit to the store." 

"Did he confess?" asked Wentworth a shade too eagerly. 

"Confess nothing!  He swears he's innocent.  But there's 
nothing to it. They've got the goods on him--everything but 
the coat.  They can't find that, and they never will.  I got 
the story from Hicks, the police chief.  Old John had him 
arrested and he knocked Hicks down and got away.  They 
caught him again, and Judge Emerson fixed his bail at ten 
thousand.  Someone furnished the bail that same night, and 
Hedin has skipped out, slick and clean.  They sure put one 
over on McNabb--ten thousand for bail, twenty thousand to 
divide between them, and McNabb is holding the bag." 

"And we'll leave him holding the bag again," grinned 
Wentworth. 

"That's what we will.  He's been a hard man to down.  I 
don't mind saying it to you, I've laid for him ever since 
I've been in Terrace City, and I've never been able to get 
him.  Several times I've thought I had him, but he always 
managed to wriggle out someway.  But now he seems to have 
let down all of a sudden.  Either his luck has deserted him, 
or he has begun to break." 

"You are pretty sure he will not be here to-morrow?" 

Orcutt nodded.  "Dead sure.  You were right about his 
believing that he has till the first of August on those 
options.  I overheard him telling Bronson on the golf links 
that he had to be in Canada on August first, and that he 
would leave about the middle of July." 




XIX 

After breakfast on the morning of the first of July, Orcutt 
and Cameron repaired to the cabin where, with the rough pine 
table littered with maps, they discussed the terms and 
conditions of the contract of sale. While Wentworth, 
palpably nervous, paced the clearing; his eyes were upon the 
trails that led into the forest, and out upon the lake, for 
a sign of a canoe from the southward. 

When at last the pros and cons had all been threshed over, 
clauses inserted, and clauses struck out, Orcutt drew from 
his pocket a heavy gold watch, and snapping it open, 
detached it from its chain and laid it upon the table 
between them.  "Half past eleven," he announced.  "I suppose 
you insist upon waiting until the uttermost minute ticks to 
its close." 

"Yes," answered Cameron.  "McNabb's options hold good until 
twelve o'clock." 

"I am anxious to get back," said Orcutt, offering his cigar 
case, "but I don't want to return without having a look at 
the mill site.  How far is it from here?" 

"About forty miles.  If you leave here right after noon you 
will make it before noon to-morrow." 

"I'll do it, and return the following day." 

The two men smoked with their eyes upon the minute hand that 
slowly crept toward twelve.  Now and then Cameron's glance 
strayed through the window toward the trading post, as 
though he half expected to see John McNabb step to its door. 

"Twelve o'clock!" announced Orcutt, in a voice that held a 
ring of triumph.  "And I don't mind telling you that, sure 
as I was that McNabb would not be here, I am breathing 
easier now than I was two minutes ago." 

Leaning forward, Cameron verified the announcement, and 
dipping the pen in ink, he signed the contract and passed 
the instrument across to Orcutt, who hastily affixed his 
signature.  Then from the fat bundle upon which his elbow 
had rested, the banker removed the wrapping and counted out 
three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in gold 
certificates of five- and ten-thousand dollar denominations.  
Cameron recounted, and receipted for the money, and after 
depositing it in his pocket he extended his hand.  "I 
congratulate you, Mr. Orcutt, upon your purchase, and trust 
that you have launched upon an enterprise that will prove 
immensely profitable to yourself and your associates.  But 
for the life of me, I cannot understand McNabb's failure to 
put in an appearance." 

Orcutt's eyes flashed.  "Nor can I, except on the theory 
that he is breaking--losing his grip on affairs.  For years 
we have been business rivals, and for years I have tried to 
get the upper hand of him, but until this moment I have 
always failed.  It will be a different story from now on," 
he added vindictively.  "Never again will he have the old 
confidence, the nerve and sureness that has been his chief 
asset.  John McNabb is done.  But I'm wasting time.  I 
should right now be on my way to the mill site." 

"You will wait for dinner?" 

"No.  We can eat as we travel," he answered impatiently.  
"Good-by!" And stepping to the door, he called to Wentworth 
and the guides and plainclothes-men who waited beside the 
door. 

"Come on!  We strike out at once for the mill site.  The 
deal is closed, and we're wasting time.  We've got a forty 
mile hike ahead of us!  We'll snatch a lunch later.  By the 
way, Cameron, you may not be here when I return, so I will 
inform you now that until further notice Mr. Wentworth will 
be our accredited representative in the field.  If anything 
should come up that needs my attention, take it up with 
him." 

"Just put it on paper, Mr. Orcutt," advised the canny Scot, 
and with a show of impatience Orcutt scribbled the 
memorandum. 

"Where are we going?" asked Wentworth. 

"To the mill site.  I want to look it over and return here 
by the day after to-morrow.  All ready?" 

The guides swung their packs to their backs and struck into 
the timber, followed closely by the others of the party. 

The following day, Orcutt and Wentworth stood at the head of 
the rapids and Orcutt listened as the engineer, with the aid 
of his field notes and maps, explained the construction of 
the dam, and roughly indicated the contour of the reservoir.  
"But what's this line--the dotted one, that crosses the 
river just above us?" 

"That is our western property line.  It crosses about a mile 
above here, and we are standing about the same distance 
above the mill site." 

"Do you mean that we own only a mile of timber on the big 
river above this point?" 

"Just about a mile.  Our property runs a long way up Gods 
River, and both sides of the Shamattawa below the dotted 
line." 

Orcutt studied the map for a moment.  "Who owns the land 
above here?" he asked sharply. 

"The Hudson's Bay Company on the north side, and the 
Government on the south." 

"Well, what in hell is to prevent someone--McNabb, for 
instance--from buying up that land and starting operations 
above us?  Even if they didn't put in a dam they could raise 
the devil with us by driving their stuff through.  John 
McNabb knows every trick of the logging game, and when he 
finds out what has happened he'll go the limit to buck us." 

Wentworth considered.  "I guess he could do that, all right.  
We would have to let his stuff through--" 

"I'll fix him!" cried Orcutt.  "I'll beat him to it!  Where 
do we do business with the Government and the Hudson's Bay 
Company?" 

"With the Government in Ottawa, and the Company in 
Winnipeg." 

"Hell's bells!" cried Orcutt.  "That means we'll be 
gallivanting all over Canada for the next week or ten days.  
Well, it can't be helped. I know John McNabb well enough not 
to leave any loop-hole for him to take advantage of."  He 
called to the guides.  "Hey, you Injuns! What's the quickest 
way to the railroad?" 

The guides pointed due north.  "Mebbe-so wan hondre mile," 
announced one. 

"But," cried Wentworth, "we're going back by way of the 
post, aren't we?" 

"We're going to hit for the railway the quickest way God 
will let us!" 

"But, I--I left something--that is, I have nothing to travel 
in but these field clothes, and they're shockingly soiled 
and tattered." 

"Soiled and tattered--hell!  What's that got to do with 
saving years of trouble at the mill?  Maybe you ain't as 
pretty as you'd like to be--but, you've got enough on so 
they can't arrest you----" 

Wentworth felt a decidedly uncomfortable thrill at the word 
"arrest." He was thinking of a certain Russian sable coat 
that lay in his trunk at the cabin, and guarded from prying 
eyes by only a flimsy trunk lock. He thought, also, of 
Downey--and wondered.  He would have given much to have 
returned to that cabin, but a single glance into Orcutt's 
face stilled any thought of further objection, and he 
reluctantly acquiesced. 

"We can follow the line of the tote-road," he said.  "I 
blazed it to the railway, and by the way, Cameron said that 
McNabb had already started construction--had twenty or 
thirty miles of it completed several days ago." 

"Started construction?" cried Orcutt.  "Construction of 
what?" 

"The tote-road.  He figured it would be quicker and cheaper 
to haul his material for the mill in from the new railway 
than to ship by boat around through the Bay to Port Nelson, 
and then drag it up the river by scow." 

"And you mean to say he's started the work?  Laid out good 
money on top of what his options cost him--and forgot to 
take up the options?" 

"That's just what he's done, according to Cameron." 

Orcutt burst out laughing.  "We'll let him go ahead and 
build the road," he cried.  "Every dollar he puts in will be 
ninety cents saved for us.  It may be two or three weeks 
before he finds out that he has lost the timber, and 
possibly the road will be completed by that time. Then I'll 
buy it in for almost nothing.  McNabb has certainly gone 
fluie!  And in the meantime we will use his road to haul in 
our own material.  I'll wire Strang to begin hustling the 
stuff through." 




XX 

After watching Orcutt depart, Cameron folded his maps and 
his papers and walked around to the trading room where 
Murchison and his clerk were comparing the skins of a silver 
gray and a black cross fox. 

The clerk greeted him with a smile.  "Just the man I wanted 
to see, Mr. Cameron.  In fact I was about to go in search of 
you." 

Cameron stared at him in surprise.  During the day or two he 
had spent at the post, he had come to regard the clerk as a 
stupid, morose individual, whose only excuse for existence, 
as Murchison had said, was his knowledge of fur.  But here 
was this unkempt clerk actually smiling, and addressing him 
as a man of affairs.  He glanced inquiringly at Murchison 
before replying.  "And why should you go in search of me?" 

