George Manville Fenn (continued 7)

I tried to run—to climb further, but something held me back, and the burning on my head grew terrible. I was thirsty too, and I thought that the moose pitied me, and would show me the way to water; but it only looked at me mournfully till I awoke in the darkness, and lay wondering for a few minutes before I stretched out my hand and felt that I was in my bed, and as I lay there, I suddenly saw in the darkness the shape of my door formed by four faint streaks of light which grew brighter, and directly after there was the sharp point of light where the keyhole was, near one side.

It seemed very strange, and more so that the door should open directly after, and Mr Raydon be standing there in his shirt and trousers carrying a candle.

“What does he want?” I thought to myself in a confused way, as I saw him come into our room, and the light fell on Esau, who was not undressed, but lying on his bed with his mouth wide open.

Suddenly he started up, and Mr Raydon raised his hand, and I heard him say, “Sh!” The next minute he was holding the candle over my bed, looking in on my face.

“What’s the matter?” I said; “I’m not asleep;” but it did not sound like my voice speaking.

It was Mr Raydon’s turn now, and he whispered to me—

“Lie quite still, Mayne. Are you in much pain?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t know. My shoulder aches.”

“Don’t talk; try and go to sleep again.”

I looked up at him in a confused, puzzled way, and as I looked his face began to grow misty, and the candle to burn more dimly, till both faded slowly away, and all was dark once more.

I opened my eyes once more, and there was Mr Raydon standing by me with a candle, and it was so faint that I could not be sure; and so it was again and again as it seemed to me, and when I opened my eyes at last, the bedroom window was wide, the sun shining in, and bringing with it the sweet lemon-scented odour of the pines, and Esau was seated there watching me.

“Hush!” he said, as I was opening my lips to speak. “Mustn’t talk.”

“Nonsense,” I said; “I want to know.”

I stopped there, for my voice puzzled me, and I lay wondering for a few moments, till, like a flash of the sunshine coming into my darkened brain, I recollected the blow, the report of the rifle, and Esau’s cry, and knew that the rifle had gone off when he fell, and I was lying there badly wounded.

“Mr Raydon said you wasn’t to speak a word,” said Esau, softly; and he stole out of the room so quietly that I knew he must be without his boots.

A few minutes passed, and the door opened again, with Mr Raydon coming in on tiptoe to advance and take my right hand within his left, and place a couple of fingers on my wrist. I smiled as he played the part of doctor like this, and he smiled back.

“Don’t talk,” he said; “I’ll do that, my lad. Come, this is better. Not so feverish as I expected. Just whisper when I ask a question. Feel in much pain?”

“My shoulder aches and burns,” I said.

“Yes; it will for a time; but that will soon go off. You remember now about the accident? Yes? That’s right. You were a little delirious last night, and made me anxious, for we have no doctor hereabouts.”

“Don’t want one,” said Esau, softly.

Mr Raydon asked me a few more questions, cautioned me not to speak much, and to lie quite still, and then left us together.

Esau sat looking at me for a few minutes with his arms rested upon his extended knees.

“I say, you’re not to talk, you know, but I may. I say, I am so sorry. Hush!—no! You mustn’t say you know that, or anything else. I only want to tell you it was an accident. You do know, don’t you?”

I nodded, and then lay back with my eyes closed; the pain caused even by that slight movement being agonising.

Dean saw it, and rose to moisten a sponge with cool water, and apply it to my temples, with the effect that the faint sensation coming on died away.

“Don’t—please don’t try to move again,” he whispered, piteously. “You don’t know how it hurts.”

The idea of its hurting Esau sounded so comical to me in my weak state that I could not help smiling. “That’s right,” he said; “laugh again, and then I shall know I needn’t go and fetch him. I say, do make haste and get better. Shall I tell you all about it? Don’t speak; only say ‘yes’ and ‘no’ with your eyes. Keep ’em open if you mean yes, and shut ’em for no. Now then, shall I tell you?”

I kept looking at him fixedly.

“That means yes. Well, I was bringing the gun, when I tripped and fell and it went off, and I wished it had shot me instead.”

Esau gave a gulp here, and got up and began to walk up and down the room, pressing first one hand and then the other under his arms as if in pain from a cut at school with the cane; and for some moments the poor fellow was suffering so from emotion that he could not continue. At last he went on in obedience to an eager look from my eyes.

“I run up just as he caught you, and tore off your things. Oh, it was horrid. I felt when I saw what I’d done, and him bandaging you up, as if I’d killed you. But you don’t feel so bad now. You ain’t going to die, are you? Say you ain’t.”

I kept my eyes fixed on his, forgetting in my excitement what I ought to have done, when a cry brought me to myself, and I closed my eyes sharply.

“Ah, that’s better,” cried Esau, and kneeling down by my bed he went on telling me how, as soon as I was bandaged, Mr Raydon cut two light poles and bound short pieces across them. Then on these he laid pine-boughs, and I was lifted up, for them to convey me slowly down the ravine, and back to the Fort.

“I say,” whispered Esau, “I thought last night he meant to cheat us, and get all the gold for himself; but I don’t think so now. Wish he liked me as much as he likes you. What? Do I think he does like you? Yes; I’m sure of it. He was in a taking last night. And I say—ain’t he quite a doctor too? He could do anything, I believe. There, I mustn’t talk to you any more, because you were to be kept quiet.”

