The Trail of 98 (46 page)

She clung to me tightly, so that I wondered what
had got into the girl. Then gently I kissed her,
disengaged her hands, and bade her good-night.

As I was rattling off through the darkness, a boy handed me a note. I put it
in my pocket, thinking I would read it when I reached Ogilvie Bridge. Then I
whipped up the horse.

The night was crisp and exhilarating. I had one of the best trotters in the
country, and the sleighing was superb. As I sped along, with a jingle of bells,
my spirits rose. Things were looking splendid. The mine was turning out far
better than we had expected. Surely we could sell out soon, and I would have all
the money I wanted. Even then the Prodigal was putting through a deal in New
York that would realise our fortunes. My life-struggle was nearly over.

Then again, I had reconciled Garry to Berna. When I told him of a certain
secret I was hugging to my breast he would capitulate entirely. How happy we
would all be! I would buy a small estate near home, and we would settle down.
But first we would spend a few years in travel. We would see the whole world.
What good times we would have, Berna and I! Bless her! It had all worked out
beautifully.

Why was she so frightened, so loath to let me go? I wondered vaguely and
flicked up the horse so that it plunged sharply forward. The vast blue-black sky
was like an inverted gold-pan and the stars were flake colours adhering to it.
The cold snapped at me till my cheeks tingled, and my eyes felt as if they could
spark. Oh, life was sweet!

Bother! In my
elation I had forgotten to get off at the Old Inn and read my note. Never mind,
I would keep it till I reached the Forks.

As I spun along, I thought of how changed it all was from the Bonanza I first
knew. How I remembered tramping along that hillside slope, packing a sack of
flour over a muddy trail, a poor miner in muddy overalls! Now I was driving a
smart horse on a fine road. I was an operator of a first-class mine. I was a man
of business, of experience. Higher and higher my spirits rose.

How fast the horse flew! I would be at the Forks in no time. I flashed past
cabin windows. I saw the solitary oil-lamp and the miner reading his book or
filling his pipe. Never was there a finer, more intelligent man; but his day was
passing. The whole country was falling into the hands of companies. Soon,
thought I, one or two big combines would control the whole wealth of that land.
Already they had their eyes on it. The gold-ships would float and roar where the
old-time miner toiled with pick and pan. Change! Change!

I almost fancied I could see the monster dredges ploughing up the valley,
where now men panted at the windlass. I could see vast heaps of tailings filling
the creek-bed; I could hear the crash of the steel grizzlies; I could see the
buckets scooping up the pay-dirt. I felt strangely prophetic. My imagination ran
riot in all kinds of wonders, great power plants, quartz discoveries. Change!
Change!

Yes, the stamp-mill would add its thunder to the
other voices; the country would be netted with
wires, and clamorous for far and wide. Man had sought out this land where
Silence had reigned so long. He had awakened the echoes with the shot of his
rifle and the ring of his axe. Silence had raised a startled head and poised
there, listening. Then, with crack of pick and boom of blast, man had hurled her
back. Further and further had he driven her. With his advancing horde, mad in
their lust for the loot of the valley, he had banished her. His engines had
frightened her with their canorous roar. His crashing giants had driven her
cowering to the inviolate fastnesses of her hills. And there she broods and
waits.

But Silence will return. To her was given the land that she might rule and
have dominion over it forever. And in a few years the clamour will cease, the
din will die away. In a few years the treasure will be exhausted, and the
looters will depart. The engines will lie in rust and ruin; the wind will sweep
through the empty homes; the tailing-piles lie pallid in the moon. Then the last
man will strike the last blow, and Silence will come again into her own.

Yea, Silence will come home once more. Again will she rule despotic over peak
and plain. She is only waiting, brooding in the impregnable desolation of her
hills. To her has been given empery of the land, and hand in hand with Darkness
will she return.

Ha! here I had reached the Forks at last. As I drew up at the hotel, the
clerk came out to meet me.

"Gent wants to speak to you at the 'phone, sir."

It was Murray of Dawson, an old-timer, and rather a friend of mine.

"Hello!"