"As accredited representative of the Canadian Wild Lands 
Company, I have business to transact with you."  Hedin 
stepped forward and extended a paper.  "I represent John 
McNabb." 

"John McNabb!" cried Cameron, staring at him as though he 
had taken leave of his senses.  "You mean----" 

Hedin interrupted him, speaking crisply.  "I mean that this 
paper, as you will note, is a power of attorney which gives 
me authority to transact any and all business for Mr. 
McNabb, concerning the purchase of certain pulp-wood lands." 

"Dut, man!" cried Cameron excitedly. 

Ignoring the interruption, Hedin continued.  "And I hereby, 
in the presence of Mr. Murchison, tender payment of ten 
percent, of the purchase price, as provided in the terms of 
the option contract." 

"But you're too late!" roared Cameron.  "McNabb's options 
expired at noon!  The land has been sold and payment 
accepted!  Good Lord, man! Do you mean that McNabb sent you 
up here to close the deal, and you deliberately neglected to 
attend to it until the options had expired?" 

"Too late?" smiled Hedin.  "What do you mean, too late?  The 
options do not expire until noon," he paused and glanced up 
at the clock that ticked upon the wall, "and it still lacks 
twenty-five minutes of twelve." 

Cameron stared at the clock.  "It is a trick!" he cried.  
"You turned the clock back!  What time have you, Murchison?" 

The factor meticulously consulted his watch.  "Twenty-four 
minutes to twelve," he announced. 

"You are into it, too!" 

Murchison smiled.  "Look at your own watch," he suggested.  
"What time have you got?" 

Cameron drew out his timepiece and stared at it blankly.  
"He laid his watch on the table between us," he said in a 
bewildered tone, "and not until the hands reached twelve 
were the papers signed and the money paid." 

"What do you mean?" asked Hedin.  "The papers signed, and 
the money paid?" 

"Why Orcutt, president of the Eureka Paper Company, bought 
the land after McNabb's options expired.  Wentworth is his 
representative." 

"But McNabb's options have not expired," insisted Hedin.  
"His payment has been tendered in the presence of a witness 
before the time of their expiration.  Any sale or contract 
entered into with Orcutt or anyone else concerning title to 
these lands is, of course, void." 

Cameron continued to stare at his watch.  "I do not 
understand it," he muttered. 

"I think I do," offered Hedin.  "Was it Orcutt's watch you 
consulted?" 

"Yes, he laid it on the table, and we watched the hands mark 
off the time." 

"And you were an hour fast!  Orcutt carried Terrace City 
time, which is an hour faster than standard.  It is the so 
called daylight saving plan adopted by many cities and 
villages in the United States by act of council.  All that, 
of course, has no bearing on McNabb's options, so there is 
nothing for you to do but accept payment and return Orcutt 
his money." 

"But you were here all the time!" cried Cameron.  "And you 
must have known what was going on.  Why didn't you make 
yourself known?  Why did you let me go ahead with Orcutt?  
We could have had the business over and done with two days 
ago--and no complications." 

Hedin laughed.  "You will have to take that up with Mr. 
McNabb.  I was following out instructions to the letter.  
And those instructions were very specific about not closing 
the deal within half an hour of the expiration of the 
options." 

"But what was his idea?" 

"As I said before, you will have to ask him.  He had a 
reason, you may be sure.  I have noticed in my association 
with John McNabb that there is generally a reason for the 
things that he does--though in many instances the reason is 
beyond me." 

Cameron's exasperation at the sudden turn of events 
subsided.  He even managed a smile.  "He was within his 
rights," he admitted, "and as you say, he must have had a 
reason.  But I don't understand it.  Wentworth was McNabb's 
man too--until he swung over to Orcutt.  Yet he never 
suspected you were anything but Murchison's clerk." 

Hedin laughed.  "The reputation of being a fool doesn't hurt 
anyone. It is rather an advantage at times." 

"You have played your part well," admitted Cameron.  "And 
McNabb has played his part well--whatever that part is.  
Orcutt said he was losing his grip, was in his dotage.  
Well, he will not be the first man that has had to change 
his mind.  He has gone to inspect the mill site and will 
return day after to-morrow.  Wentworth accompanied him.  I 
imagine we will have an interesting half-hour when they find 
out that the deal is off." 

The formalities of payment were soon over with, and the 
moment they were completed, Hedin despatched a messenger 
with a telegram to his employer. 

When John McNabb received the message he grinned broadly, 
and for several minutes sat at his desk and stabbed at his 
blotter with his pencil point.  "So, Orcutt, Wentworth & 
Company set out to down poor old John McNabb," he muttered.  
"I kind of figured rope was all Wentworth wanted to hang 
himself with--an' rope's cheap.  But Orcutt an' his Eureka 
Paper Company--now he must have gone to quite a little 
bother, first an' last, an' some expense.  Too bad!  But I 
won't worry about that--he ought to 'tend to his bankin'.  
Guess I'll be startin' North in about ten days." 

A week later McNabb got another wire from the engineer in 
charge of his road construction.  As he read and reread it, 
a slow smile trembled upon his lips and widened into a broad 
grin. 

"Sixty-five miles of road completed.  Eureka Paper Company 
cement and material piling up at road head.  Have their own 
trucks.  Shall we let them use road?" 

The grin became an audible chuckle.  "I don't understand it.  
Orcutt must have cleared out so quick he don't know the deal 
is off."  Then he called a messenger and sent two telegrams.  
The first in answer to the one just received. 

"Double your force and hurry road to completion in shortest 
possible time.  Allow all Eureka Paper Company goods to be 
delivered as fast as received.  Facilitate delivery same to 
mill site in every way possible." 

The other telegram was to the home office of the engineering 
firm and read: 

"Hold off on purchase of material for mill until further 
notice. Writing full particulars." 

Then he closed his desk and went home where, a few minutes 
later, his daughter found him packing his outfit in a well 
worn duffle bag. 




XXI 

Ever since Jean's outburst of passion upon the day of 
Hedin's arrest, a certain constraint had settled upon father 
and daughter that amounted, at times, to an actual coldness.  
Neither had mentioned the name of Hedin in the other's 
hearing, but each evening at dinner, which was the only meal 
at which they met, the studied silence with which the girl 
devoted herself to her food bespoke plainer than words that 
the thought of him was never out of her head. 

So it was with some measure of surprise that Old John looked 
up from his packing at the girl's question: "Where are you 
going, Dad?" 

"North, into Canada.  I've business there that needs my 
attention." 

"Will you take me with you?" 

"Take ye with me!" he cried in astonishment.  "An' what 
would ye be doin' in the wild country, with the black flies 
an' mosquitoes in the height of their glory.  They'd eat ye 
alive!  An' the trailin'--why, ye've never been outside a 
town in ye're life!" 

"And that is just why I want to go outside one!" answered 
the girl. "Please, Dad, take me with you.  I can keep up on 
the trail, really I can.  Don't I play golf, and tennis, and 
paddle a canoe, and do everything that anyone can do to keep 
themselves in shape?  I bet right now I can walk as far as 
you can in the woods or out of the woods.  And as for flies 
and mosquitoes, they won't eat me any worse than they will 
you, and if worse comes to worst, I can plaster myself with 
that smelly old dope you carry in that bottle--but I'd 
almost rather be eaten." 

Old John grinned.  "Well, I don't know.  Maybe the trip 
would do ye good.  An' when ye get there ye may not find it 
so dull.  Wentworth is there an' he'll prob'ly show ye 
around." 

"I don't need Captain Wentworth to show me around," she 
replied, and McNabb was not slow to note her tone.  "Of all 
people I ever met, I think he's the biggest bore!  I don't 
see what you hired him for." 

Old John stared at her in amazement.  "Why, it was on your 
own recommendation--that, an' the fact that I found out he 
done some really good work on the Nettle River project.  But 
you asked me in so many words to give him a job!" 

"Well, if I did, I was an idiot," she replied.  "And I guess 
you'll wish you never hired him.  You'll find you've made a 
grand mess of things!"  A high-pitched, nervous quality had 
crept into the girl's voice, and McNabb saw that she was 
very near to tears.  "Do you know what they're saying?" she 
cried.  "They're saying that Oskar has jumped ten-thousand-
dollar bail that some friend put up for him!  They're liars, 
and I hate them!  Wherever he is, he'll come back at the 
proper time.  He'll show them--and he'll show you, too!"  
With an effort, the girl steadied her trembling voice.  "And 
when he does come back, he'll find he's got one friend--and 
I'll--I'll make up for the rest.  I'm going to get ready 
now.  I want to get away from it all.  When do we start?" 

"To-night," answered old John, "on the late train."  And 
when the door closed behind his daughter, he grinned and 
winked at himself in the mirror. 