It must not be imagined that Esau had kept on saying all the above to me rapidly, for one of these sentences was whispered very slowly now and then as I lay back feeling not much pain, but hot and feverish, and this change was noticed soon after by Mr Raydon when he came into the room.

“You have been letting him talk,” he said, angrily, as soon as he had taken my hand.

“That I ain’t, sir,” cried Esau, indignantly. “Never let him speak a word.”

“That’s right. He must be kept very still,” said our friend, and he hurriedly left the room.

“Rather hard on a chap when he has been so particular,” grumbled Esau. “Well, it was my doing, so I mustn’t mind.”

He was still grumbling when our host re-entered with something in a cup which he gave me a little at a time, so that I should not have to move, and soon after he had left me my eyelids grew heavy, and I fell into a deep sleep, which lasted till it was growing dark, and I could only just make out Esau’s head as he sat watching by my bed.

Chapter Thirty Seven.

In the Spring.

Ask anybody what is the most delicious thing in life, and see what he or she will say. I do not believe any one will tell you what I do now. It is to have been dangerously ill, to be brought down very weak, to be getting better, and then to be carried or led out to sit in the sunshine of some bright genial morning.

Ah! that long breath of sweet life-inspiring air—those trees—those flowers—the blue sky—the bark of that dog—those kindly words of inquiry—that all-round feeling of joy and delight at being out there once more; the sensation which will bring the weak tears in your eyes for the simple reason that you are so happy. Yes, it is a pleasant thing to have been very ill, if only for the sake of the thankful sensation that comes the first time you go out once more in the bright sunshine.

How delightful it was, and what a long weary dream of misery I had passed through! I hardly knew even then how bad I had been. When I spoke to Esau he used to screw his face up full of wrinkles, and shake his head, while Mr Raydon was as reticent.

“Never mind that,” he would say; “you are better now.”

I learned later though, that for several months he had been in great doubt of my recovery. My wound would not heal, consequent upon a ragged fragment of the rifle-bullet remaining beneath a bone, and when at last it did come away, I was weak in the extreme, and, as Esau said, “You couldn’t get a doctor when you liked out there.”

So there I lay all through the long dark days of the winter, listening sometimes to the howling of the winds from the mountains, then to the beat and rush of the rain, and then at my worst time wondering why everything was so quiet, and learning from Esau that we were snowed up deeply.

I remember that he used to talk rapturously about the beauty of the scene around, with the great pine-trees loaded down with snow, and the sun in the clear blue sky, making the crystals of ice glitter till his eyes ached.

“And you won’t get up and come and have a look,” he said. “You are a fellow.”

“Yes, I am a fellow,” I replied. “Don’t bother me, Esau. I want to go to sleep.”

“But you’re always going to sleep,” he cried; “and so much sleep can’t be good for you.”

All the same I passed through that long winter, and it seemed as if I never should be strong again.

But, as the old country folk say, “Never’s a long day”; and as the earth began to waken from its lone sleep, so did I, and at last I was dressed to sit by the bonny log fire Esau kept up as if he meant to roast me. There came a day when I sat with my window open, listening to the roar of the river, thinking and ready to ask myself whether it had all been a dream. Then another day, when the sun was shining, and the scent of the pines came to where I sat; and at last in the spring-time I was to go out for the first time. I had to lean on patient, constant Esau, and use a stick to get to where a chair had been set for me at the foot of a great Douglas pine, where the moss was golden green, and the barberry leaves bright with a purply bronze. The river ran foaming and splashing before me at the bottom of a slope, looking milky and dirty, but down the rocks close by tumbled and sparkled one of the many tiny streams, and this was clear as crystal, and the brook flashed like diamonds in the bright sunshine.

There was a great scarlet blanket thrown over the chair, ready to be drawn round me as soon as I had taken my seat; and as soon as Esau had safely piloted me there, looking serious as a judge all the time, he suddenly seemed to go mad, for he cut a curious caper, threw his cap high up in the air, and shouted “Hurrah.”

“There,” he cried, as I lay back smiling and content, “you just say you ain’t getting well, and I’ll pitch into you.”

“I’m not going to say it,” I said. “Oh, Esau, I do feel so weak, but so happy and well. I say though, don’t shoot me again.”

Esau’s countenance changed. All the pleasure faded out, and he turned his back, and began walking slowly away.

“Esau,” I said, “don’t go.”

“I must,” he said, stopping short, but without trying to face me. “Got to fetch your stoo. He said it was the best physic you could take.”

“But, Esau, I don’t want it now; I’m sorry I said that.”

“So am I; sooner ha’ shot myself hundreds o’ times. Wish I had shot myself dead instead, and then you wouldn’t be able to jump on me.”

“It was very unkind,” I said; “please forgive me.”

“All right, I’m going to fetch your stoo.”

He did not turn round, but walked away toward the gate of the palisade just as there was a fierce deep-toned barking, and Rough came bounding down toward my chair.

“He’ll knock me over,” I thought, as I saw his gleaming teeth, and the thick pile of hair about his neck, a natural armour which had protected him in many an encounter with wolf or bear. And for the moment it seemed as if the great animal would send me clean over as he charged wildly; but just as he was close to me he turned off, dashed away, came back, up and down, barking furiously, and ended by making a sudden stop, to stand there with his great muzzle laid in my lap, and his eyes looking earnestly up in mine.