"Hello! Say, Meldrum, this is Murray speaking. Say, just wanted to let you
know there's a stage due some time before morning. Locasto's on board, and they
say he's heeled for you. Thought I'd better tell you so's you can get fixed up
for him."

"All right," I answered. "Thank you. I'll turn and come right back."

So I switched round the horse, and once more I drove over the glistening
road. No longer did I plan and exult. Indeed a grim fear was gripping me. Of a
sudden the shadow of Locasto loomed up sinister and menacing. Even now he was
speeding Dawsonward with a great hatred of me in his heart. Well, I would get
back and prepare for him.

There came to my mind a comic perception of the awkwardness of returning to
one's own home unexpectedly, in the dead of night. At first I decided I would go
to a hotel, then on second thoughts I determined to try the house, for I had a
desire to be near Berna.

I knocked gently,
then a little louder, then at last quite loudly. Within all was still, dark as a
sepulchre. Curious! she was such a light sleeper, too. Why did she not hear
me?

Once more I decided to go to the hotel; once more that vague, indefinite fear
assailed me and again I knocked. And now my fear was becoming a panic. I had my
latch-key in my pocket, so very quietly I opened the door.

I was in the front room, and it was dark, very dark and quiet. I could not
even hear her breathe.

"Berna," I whispered.

No reply.

That dim, nameless dread was clutching at my heart, and I groped overhead in
the darkness for the drop-light. How hard it was to find! A dozen times my hand
circled in the air before I knocked my knuckles against it. I switched it
on.

Instantly the cabin was flooded with light. In the dining-room I could see
the remains of our supper lying untidily. That was not like her. She had a
horror of dirty dishes. I passed into the bedroomAh! the bed had never been
slept on.

What a fool I was! It flashed on me she had gone over to Mrs. Brooks' to
sleep. She was afraid of being alone. Poor little girl! How surprised she would
be to see me in the morning!

Well, I would go to bed. As I was pulling off my coat, I found the note that
had been given to me. Blaming myself for my carelessness, I pulled it out of my
pocket and opened it. As I unfolded
the sheet, I noticed it was written in what looked like a
disguised hand. Strange! I thought. The writing was small and faint. I rubbed my
eyes and held it up to the light.

Merciful God! What was this? Oh no, it could not be! My eyes were deceiving
me. It was some illusion. Feverishly I read again. Yes, they were the same
words. What could they mean? Surely, surelyOh, horror on horrors! They could
not mean
that
. Again I read them. Yes, there they
were:

Berna! Garry!the two I loved. Oh, it could not be! It was monstrous! It was
too horrible! I would not believe it; I would not. Curse the vile wretch that
wrote such words! I would kill him. Berna! my Berna! she was as good as gold, as
true as steel. Garry! I would lay my life on his honour. Oh, vile calumny! what
devil had put so foul a thing in words? God! it hurt me so, it hurt me so!

Dazedly I sat down. A sudden rush of heat was followed by a sweat that
pricked out of me and left me cold. I trembled. I saw a ghastly vision of myself
in a mirror. I felt sick, sick. Going to the decanter on the bureau, I poured
myself a stiff jolt of whisky.

Again I sat down. The paper lay on the hearthrug,
and I stared at it hatefully. It was
unspeakably loathsome, yet I was fascinated by it. I longed to take it up, to
read it again. Somehow I did not dare. I was becoming a coward.

Well, it was a lie, a black devil's lie. She was with one of the neighbours.
I trusted her. I would trust her with my life. I would go to bed. In the morning
she would return, and then I would unearth the wretch who had dared to write
such things. I began to undress.

Slowly I unfastened my collarthat cursed paper; there it lay. Again it
fascinated me. I stood glaring at it. Oh, fool! fool! go to bed.

Wearily I took off my clothesOh, that devilish note! It was burning into my
brainit would drive me mad. In a frenzy of rage, I took it up as if it were
some leprous thing, and dropped it in the fire.

There I lay in bed with the darkness enfolding me, and I closed my eyes to
make a double darkness. Ha! right in the centre of my eyes, burned the fatal
paper with its atrocious suggestion. I sprang up. It was of no use. I must
settle this thing once and for all. I turned on the light and deliberately
dressed again.