When old John McNabb and his daughter stepped off the 
sagging combination coach at the siding which was the 
northern end of the new tote-road, the first man they saw 
was Orcutt, resplendent in striped mackinaw, Stetson hat, 
and high-laced boots.  As the banker came toward them, 
McNabb stared about him in evident perplexity, his glance 
shifting from the piles of tarpaulin-covered material, to 
the loaded trucks that with a clash and grind of gears were 
just pulling out upon the new tote-road that stretched away 
between the tall balsam spires to the southward. 

"Hello, John," Orcutt greeted, lifting his Stetson in 
acknowledgment of the presence of Jean.  "Well, what do you 
think of it?" 

McNabb continued to stare about him.  "I don't seem to quite 
get the straight of it," he said slowly.  "Eureka Paper 
Company," he read the legend emblazoned upon the trucks and 
tarpaulins scattered all over the foreground.  "What does it 
mean, Orcutt?  An' what in the devil are you doin' here?  
An' what business have those trucks got on my tote-road?" 

Orcutt laughed, a nasty, gloating laugh, as he rubbed his 
hands together after the manner of one performing an 
ablution.  "It means, John," he answered, in a voice of oily 
softness, "that at last I have caught you napping.  The 
Eureka Paper Company is my company, and the pulp-wood that 
you held options on is my pulp-wood.  I've been waiting a 
long time for this day--more than twenty years.  It's only 
fair to give the devil his due, John--you've been shrewd.  
Time and again I almost had you, but you always managed 
somehow to elude me.  There have been times when I could 
have murdered you, gladly.  It wouldn't have been so bad if 
you had gloated openly when you put one over on me, but your 
devilish way of apparently ignoring the fact--of acting as 
though outwitting me were too trifling an occurrence to even 
notice, at times has nearly driven me crazy--that, and that 
damned secret laughter I see in your eyes when we meet.  Oh, 
I've waited a long time for my day--but now my day has come!  
And to think how nearly I missed it!  I go back in an hour 
on the same train that brought you in." 

McNabb had listened in silence to the tirade.  "But I--I 
don't understand it.  My options----" 

"Your options," interrupted Orcutt, and his voice rasped 
harsh, "expired at noon on the first day of July.  At one 
minute past twelve on that day, the property passed into the 
hands of the Eureka Paper Company of which I am president.  
I signed the contract and paid over the money myself at Gods 
Lake Post." 

"Was it July?" mumbled McNabb, apparently dazed.  "But--
there was Wentworth.  He had the papers.  Surely he must 
have known." 

Orcutt laughed.  "Yes.  Wentworth knew.  He knew the day you 
hired him. And he knew that you thought you had until the 
first of August.  It was Wentworth that tipped the deal off 
to me." 

"But--why should he have double-crossed me?" 

"Mere matter of business," replied Orcutt.  "Figure it out 
for yourself.  If he stayed with you the best he could 
expect would be a fair salary.  With us he was in position 
to dictate his own terms. They were stiff terms, too, for 
Wentworth is shrewd.  But he has been worth all he cost.  He 
is now secretary of the Eureka, and a very considerable 
stockholder." 

McNabb was silent for what seemed a long time.  When at 
length he spoke, it was in a voice that sounded dull and 
tired.  "But, Orcutt, the tote-road is mine.  I built it.  
It cost me a hundred thousand dollars--that road did.  If 
you hold the property the road is no good to me, and it is 
valuable to you.  Will you buy it?" 

"Sure, I'll buy it.  I'll buy it for just what I figure it 
is worth to me.  It cost you a thousand dollars a mile.  
It's worth a hundred to me.  Ten thousand dollars is my 
limit.  Take it or leave it.  Ten cents on the dollar, John; 
you may as well save what you can out of the wreck." 

"Is that the best you can do by me?  Man, it's robbery!  I 
can't afford to lose ninety thousand.  It'll cripple me.  
An' I stood to make a million!" 

"Cripple you, eh?  Well, it won't hurt my feelings to see 
you limping. That's the very best we can do.  You better 
take it, and go back to selling your thread.  You're getting 
too old for real business, John--you're done!" 

McNabb nodded slowly.  "Aye, maybe ye're right, maybe ye're 
right." The voice sounded old, tired.  "I'll let ye know in 
a few days, Orcutt. Now that I'm up here I think I'll slip 
down for a visit with my old friend Murchison.  He's the 
factor at Gods Lake.  We were boys together, an' together we 
worked for the Company.  He's a friend a man can trust.  An' 
I feel the need of a friend.  Ye'll not begrudge us a ride 
down on one of ye're trucks, will ye, Orcutt?" 

Before Orcutt could reply Jean, who had been a silent 
listener to all that had passed, leaped forward and faced 
Orcutt with blazing eyes. "You sneak!" she cried.  "And all 
the time I thought you and Mrs. Orcutt were my friends!  And 
all the time you were lying in wait to ruin an old man!  You 
couldn't fight him in the open!  You were afraid! But my 
father is used to fighting men--not cowardly thieves!  And 
as for riding in one of your trucks, I would die first!"  
She turned to McNabb.  "Come on, Dad, we'll walk!" 

"But, daughter, it's a hundred miles!" 

"I don't care if it is five hundred miles!  I'll walk, or 
crawl if I have to, rather than accept anything from that--
that rattlesnake!  See, there is a little store.  We can lay 
in some provisions for the trip and it will be loads of fun.  
It will remind you of your old days in the North." 

The girl took his arm, and the two turned abruptly away, 
leaving Orcutt standing in his tracks watching their 
departure with somewhat of a grin. 

As they came out of the store with bulging pack sacks, they 
saw him step into the stuffy coach, and a moment later they 
watched the wheezy little engine puff importantly down the 
track.  Then, side by side they stepped onto the tote-road 
and were swallowed up between the two walls of towering 
balsams and spruces. 

A mile farther on, a Eureka truck passed them, and the girl, 
scorning the driver's offer of a lift, brushed its dust from 
her clothing as though it were the touch of some loathsome 
thing. 

That night they camped on a little hardwood knoll beside a 
stream, well back from the road.  Old John seemed to have 
regained his usual spirits, and to her utter astonishment 
the girl surprised a grin upon his face as he put up the 
shelter.  He built a fire, and producing hook and line from 
his pocket, jerked half a dozen trout from the water, which 
were soon sizzling in the pan from which rose the odor of 
frying bacon. 

"Do you know, Dad," began the girl, after the dishes had 
been washed and the man had thrown an armful of green 
bracken upon the fire to smudge away the mosquitoes.  "Do 
you know I think you are simply wonderful?"  She was leaning 
against his knee, and her eyes looked into his. 

"Tush, girl, what ails ye?" said the man, removing his pipe 
to send a cloud of blue smoke to mingle with the gray of the 
smudge. 

"I mean it, Daddy, dear.  You are just wonderful.  Oh, I 
know how disappointed you are.  I know just how it hurts to 
have a man like Orcutt get the best of you.  I saw it in 
your face." 

"Did Orcutt see it, d'ye think?" 

"Of course he did--and he just gloated." 

"U-m-m," said McNabb, and his lips twitched at the corners. 

"And on top of all that you can smile!" 

"Yup, isn't it funny?  I can even grin." 

"But, Dad, will it--ruin you?  Not that I care a bit, about 
the money. We can be just as happy, maybe happier, without 
it.  I'm not the little fool you think I am.  I have always 
spent a lot of money because I had it to spend, but if we 
didn't have it, I could be just as happy making what little 
I did have go as far as it could.  Maybe we'll have to come 
up here and live in a cabin.  I love the North already, and 
I've hardly seen it.  We could have a cabin in the woods, 
and get some furniture when we could afford it, and then we 
could arrange it so cozily. Really, I would be crazy about 
it.  And we could have trout every day, and wild ducks, and 
venison.  If we could afford a screened porch we could eat 
and sleep on it, and in the living room we could have a 
table----" 

"Good Lord, girl, arrangin' furniture again!" cried old 
John.  "An I'd come home some night an' break my neck before 
I could find the matchbox.  If we was to live in a cabin I'd 
spike the stuff to the floor!  But--maybe it won't be so bad 
as all that." 

"I've been hateful to you of late, Dad, because of--of 
Oskar.  But really, you made an awful mistake.  I should 
think you would know that he couldn't have taken that coat.  
It isn't in him!" 

"I never said he ate it," grinned the man. 

"Oh, don't joke about it!  Dad, I love Oskar.  He's--oh, 
he's everything a man should be, and it hurts me so to have 
them saying he is a thief.  He isn't a thief!  And the time 
will come when he will prove it.  Promise me, Dad, that when 
he does prove it, you will make every effort in your power 
to right the wrong you have done him." 

Old John's hand rested for a moment upon the girl's head.  
"I promise all that, girl.  Surely ye know I can be just.  
If it is as ye say, I'll more than make it up to him.  I 
promise ye, his name shall not suffer." 

"I love you, Dad.  I know you are just--but you're a hard-
hearted old Scot, just the same.  You don't make many 
mistakes, but you have made two--about Oskar, and about 
hiring that Wentworth.  I told you you'd be sorry." 

"Well, maybe ye're right," and John McNabb never blinked an 
eye. 

"See, didn't I just say you were hard-headed?  You won't 
admit you made a mistake even after what Orcutt told you to-
day.  But tell me honestly, Dad, are you ruined?" 