I placed my hand upon his head, and as I did so I could not help thinking how thin and white it was; and this made me lie back recalling how bad I must have been, and how clever Mr Raydon had been to save my life, tending me as he had just like a doctor. That made me think too of every one else—the men’s wives, who had waited on me and brought me flowers; Grey, who shot game; and above all of Quong and Esau, who had seemed to spend all their time in attending upon one who had been irritable, and as helpless as a baby.

As I thought, my fingers played about the great head in my lap, pulling the long ears, stroking the muzzle, and all the time the eyes blinked up at me, and once there was a long-drawn sigh as of satisfaction, which made me ready to fancy that even the dog was glad to see me out again after my long, weary illness.

All at once Rough raised his head and uttered a low, muttering growl, followed by a couple of short barks; and on looking round there were Esau and Quong coming, the latter bearing a basin and a plate of bread.

“Velly good soup,” said Quong, eagerly. “Velly stlong. Quite leady.”

He placed the basin on my knees, Rough drawing back a little, and looking as if it was hard work not to make a snatch at that cake and bear it off. But he had been well trained, and sat watching me patiently, content to catch the pieces thrown to him with a loud snap, while I partook of what Esau called my “stoo.”

It was very good, and “so stlong,” as Quong called it, that I felt as if I ought to feel the strength coming back into my weak arms and legs.

“Dlink um allee up,” said Quong; and I persevered and finished the contents of the basin, which he then took, nodded at me, and then turned to the dog, who stood now on all fours and barked at him fiercely.

“Hey?” cried Quong. “You say wantee allee bone left?”

There was a peal of furious barks here.

“Allee light. You come ’long. Velly good dog.”

Rough uttered another hoarse bay, and went off after the little Chinaman, looking so big by his side that I could not help thinking of what the consequences might have been if they had proved enemies instead of friends.

“Well, Esau,” I said, “I’m a long time growing well.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re getting on now fast. I say, do you ever think about that gold now?”

“Oh, yes,” I replied, with a shudder; “often.”

“Well,” he said, in an ill-used tone, “you needn’t think of the accident too. For it was an accident, you know.”

“Yes, we’ve talked about that times enough, all those weary months.”

“Yes, it was tiring, and it put a stop to all the hunting and shooting we might have had. But it’s been good as well as bad. You missed lots of bad weather, and cold, and snow.”

“What’s the day of the month?” I said.

“Day of the month? I dunno. End of March, they say, and it’s going to be fine weather now.”

“Has Mr Raydon ever said anything to you about the gold?”

“No, never a word. But I say, it do seem a pity not to get more of it, don’t it?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I want strength, not gold. How long will it be before Mr and Mrs John get here?”

“Ah, that’s what I want to know,” cried Esau. “I was thinking about that this morning; leastwise I wasn’t thinking about them, but about mother. Wonder what she’ll say to me when she knows?”

“Knows what?”

“’Bout me shooting you. She will be wild, for she was a deal fonder of you than she was of me.”

“Nonsense, Esau!” I cried. “Why, she used to talk to me about you for hours.”

“Dessay she did. But, I say, do make haste and get well before the Indians come again. Grey says they’ll be here soon with loads of skins that they’ve shot and trapped in the winter.”

Our conversation was interrupted by the coming of Mr Raydon.

“Ah, Mayne,” he said; “that’s better. You must keep that up every day when it’s fine. Fresh air and the scent of our pines form the finest strengthening medicine a sick man can have.”

He stopped chatting to me for some time, and at last I ventured upon the topic which interested both Esau and myself.

“How long do I think it will be before the travellers get across to us? Hah! that’s a poser, my lad. So much depends upon my sister’s health, and her ability to travel. Of course they have been resting during the worst time. However, I hope they will not be here till you are thoroughly on your legs again.”

Chapter Thirty Eight.

“Do I look fortunate?”

As the time glided on I used to be quite in despair.

“I don’t get any stronger, Esau,” I used to say, pettishly.

“What? Why, look at you!” he’d cry. “On’y t’other day you was walking with a stick and a crutch.”

“I was not,” I said, indignantly. “I never had a crutch.”

“That you did, sir,” he said, with a chuckle; “and now you’ve chucked ’em both away and goes alone.”

“But my legs feel so weak, and ache so directly.”

“Tchah! What o’ that! Why, only t’other day they used to double up like an old two-foot rule, or a knife with the spring broke. You’re coming all right enough. I say, I want to talk to you.”

He gave a sharp look round as we stood beside the stream where it entered the river—the stream up which we had found the gold, and to whose bank we had come to catch trout with rods and lines of our own manufacture, and grasshoppers for bait.

I had been fishing, but after taking three decent trout, I had lain down wearied out, and now Esau squatted down by me, with his rod across his knees.

“I say,” he whispered, “what about that gold up yonder?”

“Well, what about it?”

“Don’t you never think about it a deal?”

“Sometimes. Do you?”

“Always. I can’t get away from it. Seems as if something’s always tempting me to go and get it.”

“But you cannot,” I said, sharply. “We gave our word to Mr Raydon.”

“Yes, that’s the worst of it. I can’t think how a fellow can be so stupid.”

“Let it go, and don’t think about it.”

“That’s what I want to do, but I can’t help myself, and I’m always wanting to get lots of it, and be rich.”

“Rubbish!” I cried, testily.

“Gold ain’t rubbish,” said Esau, gruffly. “Of course I should give you half.”

“We promised Mr Raydon not to touch that gold any more,” I said; “so don’t talk or think about it. Promise me.”