I was going to the hotel where Garry had his room. I would tell him I had
come back unexpectedly and ask to share his room. I was not acting on the note!
I did not suspect her. Heaven forbid! But the thing had unnerved me. I could not
stay in this place.

The hotel was quiet. A sleepy night-clerk stared
at me, and I pushed past him. Garry's rooms were on
the third floor. As I climbed the long stairway, my heart was beating painfully,
and when I reached his door I was sadly out of breath. Through the transom I
could see his light was burning.

I knocked faintly.

There was a sudden stir.

Again I knocked.

Did my ears deceive me or did I hear a woman's startled cry? There was
something familiar about itOh, my God!

I reeled. I almost fell. I clutched at the doorframe. I leaned sickly against
the door for support. Heaven help me!

"I'm coming," I heard him say.

The door was unlocked, and there he stood. He was fully dressed. He looked at
me with an expression on his face I could not define, but he was very calm.

"Come in," he said.

I went into his sitting-room. Everything was in order. I would have sworn I
heard a woman scream, and yet no one was in sight. The bedroom door was slightly
ajar. I eyed it in a fascinated way.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Garry," I said, and I was conscious how strained
and queer my voice sounded. "I got back suddenly, and there's no one at home. I
want to stay here with you, if you don't mind."

"Certainly, old man; only too glad to have you."

His voice was steady. I sat down on the edge of
a chair. My eyes were riveted on that bedroom
door.

"Had a good drive?" he went on genially. "You must be cold. Let me give you
some whisky."

My teeth were chattering. I clutched the chair. Oh, that door! My eyes were
fastened on it. I was convinced I heard some one in there. He rose to get the
whisky.

"Say when?"

I held the glass with a shaking hand:

"When."

"What's the matter, old man? You're ill."

I clutched him by the arm.

"Garry, there's some one in that room."

"Nonsense! there's no one there."

"There is, I tell you. Listen! Don't you hear them breathing?"

He was quiet. Distinctly I could hear the panting of human breath. I was
going mad, mad. I could stand it no longer.

"Garry," I gasped, "I'm going to see, I'm going to see."

"Don't"

"Yes, I must, I say. Let me go. I'll drag them out."

"Hold on"

"Leave go, man! I'm going, I say. You won't hold me. Let go, I tell you, let
goNow come out, come out, whoever you areAh!"

It was a woman.

"Ha!" I cried, "I told you so, brother; a woman.
I think I know her, too. Here, let me seeI thought
so."

I had clutched her, pulled her to the light. It was Berna.

Her face was white as chalk, her eyes dilated with terror. She trembled. She
seemed near fainting.

"I thought so."

Now that it seemed the worst was betrayed to me, I was strangely calm.

"Berna, you're faint. Let me lead you to a chair."

I made her sit down. She said no word, but looked at me with a wild pleading
in her eyes. No one spoke.

There we were, the three of us: Berna faint with fear, ghastly, pitiful; I
calm, yet calm with a strange, unnatural calmness, and Garryhe surprised me. He
had seated himself, and with the greatest
sang-froid
he was lighting a
cigarette.

A long tense silence. At last I broke it.

"What have you got to say for yourself, Garry?" I asked.

It was wonderful how calm he was.

"Looks pretty bad, doesn't it, brother?" he said gravely.

"Yes, it couldn't look worse."

"Looks as if I was a pretty base, despicable specimen of a man, doesn't
it?"

"Yes, about as base as a man could be."

"That's so." He rose and turned up the light of a large reading-lamp, then
coming to me he looked
me square in the face. Abruptly his casual manner dropped. He
grew sharp, forceful; his voice rang clear.

"Listen to me."

"I'm listening."

"I came out here to save you, and I'm going to save you. You wanted me to
believe that this girl was good. You believed it. You were bewitched, befooled,
blinded. I could see it, but I had to make you see it. I had to make you realise
how worthless she was, how her love for you was a sham, a pretence to prey on
you. How could I prove it? You would not listen to reason: I had to take other
means. Now, hear me."