"Well, we won't worry about that, lass.  D'ye hear the hoot-
owl?  I like to hear them of nights.  I found one's nest 
once an' I took the three eggs out an' slipped them under a 
hen that Mother McFarlane had settin'.  It was at Long Lake 
post, Mother McFarlane was the factor's wife, an' I was his 
clerk.  The eggs had been sat on a long time an' they 
hatched out before the hen eggs.  Ye should have seen Mother 
McFarlane's face when she caught sight of them chickens!  It 
was one of the best jokes I ever made." 

"And here you ought to be as solemn as an owl yourself, and 
you are talking of jokes.  I don't understand you at all." 

"Maybe I should be an owl.  D'ye notice in the stories, they 
make the Scots say, 'hoot'?  But about Wentworth, now.  If 
we should meet up with him, don't let on ye know anything 
about my deal with Orcutt. Treat him nice an' pleasant----" 

"After what he has done to you?" cried the girl, her eyes 
flashing. 

"Just so.  Be nice an' friendly to him--d'ye know what a 
poker face is?" 

"Why, of course!  Everybody plays poker in Terrace City." 

"Mind ye, ye're settin' in a big game right now----" 

"You mean," cried the girl, "that there's a chance?  A 
chance to beat Orcutt yet?  Oh, if you only could!" 

"Well, we're still settin' in the game--me an' you, 
daughter.  An' let's don't neither one of us throw down our 
hand till after the draw." 




XXII 

Toward evening of the fourth day after leaving the railway, 
the two stepped into the broad clearing that surrounded the 
Gods Lake post. 

"Oh, real Indians!" cried Jean, as she caught sight of the 
dozen or more tepees that were pitched between the lake and 
the low log trading post. 

"Aye, real Injuns, lass--an' good it is to see them again.  
It will be the remnant of the spring tradin'.  'Tis about 
over now, but always there's some of the Injuns will hang 
around the post all summer." 

"They're cooking over open fires, and look, there comes one 
from the lake with some fish!  Oh, don't you just love it?" 

They were crossing the clearing, and old John glanced at his 
daughter with approval.  "Aye, I love it.  An' proud I am 
that you love it, too. Ye've taken to the North like a duck 
takes to water.  Ye've trailed like a real sourdough, an' 
never a word of the hard work an' the discomfort.  'Tis born 
in ye, lass--the love of the bush--an' I'm glad. I've come 
to know ye better the last four days than I have in twenty-
one years of school, an' dancing an' all the flibberty-
jibbitin' nonsense ye carry on." 

They had reached the door of the trading room, and the man 
interrupted her laughing reply.  "Wait ye here a minute 
while I see if Dugald is inside." 

Oskar Hedin paused in the act of putting the finishing 
touches on the edge of his belt ax, and as John McNabb 
entered the room, he rose hastily to meet him. 

"Where's Murchison?" asked the newcomer, and Hedin noted 
that no slightest hint of recognition flickered in his 
employer's eyes. 

Repressing the desire to laugh, he answered in the slow, 
dull-witted manner of Sven Larsen.  "He is in there," 
pointing to the door of the factor's room. 

"Tell him to come out here," commanded McNabb brusquely. 

"Do you want to see him?" 

"What in the devil d'ye think I'm waitin' here for?  Hurry, 
now, an' don't be standin' there gawpin'." 

Hedin grinned broadly as he entered Murchison's door, and a 
moment later McNabb's hands were gripped by the two hands of 
the factor. "It's glad I am to see ye, John.  An' how does 
it feel to get home once more?" 

"Ye'll be knowin' yourself how it feels to a man that's been 
thirty years out of the bush.  But where's Hedin?" 

"He'll be here directly," answered Murchison.  "John, I want 
ye to meet my clerk, Sven Larsen.  He's the best clerk I 
ever had." 

McNabb glanced into the bearded face that blinked stupidly 
at him.  "Ye haven't be'n over favored with clerks, I'd say, 
Dugald.  But how are ye fixed for quarters?" 

Murchison laughed.  "I guess we can rig up a bunk for ye, 
John." 

"It ain't myself I was thinkin' about.  It's the lass.  
She's had four pretty hard days on the trail, an' she'd be 
the better for a comfortable bunk." 

"The lass!" exclaimed Murchison. 

"Jean!  Here!"  Strong fingers gripped McNabb's arm, and he 
stared in astonishment into the face of Sven Larsen.  The 
loose-lipped, vapid expression was gone, and the blue-gray 
eyes stared into his own with burning intensity. 

"You don't mean----?  Why, Oskar lad!" 

"Sh--sh.  But she mustn't know!  Promise me--both of you!  
She will be going to bed early, and after supper I'll see 
you at the landing." 

McNabb studied the face quizzically.  "Ye fooled me, all 
right, but I'm doubtin' ye can fool Jean." 

"At least, I can try," answered the clerk.  "I'll see you at 
supper," and without waiting for a reply, he ascended the 
ladder that led to the fur loft. 

"Where is the lass?  Fetch her in, John."  Murchison's eyes 
twinkled as he stepped closer.  "He thinks he's lost her," 
he whispered.  "But tell me, John, d'ye think the lass cares 
for this damned Wentworth?" 

"Who can say?" grinned McNabb.  "'Twill not be long now till 
we can see for ourselves," and stepping to the door he 
called Jean, who was trying to make friends with a group of 
Indian children. 

"She'll have my room," said Murchison, as he followed McNabb 
to the door.  "An' no bunk, either, but a brass bed that I 
bought in Winnipeg out of respect for my old bones an' the 
weakening flesh that covers 'em.  You an' me will pitch a 
tent, an' 'twill be the first time in many years, John, 
we've slept under canvas together." 

The next moment he was welcoming the girl with a deference 
he would have scarce accorded to royalty. 




XXIII 

Supper over, McNabb left Jean to be entertained by 
Murchison, and strolled down to the landing to join Hedin.  
"Well, how's everything comin'?" he asked, as he seated 
himself beside the clerk upon a damaged York boat. 

"I wired you that the deal was closed, and the pulp-wood is 
safe.  But there have been complications that you could 
never suspect." 

"So?" 

"Yes.  In the first, you were dead right about Wentworth--
about not trusting him.  And you knew who he expected to let 
in on the deal?" 

"Why, Orcutt, of course," replied McNabb.  "I know all about 
that. That's why I told ye to hold off till the last minute 
about closing." 

"But you couldn't have foreseen that Orcutt wouldn't bother 
to set his watch back, or that they would use his watch in 
concluding their deal." 

McNabb shook his head.  "No, an' I don't know yet what ye're 
talkin' about.  All I know is, that Orcutt thinks he has got 
title to the pulp-wood.  We met him back at the railway, an' 
he took pains to tell me about it.  What puzzles me is, how 
did ye work it so that after two weeks have gone by he still 
thinks he owns the timber?" 

"I didn't work it.  He came up here on the twenty-ninth and 
waited around until the first of July.  Then he and Cameron 
went over to the shack and concluded the deal, using 
Orcutt's watch, which was Terrace City time--an hour fast.  
Then Orcutt and Wentworth hit straight for the mill site, 
saying they were coming back in two days.  Half an hour 
later I called Cameron's attention to the error in time and 
took up the options for you.  After the papers were signed 
he decided to wait for the return of Orcutt and Wentworth.  
But they didn't return.  He waited for a week, and then went 
to look for them.  They haven't shown up yet." 

Old John was chuckling aloud.  "An' the Eureka Paper 
Company's stuff is rollin' down my tote-road as fast as they 
can unload it." 

"Do you mean they've started to haul the material for their 
mill?" 

"Aye, not only material but machinery." 

"But what's become of Cameron?" 

"Losh, lad, I don't even know the man.  We won't worry about 
him." 

"But why did you want to put off the closing till the last 
minute?" 

McNabb grinned.  "Why did you let Jean wear the sable coat?" 
he asked in return.  "'Twas only to string Orcutt along, 
thinkin' he had me bested till the last minute--then bring 
him up with a jolt.  I didn't know it would work out so 
lucky for me." 

"How do you mean--lucky?" 

"You wait an' see," grinned McNabb.  "D'ye know, Orcutt 
offered me ten thousand dollars for my tote-road?  An' it 
cost me a hundred thousand!" 

A long silence followed McNabb's words, during which Hedin 
cleared his throat several times.  The older man smoked his 
pipe, and cast covert glances out of the tail of his eye.  
Finally he spoke.  "What's on ye're mind, lad?  Speak out." 

Hedin hesitated a moment and plunged into the thing he had 
dreaded to say.  "Mr. McNabb, I've been up here several 
months now--" he hesitated, and as the other made no 
comment, proceeded.  "I have come to like the country.  It--
I don't think--that is, I don't want to go back to Terrace 
City.  You can understand, can't you?  You have lived in the 
North.  I wasn't born to be a clerk.  I hate it!  My father 
was a real man.  He lived, and he died like a man.  This is 
a man's country.  I am going to stay."  Hedin had expected 
an outburst of temper, and had steeled himself to withstand 
it.  Instead, Old John McNabb nodded slowly as he continued 
to puff at his pipe. 