“I’ll promise not to talk about it,” he replied; “but it’s no use to promise not to think about it, because it will come. Why, I dream about it every night.”

“Then you must not,” I said. “I was talking to Mr Raydon last night about what is to be done when Mr John comes.”

“Well, what does he say? Anything about the gold?”

“No,” I cried, fiercely. “Of course you think about it if you are always talking of it. He says that he thinks the best thing will be for Mr John to have some land lower down the river at a place we passed; that there are twenty or thirty acres of good rich soil, and that as he will have us with him, we must learn to use axes and help him to clear the land, and plant it with fruit-trees, and build a house on the clearing.”

“Yes; that’s all right enough, only the trees take so long to bear.”

“That he will help us with different things till we can manage alone; and that before many years are gone we can make ourselves quite a good home.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Esau. “But then that will take a long time, and you won’t be able to work much, and I don’t think Mr John Dempster will, not being strong, and all the time there’s enough gold up—”

“Will you hold your tongue?” I cried, angrily. “Do you want me to hit you?”

“If you like,” he said, grinning. “Don’t think you could hurt me much.”

“You coward!” I cried. “Wait till I get strong again.”

“I shall be precious glad,” said Esau, “for I’d a deal rather you gave me one or two cracks than kept on saying the things you do sometimes. My! how you have given it me ever since you have been ill! It has made you raspy.”

I winced a little at this, for I felt that I had been horribly irritable.

“I can’t help thinking about the gold, but I won’t say gold no more as long as I live.”

I could not help laughing at this earnest delivery, and Esau showed his teeth.

“There, I don’t care,” he said. “I’m happy enough here if you’ll get well. But I do wish old Gunson knew about it.”

I looked sharply at Esau, for these words of his impressed me. I had often wished that Gunson knew of what we had found, for I thought that perhaps he was struggling on without a bit of good fortune. The thoughts passed from my mind directly, as Esau began to make casts with his line here and there, as if fishing in the grass.

“Well, I don’t mind,” he said. “Turn farmer, eh?—and plant trees, and cut trees down, and build a house. All right. It will be good enough, and you and me will go and shoot and fish. I shall like it. Shall we have old Quong?”

“I suppose so, if he’ll stay. There, let’s go on fishing, and take back some trout for Mr Raydon’s tea. I do feel so idle and helpless. Do you think he ever feels that we are staying too long?”

“Dunno,” said Esau. “I should if I was him.”

These words made me feel very low-spirited, and that night I broached the subject to Mr Raydon, apologising for being there so helpless and weak, and ending by asking him if I had not better go down to the mouth of the river again.

He looked at me searchingly.

“Tired of this place?” he said.

“Oh no,” I replied. “I have been very happy here.”

“Then why do you talk of going?”

“Because I feel as if I must be a burden to you.”

“Indeed! Well, suppose I say go, and you make your way back along the river very slowly, for you are in a miserably weak state?”

“Yes, sir; but I am getting better now.”

“Yes, I know; but suppose, as soon as you are gone, my sister and her husband appear, what am I to say to them?”

“I had not thought of that,” I replied.

“But you see I had. But come, Mayne, be frank with me. You have some other reason for wanting to go.”

He looked at me so searchingly that I coloured, for I could feel my cheeks burning.

“No, sir,” I said; “no other reason.”

“Not gold-hunting?”

“No; indeed, no.”

“But you and Dean have been talking about your discovery a good deal.”

“I—I think not, sir,” I said, hesitatingly. “We have talked about it.”

“And what a pity it is for a fortune to be lying there untouched?”

“Dean thought something of the kind, sir. I did not.”

“Ha!” he said, as he again fixed me with his eyes. “No, Mayne, you must not think of going away. You have not exhausted my stock of hospitality yet.”

Perhaps it was fancy, I said to myself, but it certainly seemed to me during the next few days, whenever I went out for a good long stroll with Esau, some one seemed to be watching us.

One day it was Grey who encountered us somewhere on the mountain-side; another day it was one of the men; and again, on another, Mr Raydon himself, whose presence was announced by the great dog, who came bounding up, to be followed in a few minutes by his master.

He did not stay long, but as soon as he was gone I found that my feelings were shared by Esau himself.

“I say,” he growled, “are they afraid we are going to lose ourselves?”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because whenever we come right away into the woods, they send that dog to scent us out.”

“Yes; they generally send somebody,” I said, thoughtfully.

“Do you know why?” whispered Esau.

I glanced at him, but did not answer.

“It’s because the chief’s afraid we shall go up yonder trying for gold.”

“And he does not trust us,” I said to myself, as I felt that Esau must be right; and the uncomfortable feeling of being suspected seemed to increase.

I was thinking about this a good deal, and had made up my mind to ask Mr Raydon if he thought I could be so dishonourable, when we neared the Fort, and I was startled back from my musings which were carrying me on through the interior, when Esau uttered a cheery hail.

“What’s the matter?” I said.

“Can’t you see? Look!” he cried.

“Gunson!” I exclaimed; and sure enough there he was, coming slowly towards us, looking very old and careworn, and as if he had gone through a great deal of trouble since we parted in the autumn.

“Why, my lad,” he cried, shaking hands with me warmly, “you look quite thin and white. Been ill?”

“Yes,” I said, as I grasped his hand warmly.

“Fever?”

“No,” I said, hesitatingly; “an accident.”

“Why don’t you tell him?” said Esau, sturdily. “I shot him.”

“You shot him?”

“Yes,” I said, quickly; “he let the rifle slip out of his hand somehow, and the ball hit me.”

“I’m not surprised,” cried Gunson, in a tone full of anger and contempt.

“Don’t say any more about it,” I cried. “It was an accident, and I’m getting better fast. Tell me about what you have been doing.”

Gunson laughed.

“Walking, wading in rivers, washing sand, climbing mountains, exposed to all sorts of weather, half-starved, half-frozen, and all to get the tempting gold.”

“No luck then?” said Esau, eagerly.

“Not a bit, my lad.”

“What, ain’t you found gold at all?”

“Oh, yes, in scores of places, but always where it would cost thirty shillings to earn a pound’s worth. Not profitable work, eh?”

Esau glanced at me, and I at Esau, the same thought in both our minds—that we could, in a couple of hours’ walk from where we were, show him—the wearied-out prospector—an ample supply.

“If I only could tell him,” I thought, as I recalled how generous and kind he had always been to us. But it was impossible, and I darted a look at Esau which he understood, for he nodded at me in a curious way, setting me thinking that I must speak to him seriously again about our duty to Mr Raydon. I had hardly thought this when I saw the latter coming towards us.

“Ah, Mr Gunson,” he said, with a sharp, keen glance, “you have kept your word, then, and come back.”

“Yes, I’ve come back, and shall be glad of a day or two’s rest.”

“You are welcome,” replied Mr Raydon. “Well, have you been very fortunate?”

“What a question to ask me!” said Gunson; “the most unlucky man that ever lived! Do I look fortunate?”

“No,” said Mr Raydon, smiling; “far from it. There, come up to my place, and let me hear what you have been doing.”

As we approached the strangers’ quarters, Quong made his appearance with his eyes twinkling.

“Plenty flesh tea,” he cried. “Plenty new blead.”

“Hullo, my Celestial friend,” said Gunson, smiling at the eager-looking little fellow. “Did you see me coming?”

“No. Not see. Gley tell me Mr Gunson come, and make tea dilectly, and cook bacon.”

“Ready to come on with me now, Quong?” said Gunson. “I’m going up the western part.”

Quong stared.

“What! Go away? No. Stop allee long here.”

“That’s right, my lad. Don’t leave good quarters. Been washing for gold lately?”

“Eh? Washee washee gole? Too much piecy make work. Cook along big meat. No go out at all. You likee likee flesh blead, not blead high.”

“Indeed, it will be a treat,” said Gunson, going into the place with Mr Raydon, while we kept back until he had finished his meal.

“I say,” said Esau, as we walked about the enclosure, “can’t little Quong tell fibseys.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I replied. “Why, I’ve met him twice up the river trying for gold.”

“Oh. I’ve seen him lots of times. He gets away when he has done his work, looking as innocent as you please, and all the time he’s hunting for gold. I say, you see if Mr Raydon don’t keep an eye on us for fear we should tell old Gunson. My! wouldn’t he like to know of our find. I can’t understand how it is that he who knows all about it should be so unlucky, and you—”

“We,” I said.

“Well, we, then—should be so lucky, and find so much. Dunno, though; it hasn’t brought us much luck as yet.”

Chapter Thirty Nine.

Quong is missing.

It was all done in a quiet, unobtrusive way, but it seemed plain to me that Mr Raydon did try to keep us apart, or under his eye, during Gunson’s stay.

This was not for long. The man seemed a good deal changed, and as if dissatisfied at being so very unsuccessful; and during his visit the temptation was very strong upon me to give him a hint as to where he might go and find all that he desired. And about this time I found that Esau looked strange, and avoided me a good deal, going about as if he had something on his mind, and I was afraid to ask him what.

“Going to-morrow morning?” said Mr Raydon, as Gunson made the announcement. “That is rather soon.”

“Well, yes, it is soon,” replied Gunson; “but I may be coming back.”

“Yes, of course,” said Mr Raydon, giving him a quick look. “You may be coming back.”

These seem trifling words, but they made an impression upon me at the time, and I thought about them a good deal afterwards. In fact, I thought of them that night.

It came on very dark, and I was standing just outside our place, when I heard a step, and directly after Gunson came up slowly and thoughtfully.

“Who’s that?” he cried sharply.

I spoke, and he took my arm.

“Come and have a stroll out here,” he said; and he led me out through the gateway and down toward the river.

It seemed to me as if he were waiting for me to talk to him, for he was very silent; and at last, as I suggested that it was growing late, he turned back toward the Fort, whose gates we had just reached, when I suddenly became aware of a figure standing there.

“Mr Raydon,” I said.

“Yes. Been having a walk?”

“Down as far as the river,” replied Gunson. “By the way,” he continued sharply, “what should you say to my trying your streams about here?”

I saw Mr Raydon start slightly, but his voice sounded quite calm as he replied—

“That you had better follow out your original plans.”

“You would not recommend me to try?”

“Decidedly not.”

We all went in, and after sitting for a time, Gunson rose to go to rest.

Quong had a famous breakfast ready next morning, of which I too partook; and an hour later we saw Gunson once more on his way, Mr Raydon accompanying us, till with a careless wave of the hand the prospector went off, and we returned to the Fort.