"So ye're tired of workin' for me.  Ye want to quit----" 

"It isn't that.  I would rather work for you than any man I 
ever knew. You have been like a father to me.  You will 
never know how I have appreciated that.  I know it seems 
ungrateful.  But the North has got me.  I never again could 
do your work justice.  My heart wouldn't be in my work.  It 
would be here." 

"An' will ye keep on workin' for Murchison?  What will he 
pay ye?" 

"It isn't the pay.  I don't care about that.  I have no one 
but myself to think of.  And Murchison said that with my 
knowledge of fur the Company would soon give me a post of my 
own." 

"But--what of the future, lad?" 

Hedin shrugged.  "All I ask of the future," he answered, and 
McNabb noted just a touch of bitterness in the tone, "is 
that I may live it in the North." 

"H-m-m," said McNabb, knocking the ashes from his pipe, "I 
guess the North has got ye, lad.  An' I'm afraid it's got 
Jean.  The lass has been rantin' about it ever since we left 
the railway.  But--who is that?  Yonder, just goin' into the 
post?  My old eyes ain't so good in the twilight." 

"Wentworth!" exclaimed Hedin, leaping to his feet.  "Come 
on!  The time has come for a showdown!" 

Hedin's voice rasped harsh, and McNabb noticed that the 
younger man's fists were clenched as he laid a restraining 
hand upon his arm.  "Take it easy lad," he said.  "Maybe 
it's better we should play a waitin' game." 

"Waiting game!" cried Hedin.  "I've been playing a waiting 
game for months--and I'm through.  Good God, man!  Do you 
think my nerves are of iron?  I love Jean--love her as it is 
possible for a man to love one woman.  I have loved her for 
years, and I will always love her.  And I've lost her.  That 
damned cad with his airs and his graces has won her 
completely away.  But, by God, he'll never have her!  I'll 
show him up in his true colors----" 

"An' with him out of the way, lad, ye'll then----" 

"With him out of the way she'll despise me!" interrupted 
Hedin.  "She will never marry him out of loyalty to you, 
when she finds out he has tried to knife you.  I haven't 
told you all I know--when he falls, he'll fall hard!  But I 
know what women think, and I know she'll despise me for 
disguising myself and spying on him." 

"If ye know what women think, lad, ye're the wisest man God 
has yet made, an' as such I'm proud to know ye." 

"It is no time to joke," answered Hedin bitterly.  "That's a 
thing I've never been able to fathom, why you always joke in 
the face of a serious situation, and then turn around and 
raise hell over some trivial matter that don't amount to a 
hill of beans." 

McNabb grinned.  "Do I?" he asked.  "Well, maybe ye're 
right.  But listen, lad, I know ye've regard for me, an' I'm 
askin' as a personal favor that ye hold off a bit with your 
denouncement of yon Wentworth. Just play the game as ye've 
been playin' it.  Keep on bein' Sven Larsen, the factor's 
clerk, heavy of wit, an' able with fool questions. Ye've a 
fine faculty for actin'; for all durin' supper the lass 
never suspected ye.  Keep it up for a while; it won't be for 
long." 

"But what's the good of it?  We know as much as we'll ever 
know.  Man, do you know what you're asking?  Loving Jean as 
I love her, I must stand about and play the fool, while that 
damned thief basks in her favor under my very eyes!  If 
there were a good reason, it would be different.  But 
Wentworth and Orcutt can go no farther; they're done----" 

"Aye, but they're not done," interrupted McNabb.  "Ye'll be 
knowin' me well enough to know I always have a reason for 
the things that I do. It's a hard thing I'm askin' of ye, 
an' in this case I'll show ye the reason, though 'tis not my 
habit.  D'ye mind I told ye that the Eureka material was 
rollin' down the tote-road by the truck load?  Thousands of 
dollars worth of it every day is bein' delivered at the mill 
site. Why?  Because for some reason Orcutt has not yet found 
out that he does not own the timber.  The minute he does 
find out, not another pound will be delivered." 

"You mean----?" 

"I mean that portland cement, an' the reinforcin' steel, an' 
plate an' whatever else goes into the construction of a 
paper mill is bein' set down on the Shamattawa, one hundred 
miles from a railway at Orcutt's expense.  And that every 
ton of it is stuff that won't pay its way out of the woods.  
The freight an' the haulin' one way doubles the cost. An' 
even if he tried to take it out, he'd have a hundred miles 
of tote-road to build.  Eureka freight travels only one way 
on McNabb's tote-road--an' that way is in!" 

Hedin stared at the man in astonishment.  "And you can buy 
it at your own figure!" he cried.  "Why, you can prevent 
even his empty trucks from going back.  God, man, it will 
ruin Orcutt!" 

"'Tis his own doin's," answered the man.  "'Twill serve him 
right.  He should have 'tended to his bankin' instead of 
pickin' on poor old John McNabb, that should be back of his 
counter sellin' thread, as he told me himself.  Ten cents on 
the dollar he offered for my tote-road." 

"I'll do it!" exclaimed Hedin.  "It will be hard, but it 
will be worth it, to see that crook get what's coming to 
him.  And then I'm going away.  Murchison will give me a 
letter, and I'll strike the Company for a job." 

McNabb nodded.  "I guess ye're right, about not goin' back 
to the store," he said slowly.  "Your heart is in the 
North." 

There was a strange lump in Hedin's throat.  He glanced into 
the face of his employer, and was surprised at a certain 
softness in the shrewd gray eyes that gazed far out over the 
lake.  After a time the old man spoke, more to himself than 
to him.  "Ye could both run down for a month or two in the 
winter!" 

"What?" asked Hedin, regarding the speaker with a puzzled 
expression. "Both of who?  A factor only gets away in the 
summer." 

"So they do--so they do," answered McNabb, absently.  "Well, 
we'll be goin' back now.  My engineer, maybe, will be 
wantin' a conference." 




XXIV 

A rather strained silence greeted the entrance of McNabb 
into the trading room.  Jean and Murchison occupied the only 
two chairs the room boasted, and Wentworth leaned against 
the counter, a half-sneering smile on his lips.  McNabb 
advanced to the group beneath the huge swinging lamp, and 
Sven Larsen lingered in the shadows near the door. The half-
sneer changed to a look of open defiance, as Wentworth faced 
McNabb.  "It seems," he said truculently, "that I am guilty 
of a serious _faux pas_ in mentioning a bit of Terrace City 
scandal that reached my ears concerning the elopement of 
your estimable fur clerk, Hedin, and a Russian sable coat.  
The idiot didn't have the brains to get away with it.  If 
you'd have been wiser you would have waited until you could 
have laid hands on the coat, and then locked up your fur 
clerk." 

"H-m-m, maybe ye're right," answered McNabb. 

"And," continued Wentworth, emboldened by the placidity of 
the other's tone, "if you had been wiser, you wouldn't have 
lost your pulp-wood holdings.  Oh, there's no use beating 
about the bush--I knew the minute Jean told me you had come 
in by the tote-road, that you had seen the Eureka trucks 
hauling in Eureka material.  We put one over on you, McNabb, 
and you might as well be a sport and make the best of it." 

The old Scot nodded thoughtfully.  "Maybe ye're right," he 
admitted. "But wasn't it a bit scurvy trick ye played me, 
acceptin' my money an' usin' it to double-cross me?" 

"Business, my dear man!  Merely business!   I saw my chance, 
and I took it, that's all.  Ten thousand a year, and a ten 
percent interest in a paper mill isn't so poor--and I'm not 
yet thirty.  It takes brains to make money, and you can bet 
I'll make my money before my brain begins to slip cogs.  
It's expensive--this slipping of cogs." 

"Maybe ye're right," repeated McNabb. 

"I'll tell the world I'm right!  It won't be but a few years 
till I'll be the big noise around this part of Canada!  
Brains to figure out a proposition, and nerve to carry it 
through--that's all it takes to make this old world pay up 
what it owes you." 

"How he hates himself!" exclaimed Jean, and from his 
position in the shadows, Hedin saw that her eyes flashed. 

His heart gave a great bound, and it was with an effort that 
he restrained himself from pushing into the group.  Was it 
possible--?  A step sounded outside, and the next moment the 
screen door swung open to admit the figure of a man who 
strode into the lamp-light and glanced about the faces of 
the assembly. 

The man was Cameron. 

"A fine two days' stay you made of your trip to the mill 
site," he grumbled, addressing Wentworth.  "I waited here 
for a week for you or Orcutt to show up, and then I decided 
to hunt you.  I followed you to Winnipeg, and from there to 
Ottawa, and back again to the head of the tote-road.  Orcutt 
had left for the States the day before I got there, but they 
said you were down at the mill site.  I rode down on a truck 
only to find that you had come over here for your outfit." 

"Well, now you've found me, what's on your mind?" grinned 
Wentworth. 

"I have a memorandum here in my pocket signed by Orcutt in 
which he authorized you to transact any and all business 
regarding the pulp-wood lands." 