That visit seemed to do me good. It was as if I had had a fillip, and during the next few days I felt a return of my old vigour—a feeling which made me restless and eager to be out in the sunshine all day long. I found myself eating, too, almost ravenously, and my sleep at nights, instead of being broken and feverish, grew to be long and restful. But somehow I did not feel happy, for Mr Raydon, though always pleasant and polite, was less warm, and he looked at me still in a suspicious way that made me feel uncomfortable.

In other respects everything went on as usual, till one day, about a fortnight after Gunson’s departure, Mr Raydon said to me at breakfast—

“Do you feel strong enough to go for a week’s journey?”

“Oh yes,” I said eagerly, for I was beginning to long for something in the way of change.

“It means walking every step of the way,” he said, smiling at my eagerness.

“Oh, I can walk again well now,” I said. “Dean and I were climbing up the first west mountain yesterday—that one,” I said, pointing out of the window. “I don’t know how many hours we were, but it was dark when we came back.”

“Well then, we’ll try. I shall take Grey to try and lighten our loads a little, but we shall not go very far down the river.”

“You are going down the river?” I said, as I saw Esau prick up his ears.

“Yes; I have two or three spots in my mind’s eye that would be suitable for a home for my sister, and I want to see if they will do. Perhaps you noticed them as you came—places that you would naturally pick out for camping as evening came on.”

“I can remember several at the mouths of little streams, or below falls,” I said excitedly. “One or two were quite like bits of parks, with great sweeping branched pine-trees growing near.”

“Good memory, Mayne,” he said, smiling. “Well, I have made my arrangements. Your Chinaman shall go with us to cook, and we will select three or four spots; and afterwards, when these travellers come, we can take them to see the selection, and they can choose which they like.”

“How soon shall you start, sir?” I said.

“This morning. It is a leisure period for me. No Indians are likely to come for some time; and I can leave my people to take care of the place till we return. You feel that you can manage the walking?”

“Oh yes,” I cried. “I am getting stronger every day.”

“That’s right. Dean, my lad, fetch Quong, and let’s see what sort of a load of flour, tea, and sugar we can pack up for him. I can easily supply our little camp with meat.”

“Then there will be some hunting and shooting too?” I said, as Esau hurried out to find Quong.

“Oh yes, for the larder,” replied Mr Raydon, speaking more in his old fashion now. “Come, you are beginning to look quite yourself, my boy. I was beginning to be afraid I should have nothing but a broken-down invalid to show my sister.”

“I feel more like I did,” I said, with my cheeks flushing.

“Be thankful then, my boy, for you had a very narrow escape. Let me see; we must not overload ourselves, but I must have powder and bullets, as well as my rifle. A blanket each, of course, and our knives. That will be nearly all we need take, unless you lads bring a line or two and try for some trout.”

He began chatting then about Mr John and his sister, and of how great a change it would be for her from a London life.

“But health is the first consideration,” he said, smiling. “A palace is little more than an infirmary to a sick person, and out here a snug cottage such as we can soon run up will become a palace to one who recovers health. Isn’t Master Dean a long time gone? Oh, here he is. Well, where is Quong?”

“Can’t find him anywhere, sir, nor his bundle neither.”

“What? Absurd! He cannot have gone out. He cooked the breakfast. Did any one see him go?”

“I asked several of the men and women, sir, and they had not seen him.”

“Asleep somewhere perhaps, as he feels that his work is done. Here, we must find him, or he will throw my arrangements all wrong, and we shall have to wait till another day. It’s a pity I did not speak last night, but I was not sure then.”

“I’ll soon find him,” I said.

“Yes, do, my lad, while I see to the rifle and ammunition.”

“Come along, Esau,” I said; and he followed me as I hurried out.

“Well, where are you going?” grumbled Esau. “I suppose you are very clever, but I should like to know how you are going to find him!”

“But you have not searched everywhere.”

“I’ve searched everywhere that he was likely to be,” replied Esau.

I stopped short, thinking as to which direction we had better take.

“Here, I know where he is,” cried Esau excitedly.

“Yes? Where?”

“Gone up one of the streams to try for gold on the sly. You see if he don’t find out our bit one of these days.”

“Perhaps he has gone for that,” I said thoughtfully.

“I feel sure of it. He has been away lots of times for a bit, and I shouldn’t wonder if he is getting that little physic-bottle of his pretty full.”

“He had better not let Mr Raydon know of it. He’d be in a towering rage,” I said. “Here, let’s hunt him out, and put a stop to it.”

“All right,” said Esau. “Here we are then. Which way shall we go?—east, west, north, or south, or half-way between any two of ’em. I’m willing; don’t make no difference to me.”

I stood and stared at him, for now I saw first how absurd my proposal was, and how unlikely we were to find Quong if we had really gone off on such a mission. Esau grinned.

“I say, ’tain’t so easy, is it?”

I made no reply, but stood thinking, and trying to find a solution to the difficulty.

“Seems to me,” said Esau, “that about the best way of finding this little gentleman is to go and sit down by his fire till he comes, for he goes off so quietly, and he may be anywhere now.”

“Let’s look round again,” I said, “and if we cannot find him we had better go and tell Mr Raydon.”

It was humiliating, but the only thing to do; and after asking at every cottage in the enclosure without effect, I turned to go back to Mr Raydon’s quarters, just as we saw the man Grey going in that direction.

“Why, he might know,” I said, hurrying my pace so that we entered almost at the same time, but too late to question him.

“Well,” said Mr Raydon, “have you found him?”

“No,” I replied; and then turning quickly to Grey, who had not yet spoken—“Have you seen anything of Quong?”

“Yes; he is at the west valley, I met him going there.”

“The west valley?” said Mr Raydon, starting and looking excitedly at the speaker. “What was he doing there?”

“Gone to join Mr Gunson and a party of men I suppose,” said Grey, slowly.

“Mr Gunson? Back?” I said wonderingly, but with a chill of dread spreading through me as I spoke. “What is he doing there?”

“Busy with the others. They have set up camp, and are washing for gold.”

I glanced at Mr Raydon, whose eyes were fixed on me, and I saw a furious look of anger gathering in his face, while Esau backed slowly toward the door.

“This is your doing, sir. Here, you—stop! don’t sneak away like that, and leave your companion in the lurch.”

“Wasn’t going to sneak away,” said Esau, surlily. “Go away then, you miserable coward. Well, Mayne Gordon, I hope you are satisfied. Is this your gratitude?”

I fully expected these words, but I was not prepared to answer him, and in the rush of his indignant accusation my defence was swept down, and I could only stammer out—

“You are mistaken, sir.”

“No,” he cried, “I am not mistaken. I told you when you made that unlucky discovery I wished to keep all the wild gold-seeking scoundrels away from my peaceful happy valley; and in spite of all I have done to welcome you for my sister’s sake, you give me evil for good.”

“Indeed you are wrong, sir; I have not told a soul,” I cried.

“Bah!” said Mr Raydon, furiously. “How can I think otherwise, when I see you holding half-secret meetings with that man Gunson, who returns in force to destroy this place? Well, my lad, I wish you joy of your share, but, mark my words, this gold-seeking is miserable gambling, the work of men who will not see that the real way to find gold is in genuine honest work. Take the gold-seekers all round, and they would have made more of the precious metal by planting corn than by this digging and washing in the river-beds.”

“Then you will not believe me, sir?”

“I cannot, my lad, after what I have seen,” he said. “Your conduct has not seemed to me manly and frank.”

“I have tried to be, sir,” I cried.

“And failed, boy. The temptation of the gold has proved to be too much for you.”

I stood silent now, for I could not speak. I wanted to say a great deal, but there was a swelling in my throat—a hot feeling of indignation and misery combined kept me tongue-tied, and above all there was a guilty feeling that he was just.

“As for you,” Mr Raydon continued, turning to Esau, “I shall not waste words upon you. Of course you agreed with your companion, but you would both have done better for yourselves as lads, and earned better positions in life, by being faithful to me, than by letting yourselves be led away by this miserable temptation.”

“I ain’t done nothing,” said Esau; “I only—”

“That will do,” cried Mr Raydon, fiercely, cutting him short. “Now go.”

“All right, sir,” said Esau; and now I found my tongue again.

“Yes, Esau, we had better go,” I said, bitterly. “Mr Raydon will some day find out how unjust he has been to us.”

“That will do,” cried Mr Raydon, sternly. “No hypocrisy, sir. Once for all, I know that you gave Gunson either full particulars or hints, such as enabled him to bring a gang to this peaceful place.”

“Well, if you won’t let a fellow speak,” began Esau.

“Silence, sir!” cried Mr Raydon, as I moved towards the door. “And you, Gordon, where are you going?”

“I don’t know, sir,” I said.

“Then I do. You are going to join that wild crew up at the gold-washings.”

“I was going to see and tell Mr Gunson of what had happened, sir.”

“Exactly. Then I forbid it. You shall not go.”

“You ain’t got no right to keep us here if we want to go,” said Esau, who was now losing: his temper fast.

“Indeed!” said Mr Raydon.

“You won’t believe in a fellow—I mean this fellow,” continued Esau; “and you don’t believe Mr Gordon, so I’m going straight up to Mr Gunson to see if he will, and I’ll trouble you to hand over that gold we found that day.”

“Esau!” I cried, angrily.

“Well, you won’t speak out, so I must. Come on. Much obliged for all you’ve done in keeping us, sir, and good-bye.”

“Grey,” said Mr Raydon, sharply.

“Yes, sir.”

“See that those lads do not leave the Fort till I give them permission. When you go off duty Hanson is to take your post.”

“What?” cried Esau, as I felt my cheeks burning with indignation, “ain’t we to be allowed to go out?”

“Am I to put them in the block-house, sir?” said Grey.

“No; they can occupy the strangers’ quarters, but they are not to pass the gates. That will do. Go!”

Chapter Forty.

Inopportune Arrivals.

I hardly remember how I left Mr Raydon’s office, but I do recollect seeing the bear’s head grinning at me, and that of the moose gazing at me in its weak, sorrowful way. My head felt hot, and I was bitterly angry; so that when Grey went from us without speaking, after leading us to the strangers’ quarters, it only wanted a few words from Esau to make me turn upon him fiercely.

“Look here,” he said, “this ain’t England, and there’s no police and madgistrits about, so I’m not going to stand it. He ain’t everybody. I’m off.”

“To the gold-washings?” I said. “Don’t you think you’ve done mischief enough by betraying it to Mr Gunson?”

“Oh, come, I like that,” cried Esau.

“That’s pleasant, that is. Say it was me, eh? Why, you know you told him.”

“I told him?”

“Well, he coaxed it out of you when he had you all by himself.”

“Esau!”

“There, don’t shout at me. I don’t wonder. I’ve been sometimes so that I couldn’t hardly bear myself for wanting to tell somebody; and it was a pity for all that gold to go begging, and us not get a share.”