"That's correct," admitted Wentworth.  "I am a stockholder, 
an officer in the company, and its sole representative in 
the field.  Fire away. What's this business that's so all-
fired important as to send you chasing all over Canada to 
reach me?" 

"My business," replied Cameron gravely, "is to return to you 
as representative of the Eureka Paper Company, three hundred 
and fifty thousand dollars, which amount was paid over to me 
by Mr. Orcutt, and which represents the initial payment of 
ten percent of the purchase price of certain pulp-wood lands 
described in the accompanying contract of sale." 

"Return the money!" cried Wentworth.  "What do you mean?" 

"Simply, that the deal is off.  Or, rather, no valid 
transaction was ever consummated." 

Every particle of color faded from the engineer's face at 
the words. As he glanced wildly about him his eye caught a 
twinkle in the eyes of McNabb.  The color flooded his face 
in a surge of red, and his eyes seemed to bulge with rage as 
he groped for words.  "It's a damned lie!" he cried.  "A 
trick of McNabb's!"  He turned upon the older man: "I 
thought you took your defeat too easy, but you'll find you 
can't put anything over on me!  The deal stands--and we'll 
fight you to the last court!  If you've found some petty 
technicality in the contract, you better forget it.  We've 
gone ahead in good faith and spent a million. We can employ 
as good lawyers as you can, and the courts won't stand for 
any quibbling!  It's a case for the equity courts." 

Cameron smiled grimly.  "I am a lawyer, and as such you will 
permit the smile at your mention of the equity court.  You 
would not be allowed to enter its doors.  For its first 
precept is: He who comes into equity must come with clean 
hands.  Are your hands clean?  I think not--neither your 
hands nor Orcutt's.  But, the matter will never reach the 
courts.  There is no question of a technical error in the 
contract, because there is no contract.  The instrument I 
drew, and which was signed by Orcutt and myself, has no 
legal existence.  No valid contract could have been drawn 
relative to the disposal of those lands until the options 
held by Mr. McNabb had expired----" 

"But they had expired!" cried Wentworth.  "They expired at 
twelve o'clock, noon, of July first, and the contract was 
not signed until two or three minutes after twelve." 

"By Orcutt's watch," retorted Cameron.  "And Orcutt's watch 
was an hour faster than official time.  I had no reason to 
suppose his watch was wrong, and believed the time had 
expired, until I was confronted, after your departure, by 
the accredited representative of McNabb.  I was dumbfounded 
until I established the fact that he was within his rights 
in tendering payment and closing the transaction for his 
principal. Then there was no course open to me but to accept 
McNabb's money and conclude the transfer to him.  Murchison, 
here, is a witness, that the facts are as I have stated 
them." 

Wentworth's eyes flew to the face of the factor, who nodded 
emphatically.  Again the color left his face.  "It's a 
damned trick!" he muttered.  "Why didn't you notify us at 
once, instead of waiting nearly three weeks and allowing us 
to spend more than a million dollars?" 

"Orcutt told me he would return to the post in two days.  I 
waited, and when a week went by I used every means in my 
power to reach him.  I followed him by train.  I learned his 
address and wired the facts to his bank.  The fault is his 
own.  I am sorry you have lost so heavily----" 

"It isn't my money," Wentworth cried savagely.  Then he 
suddenly paused, and for upwards of thirty seconds the room 
was in dead silence. When he spoke again, it was in a voice 
palpably held in control. 

"I guess you have got us," he said.  "There seems to be 
nothing for me to do but accept the money."  He held out his 
hand as Cameron slowly counted out the big bills.  Then 
without recounting, Wentworth thrust them into his pocket, 
and with quick, nervous strokes of his pen signed the 
receipt which Cameron placed before him.  Then in a voice 
trembling with suppressed rage he faced McNabb.  "Damn you!" 
he cried.  "I thought--Orcutt said you were beginning to 
slip!" 

"Well, maybe he's right," admitted McNabb, and the engineer 
saw that his lips twitched at the corners. 

"Who was your representative?" he demanded abruptly.  "And, 
how did it come that he arrived just in the nick of time?" 

"Why, his name is Sven Larsen.  He's Murchison's clerk," 
answered the Scot.  "And he was here all the time." 

"Sven Larsen!" yelled Wentworth.  "That half-wit!  Why, he 
hasn't got sense enough to come in out of the rain!" 

"Maybe ye're right," admitted McNabb, "but that isn't what I 
hired him to do." 

With an oath, Wentworth pushed past Cameron and started for 
the door to find himself suddenly face to face with Sven 
Larsen.  "Get out of my way, damn you!" he cried.  "Go up in 
the loft and wallow in your stinking furs!" 

"Furs!" repeated the clerk dully, but without giving an 
inch.  "Oh, yes, furs."  He was looking Wentworth squarely 
in the eyes with a heavy stare.  "Some fur is good, and some 
is bad.  A Russian sable is better than a baum marten."  At 
the words, Jean McNabb, who had been a silent but fascinated 
listener to all that transpired, leaned swiftly forward, her 
eyes staring into the uncouth face of the speaker, who 
continued, "And when the coat is dark, and of matched skins, 
it is very much better than any baum marten.  And when one 
receives the sable coat on a winter's night from the hands 
of a beautiful Russian princess whom one is helping to 
escape through a roaring blizzard in a motor car--or was it 
a sleigh?" 

"Stop, damn you!"  In the lamp-light the on-lookers saw that 
the face of the engineer had gone livid.  His words came 
thickly.  "You fool! Are you crazy?  Have you forgotten 
Pollak, and what happened in the shop of Levinski, the 
furrier?  Where is Pollak?" 

A slow grin overspread the face of Sven Larsen.  "I invented 
Pollak to cover a mistake I made.  There never was any 
Pollak, Wentworth, but there is a Russian sable coat.  The 
coat is in your trunk in the cabin. It is the coat you stole 
from Miss McNabb on the night of the Campbell dinner." 

"Oskar!" cried Jean, leaping from her chair at the moment 
that Wentworth hurled himself upon Hedin.  Her cry was 
drowned in the swift impact of bodies and the sound of 
blows, and grunts, and heavy breathing.  McNabb and Cameron 
drew back and the bodies, locked in a clench, toppled to the 
floor, overturning a chair. 

"Oh, stop them!  Stop them!" shrieked the girl.  "He'll kill 
him!" 

"Who'll kill who?" grinned McNabb, holding her back with one 
hand, without taking his eyes from the struggling, fighting 
figures that writhed almost at his feet, overturning boxes 
and bales in their struggles. 

"He'll kill Oskar!  He's bigger----" 

"Not by a damn sight, he won't!" roared McNabb.  "Look at 
um!  Look at um!  Oskar's on top!  Give him hell, lad!" 

Jean had ceased her protest, and to her own intense surprise 
she found herself leaning forward, watching every move.  She 
cried out with pain when Wentworth's fist brought the blood 
from Oskar's nose, and she applauded when Hedin's last three 
blows landed with vicious thuds against the engineer's 
upturned chin. 

Hedin rose to his feet and held the handkerchief to his 
bleeding nose. McNabb's hand gripped his shoulder.  "Ye done 
fine, lad!  Ye done fine!" he exclaimed. 

Dropping to his knees, Hedin slipped his hand into the 
unconscious man's pocket and withdrew a key which he tossed 
to one of the Company Indians who had come running in at the 
sound of battle.  "Here, Joe Irish," he said, "go to the 
cabin and unlock the trunk that is there and bring back the 
coat of fur." 

A few moments later Hedin handed the garment to McNabb.  
"Here is your missing coat," he said, as Jean threw her arm 
about his shoulder. 

"Oskar, dear--" she whispered, and the next moment Hedin's 
arms were about her and she could feel the wild pounding of 
his heart against her breast. 

There was a movement on the floor near their feet, and 
releasing the girl Hedin reached swiftly down.  McNabb's 
hand stayed him before he could seize hold of Wentworth, who 
was crawling toward the door. 

"Let him go, lad," advised the old man.  "We've got the 
coat. An'--an'--we're all happy!" 

"But the money?  He's got the three hundred and fifty 
thousand!" cried Hedin. 

McNabb grinned.  "Suppose we just let Orcutt worry about 
that," he said. 

"I told you Oskar was innocent!" cried Jean triumphantly, as 
the door closed behind the slinking form of Wentworth.  "I 
told you so from the first!  I just knew he never took that 
coat!" 

McNabb's eyes were twinkling.  "I knew it, too, lass," he 
answered. "That's why I bailed him out an' sent him up here 
with two hundred an' fifty thousand dollars in negotiable 
paper in his pocket to close this deal for me." 

"And you knew all the time," cried the girl, staring at her 
father in amazement, "when Orcutt was gloating over you back 
there, that you, and not he, owned the timber?  And you let 
him go on and humiliate you to your face!" 

"Sure I did," grinned McNabb.  "He was havin' the time of 
his life, an' I hated to spoil it.  An' besides, while he 
was talkin', truck after truck was rollin' off down the 
tote-road haulin' material to my mill site that I'll buy in 
at ten cents on the dollar.  Orcutt'll pay for his fun!" 

"But--your face--when he told you that you had lost the 
timber!  It positively went gray!" 

"Poker face," laughed McNabb.  "But run along now--the two 
of ye.  It's many a long day since Dugald an' I have had a 
powwow with our feet cocked up on bales of Injun goods."  As 
the two walked arm in arm toward the door, McNabb called to 
the girl, "Here, lass, take your coat!"  He tossed the 
Russian sable which the girl caught with a glad cry.  "Ye'll 
be needin' it up here agin winter comes." 

"Winter!  Up here!  What do you mean?" 

"Oskar says he isn't goin' back to Terrace City," he 
explained. "Except maybe for the weddin'.  The North has got 
into his blood, an' the McNabb Paper Company needs a 
competent manager." 




XXV 

When Wentworth left the trading room he went straight to his 
cabin, and disregarding his open trunk, he lifted a pack-
sack from the floor and swung it to his shoulders.  It was 
the pack he had deposited there scarcely an hour before when 
he had trailed in from the mill site, and he knew that it 
contained three or four days' supply of rations. 

On the Shamattawa he had heard from a truck driver that an 
old man and a girl had started for Gods Lake post, and he 
instantly recognized McNabb and Jean from the man's 
description.  Thereupon he made up a pack and headed for the 
post for the sole purpose of baiting the two, and of 
flaunting his prowess as a financier in their faces. 

An angry flush flooded his face as he realized how 
completely the tables had turned.  Then the flush gave place 
to a crafty smile, as he remembered the bills in his pocket.  
"McNabb's money, or Orcutt's," he muttered under his breath, 
"it's all the same to me.  Three hundred and fifty thousand 
is more money than I ever expected to handle.  And now for 
the get-away." 

Closing the door behind him he struck across the clearing 
toward the northeast.  At the end of the bush he paused.  
"Hell!" he growled.  "I can't hit for the railway.  Cameron 
said he had wired Orcutt at the bank, and I might meet him 
coming in."  For some time he stood irresolute.  "There's a 
way out straight south," he speculated, "about three hundred 
miles, and a good share of it water trail.  I'll be all 
right if I can pick up a canoe, and I can get grub of the 
Indians." Skirting the clearing, he entered the bush and 
came out on the shore of the lake at some distance below the 
landing, where several canoes had been beached for the 
night.  Stooping, he righted one, and as he straightened up 
he found himself face to face with Corporal Downey of the 
Mounted.  For a moment the two stood regarding each other in 
silence, while through Wentworth's brain flashed a mighty 
fear.  Had McNabb changed his mind and sent Downey to arrest 
him for the theft of the coat?  He thought of Orcutt's big 
bills in his pocket, and his blood seemed to turn to water 
within him.  Then suddenly he remembered that for the 
present, at least, he held those bills under color of 
authority.  In the deep twilight that is the summer midnight 
of the North he searched the officer's face.  Damn the man!  
Why didn't he say something?  Why did he always force 
another to open a conversation? Wentworth cleared his 
throat. 

"Hello, _Corporal_," he said sourly.  "Aren't you out pretty 
late?" 

"Not any later than you are, _Captain_.  An' I'm headed in.  
Put over any more big deals lately?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Oh, I run onto Cameron about a week back.  He was huntin' 
you or Orcutt.  He told me how you beat old John McNabb out 
of his pulp-wood--almost.  You ought to be ashamed--a couple 
of up-to-date financiers like you two, pickin' on an' old 
man that's just dodderin' around in his second childhood." 

Wentworth flushed hot at the grin that accompanied the 
words. 

"To hell with McNabb--and you, too!" he cried angrily, and 
carrying the canoe into the water, he placed his pack in it.  
When he returned for a paddle, Downey was gone, and stepping 
into the canoe, he pushed it out into the lake.  "Of course, 
he'd have to show up, damn him!" he muttered as he propelled 
the light craft southward with swift strokes of the paddle.  
"And now if Orcutt should show up within the next day or 
two, Downey will know just where to follow, and even with a 
two days' start, I doubt if I could keep ahead of him.  They 
say he's a devil on the trail.  But I'll fool him.  I'll 
leave the canoe at the end of the lake, and instead of 
striking on down the river I'll hit out overland.  Once I 
get to the railway, they can all go to hell!" 

The mistake Wentworth made on the trail when he first came 
into the North was not so much the insisting upon bringing 
in his trunk, nor his refusal to carry a pack; it was in 
striking Alex Thumb with the dog-whip when he refused to 
pull the outfit in the face of a blizzard. Thumb's 
reputation as a "bad Injun" was well founded.  The son of a 
hot-tempered French trader and a Cree mother, his early life 
had been a succession of merciless beatings.  At the age of 
fourteen he killed his father with a blow from an ice 
chisel, and thereafter served ten years of an indeterminate 
sentence, during the course of which the unmerciful beatings 
were administered for each infraction of reformatory rules, 
until in his heart was born a sullen hatred of all white men 
and an abysmal hatred of the lash.  When Wentworth struck, 
his doom was sealed, but as Murchison said, Alex Thumb was 
canny.  He had no mind to serve another term in prison. 

All through the spring and summer he trailed the engineer, 
waiting with the patience that is the heritage of the 
wilderness dweller for the time and the place to strike and 
avoid suspicion.  And as time drew on the half-breed's 
hatred against all white men seemed to concentrate into a 
mighty rage against this one white man.  There had been 
times when he could have killed him from afar.  More than 
once on the trail Wentworth unconsciously stood with the 
sights of Alex Thumb's rifle trained upon his head, or his 
heart.  But such was his hatred that Thumb always stayed the 
finger that crooked upon the trigger--and bided his time. 

Thus it was that half an hour after Wentworth pushed out 
into the lake another canoe shot out from the shore and fell 
in behind, its lone occupant, paddling noiselessly, easily 
kept just within sight of the fleeing man.  When daylight 
broadened Wentworth landed upon a sandy point and ate 
breakfast.  Upon another point, a mile to the rear, Alex 
Thumb lay on his belly and chewed jerked meat as his 
smouldering black eyes regarded gloatingly the man in the 
distance. 

Gods Lake is nearly fifty miles in its north and south 
reach, and all day Wentworth paddled southward, holding well 
to the western shore. 

At noon he rested for an hour and ate luncheon, his eyes now 
and then scanning the back reach of the lake.  But he saw 
nothing, and from an aspen thicket scarce half a mile away 
Alex Thumb watched in silence. 

As the afternoon wore to a closer the half-breed drew 
nearer.  The shadows of the bordering balsams were long on 
the water when Wentworth first caught sight of the pursuing 
canoe.  His first thought was that Orcutt had arrived at the 
post and that Downey had taken the trail.  He ceased 
paddling for a moment and his light canoe swung into the 
trough of the waves and rocked crankily. 

The other canoe was only a half mile behind, and Wentworth 
saw with relief that its occupant was not Downey.  Some 
Indian fishing, he thought, and resumed his paddling.  The 
south shore was only an hour away now, and tired as he was, 
he redoubled his efforts. 

Farther on he looked back again.  The canoe still followed.  
Surely no Indian would set his nets so far from his camp.  
Yet the man was an Indian.  He had drawn closer and 
Wentworth could distinguish the short, jabbing strokes of 
the paddle. 

Another quarter of an hour and Wentworth looked again--and 
as he looked, the blood seemed to freeze in his veins.  The 
pursuing canoe was close now, and he was staring straight 
into the eyes of Alex Thumb. The half-breed was smiling--a 
curious, twisted smile that was the very embodiment of 
savage hate.  Wentworth's muscles felt weak, and it was with 
difficulty that he drove them to the task of forcing the 
canoe out of the trough of the waves.  Mechanically he 
paddled with his eyes fixed on the ever nearing south shore.  
He was very tired.  He would soon make land now.  But when 
he did make land--what then?  He cursed himself for going 
unarmed.  He could hear the slop of the waves on Thumb's 
canoe.  He turned his head and saw that the man was only two 
lengths behind him.  What would he do?  With the mechanical 
swing of his arms the words of Murchison and Downey repeated 
themselves in his brain.  "Serving with the devils in hell; 
serving with the devils in hell," with a certain monotonous 
rhythm the words kept repeating themselves through his 
brain.  Why had he ever come North?  Why hadn't he told 
McNabb that he would have nothing to do with his pulp-wood? 
The half-breed's canoe was alongside, but its occupant did 
not speak. He merely jabbed at the waves with his paddle and 
looked with that devilish twisted smile. 

Wentworth hardly knew when his canoe grated upon the gravel.  
Stiffly he half walked, half crawled to the bow and lifted 
out his pack.  Alex Thumb stood upon the gravel and smiled. 

"What do you want?" faltered Wentworth, his voice breaking 
nervously. 

The half-breed shrugged.  "You no lak no pardner on de 
trail?" he asked. 

"Where are you going?" 

Thumb pointed vaguely toward the south.  "Me--I'm lak de 
pardner on de trail." 

"Look here," cried Wentworth suddenly.  "Do you want money?  
More money than you ever saw before?" 

The breed shook his head.  "No.  De money can't buy w'at I 
wan'." 

"What do you want?" 

Again came the twisted smile.  "Mebbe-so we eat de suppaire 
firs'.  I got som' feesh.  We buil' de fire an' cook 'um." 

The meal was eaten in silence, and during its progress 
Wentworth in a measure recovered his nerve. 

"You haven't told me yet what you want," he suggested when 
they had lighted their pipes and thrown on an armful of 
greens for a smudge. 

Between the narrowed lids the black eyes seemed to smoulder 
as they fixed upon the face of the white man.  "I wan' you 
heart," he said, casually.  "Red in my han's I wan' it, an' 
squeeze de blood out, an' watch it splash on de rocks.  
Mebbe-so I'm eat a piece dat heart, an' feed de res' to my 
dog." 

Wentworth's pipe dropped to the gravel and lay there.  He 
uttered no sound.  The wind had died down and save for the 
droning hum of a billion mosquitoes the silence was 
absolute.  A thin column of smoke streamed from the bowl of 
the neglected pipe.  In profound fascination Wentworth 
watched it flow smoothly upward.  An imperceptible air 
current set the column swaying and wavering, and a light 
puff of breeze dispersed it in a swirl of heavy yellow smoke 
from the smudge.  Dully, impersonally, he sensed that the 
half-breed had just told him that he would squeeze the red 
blood from his heart and watch it splash upon the rocks.  
His eyes rested upon the rocks rimmed up by the ice above 
the gravelly beach.  The blood would splash there, and 
there, and those other rocks would be spattered with tiny 
drops of it--his blood, the blood from his own heart which 
Alex Thumb would squeeze dry, as one would wring water from 
a sponge.  He wondered that he felt no sense of fear.  He 
believed that Alex Thumb would do that, yet it was a matter 
that seemed not of any importance.  He raised his eyes and 
encountered the malevolent glare of the breed.  The black 
eyes seemed to glow with an inner lustre, like the smoulder 
of banked fires. 

With a start he seemed to have returned from some far place.  
The words of Corporal Downey flittered through his brain: 
"You'll be servin' with the devils in hell if you don't quit 
makin' enemies of men like Alex Thumb."  And there was Alex 
Thumb regarding him through narrowed smouldering eyes across 
the little fire.  Alex Thumb would kill him! Would kill 
_him_--Ross Wentworth!  The whole thing was preposterous. If 
the man had really meant to kill him he would have done it 
before this.  He wouldn't dare; there were the Mounted.  
Other words of Downey came to him, "If he does kill you, 
I'll get him."  So there was a possibility that the man 
would kill him.  Why not?  Who would ever know?  They would 
think he disappeared with Orcutt's money--would even 
institute a world-wide search from him--but not in the bush.  
Thought of the money nerved him to speak. 

"How much will you take to get into your canoe and paddle 
back the way you came?" he asked. 

The breed laughed.  "Wen I'm keel you I'm got you money, 
anyway.  But I'm ain' wan' so mooch de money.  I'm wan' you 
heart."  A dangerous glitter supplanted the smouldering glow 
of the black eyes.  "Me--I'm stay ten year in de prison, for 
'cause I'm keel my own fadder, an' dat dam' good t'ing.  For 
why I'm keel heem?  'Cause he whip me wit' de dog-whip.  In 
de prison de guards whip me mor' as wan t'ousan' tam.  In de 
night w'en I ain' can sleep 'cause my back hurt so bad from 
de whip, I'm lay in de dark an' keel dem all.  Every wan I 
ha' keel wan hondre tam dere in de dark w'en I lay an' t'ink 
'bout it.  An' I know how I'm goin' do dat.  Den you hit me 
wit de whip on de trail.  All right.  I'm ain' kin keel de 
guards.  I keel you here in de bush; I shoot you in de head, 
an' I'm cut de heart out before he quit jumpin'." 

Wentworth moistened his lips with his tongue.  "Downey will 
take you in, if you do.  And they'll hang you--choke you to 
death with a rope." 

"No.  Downey ain' kin fin'.  I'm bur' you in de bush--all 
but de heart. I'm keep de heart all tam." 

"Good God, man, you couldn't kill me like that--in cold 
blood!"  Beyond the fire the half-breed laughed, a dry evil 
laugh that held nothing of mirth.  With a scream of terror 
Wentworth leaped to his feet and crashed into the bush. 

Beside the fire Alex Thumb laughed--and spread his blankets 
for the night. 

Four hours later the breed wriggled from his blanket and 
lighted the fire.  While the water heated for his tea, he 
carried the two canoes back into the scrub and cached them, 
together with the two packs.  He swallowed his breakfast and 
picking up his rifle walked slowly into the bush, his eyes 
on the ground.  A mile away the lips twisted into their 
sardonic grin as he noted where the fleeing man had 
floundered through a muskeg, the flattened grass telling of 
his frequent falls.  In a balsam thicket he lifted a scrap 
of cloth from a protruding limb, and again he smiled.  Where 
Wentworth forded a waist-deep stream he had lain down to 
rest on the sand of the opposite bank.  The trail started 
toward the south.  By midforenoon Thumb noted with a grin 
that he was traveling due east. 

At noon he overtook Wentworth, mired to the middle in a marl 
bed, supporting himself on a half sunken spruce. 

Laying aside his rifle, the breed cut a pole with his belt 
ax and after some difficulty succeeded in dragging the 
engineer to solid ground. Wentworth was muttering and 
mumbling about a Russian sable coat, and Thumb had to 
support him as he bound him to a spruce tree. 


On the edge of the lake Corporal Downey picked up the trail.  
He located the cached canoes, and returning to the fire, he 
reached down and picked Wentworth's pipe from the gravel.  
"It's Thumb, all right," he said, as he stood holding the 
pipe.  "I know his canoe.  They were both here at the same 
time.  I don't savvy that, because Wentworth left first.  
Thumb's trail is only three hours old.  Maybe--if I hurry---
-" 

From far to the southeastward came the sound of a shot.  
Downey straightened, and for the space of minutes stood 
tense as a pointer. The sound was not repeated--and swiftly 
the officer of the Mounted sped through the bush. 




AN EPILOGUE 

Two days later, into the trading room of the Hudson's Bay 
Company's post on God's Lake, burst Orcutt, white of face, 
shaken of nerves, and with his disheveled garments 
bespeaking a frenzied dash through the timber. 

"What's the meaning of this?" he cried, holding out a 
telegram. 

McNabb reached for the message and read it.  "It means just 
what it says," he answered.  "Cameron has stated it plain." 

"But where is Cameron?  Where is the three hundred and fifty 
thousand I paid him?  Where is Wentworth?" 

"Cameron is not here.  He left after turning over your money 
to Wentworth.  He said he held a paper that constituted 
Wentworth your legal representative." 

"But--where is Wentworth?" gasped Orcutt. 

"He left the night he got the money--a week ago to-night, 
wasn't it, Dugald?" 

"Good God!"  The words were a groan.  "I'm ruined.  Ruined, 
I tell you! There's just one chance.  John, the material 
that's on your mill site. Will you take it over?" 

"Sure, I'll take it," answered McNabb.  "On the same terms 
you offered for my tote-road.  Ten cents on the dollar, 
wasn't it, Orcutt?" 

"But, man, you don't understand!" 

"I understand that the shoe is on the other foot," answered 
McNabb, coldly.  "Listen to me, Orcutt; by your own 
admission you've been trying for more than twenty years to 
ruin me.  I've let you go, never turning out of my way to 
injure you.  I'm not turning out of my way now.  If you're 
squeezed it is because of your own deeds--not mine." 

"Squeezed!" sobbed the banker hysterically.  "I'm ruined!  
It means the bank--my home--everything!  It means--more.  I 
was so sure--I--I'm into the bank's money for thousands!  It 
means--the penitentiary!" 

McNabb looked at the cringing man, whose knees seemed to sag 
beneath the weight of his woe.  Coldly his eyes traveled the 
length of him: "Maybe ye're right," he said, and his words 
cut icy cold.  Then, deliberately he turned his back upon 
the man and strode through the door. 

Upon that same day, also came Corporal Downey, of the Royal 
North West Mounted Police, and in his custody he held a man.  
The man was the half-breed Alex Thumb. 

"We've got the goods on him this time," Downey told the 
factor.  "And a damned peculiar case.  I picked him up a few 
miles south of the lake. I heard a shot, and an hour later I 
located him and crept up through the brush.  He had just 
finished burying Wentworth's body all but the heart--that 
was dryin' on a little stick beside the fire.  There was an 
empty shell in his rifle.  But--what I can't make out is 
this."  He paused and withdrew from his pocket a small tin 
box, and opening it, disclosed a handful of ashes and the 
half of a United States gold certificate for ten thousand 
dollars.  "He was holdin' it over a little fire," explained 
the officer.  "I located him by the smoke smell.  I covered 
him, and he dropped this last fragment to throw up his 
hands. It's money.  I didn't know they made 'em so big.  But 
why in hell should he burn it?" 

Murchison examined the fragment with its burned edge.  "Alex 
Thumb was canny," he muttered.  "The bills was too big.  He 
didn't dare to spend 'em." 




THE END 











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