“Then you believe I told Mr Gunson?”

“Course I do. I didn’t; and there was no one else knew where it was except the captain, and of course he wouldn’t.”

“You are saying that to aggravate me. Esau, once more, do you believe I told Mr Gunson?”

He looked at me and laughed.

“Why don’t you answer?” I cried, angrily. “Do you believe I told Mr Gunson?”

“Why, of course I do. What’s the good of making a fuss over it with me? Should ha’ thought you might ha’ trusted me by this time.”

I sank back on one of the benches staring at him, feeling weak and hopeless.

“Don’t look like that,” cried Esau; “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. It was quite natural. Mr Gunson was our friend before Mr Raydon was; and it was your duty to do him a good turn if you could. Who’s Mr Raydon that he’s to have everything his way? If he don’t want gold, other folks do. I do—lots; and I’m going up now to get my share.”

“Then you really believe I told?”

“Why, of course I do. Why, how could you help it? Seems queer to Mr Raydon, because he has been very kind; but it would have seemed queerer to poor Mr Gunson. Why, as mother used to say, my heart quite bled for him when he came back so tired-looking and shabby, after hunting for months and finding nothing. I’d ha’ told him directly if I hadn’t promised you I wouldn’t. There, don’t be in such a fidge about it; you couldn’t act square to both of them.”

“Then it’s of no use for me to keep on saying I did not tell,” I said, gloomily.

“Not a bit; and I’m precious glad you did tell the poor fellow. I don’t like him much, and he never liked me much; but he often helped me, and I’d help him. Now then, I want to talk about what we’re going to do. What do you say? Do speak. I hate to see you sit mumchance, saying nothing.”

“There’s nothing to do,” I said, sadly, “only wait.”

“What, like a prisoner? I’m going up to that place where the gold is, to get mine and mother’s share, and you’re coming too for yours.”

“I’m not,” I said, through my set teeth.

“What?”

“I wouldn’t stir from here now for all the gold in the world.”

“Why, you’re talking madness. We come out here to make our fortunes, and there’s our fortunes waiting to be made. The door’s open and the gate’s open; and though Mr Raydon talked big, he dare not try to stop us. Come on.”

“I tell you nothing should make me stir from here now, till Mr Raydon knows the truth.”

“Yah! What’s the good o’ keeping on with all that make-believe? He knows the truth now.”

I leaped up as if stung.

“That’s right. Come on.”

My voice was very husky as I said—

“I’ve told you what I meant to do, and you keep on insulting me.”

“Don’t talk stuff. What’s the good of making all that fuss? You couldn’t help telling Mr Gunson, I know that, and I’ve told you I know it. Of course Mr Raydon don’t like it, but he can’t help himself. Now then. You’re in disgrace here, but you won’t be up at the camp; and when his bit of temper’s past, Mr Raydon will be sorry for what he said, and ask us to come and look at the piece of land after all.”

While he kept on speaking, my temper, which had always remained irritable through my illness, kept on rising, and I stood there trying to fight it down, but in vain, for it was very rapidly getting the mastery. It was as if something hot was rising within me, ready to boil over if it grew a little hotter, and it soon did.

“There, it’s all right,” cried Esau, catching me by the arm. “Never mind our things; we’ll fetch them another time. Let’s be off at once.”

“Let go of my arm,” I said, hoarsely.

“Shan’t. Don’t be stupid. You ain’t been yourself since you were hurt, and I’m going to think for you, and do what’s right. Come along.”

“Let go of my arm!” I said again, in a low menacing tone.

“No, nor I shan’t let go of your arm; and you ain’t going to frighten me, Mayne Gordon, because I’m ever so much the stronger now, so come along.”

“Let—go—of my arm!” I said, in quite a whisper, as Esau hauled me towards the door.

“S-h-a-r-n-’t!” cried Esau. “You’re going along with me up to those gold-washings. Come along. It’s of no use for you to struggle, I’m too much for you—Oh!”

In my rage at my inability to reason with him, I suddenly doubled my fist and struck him full in the face, and as he uttered a cry of pain, he started back; but it was only for a moment, and then he flew at me angrily, so that the next minute we two sworn friends, who had suffered so much together, were fighting hard, giving and taking blows, now down, now up, and each growing hotter and more vindictive as we fought—Esau with determination, I with despair, for I felt myself growing weaker and weaker, and knew that in a few minutes I should be hopelessly beaten. But still in my blind fury I kept on, and I was just in the act of delivering a furious blow when I heard voices, and some one uttered a cry of horror.

The struggle was over, for we two started back from our contest, Esau ashamed of his rage, and I feeling utterly crushed; for there before me, as far as I could see them in my half-blinded state, giddy as I was with weakness and blows, stood Mr Raydon, and with him the people I would have given the world then not to have met in such a state—the three travellers, who had ended their long weary journey that unfortunate morning.

Mrs Dean ran to Esau, and flung her arms about his neck, as Mr Raydon said angrily—

“What is the meaning of this?”

No one answered, and for a few moments the silence was to me terrible. Then Mr Raydon spoke again.

“Come back to the house,” he said; and I saw him take his sister’s hand, draw it through his arm, and lead her away.

But Mr John, who looked brown and wonderfully changed, hung back, and held out his hand.

“Oh, Mayne,” he said, sadly, “I did not expect to come and find you like this. What is the meaning of it all?”

“Don’t, mother; do be quiet,” cried Esau just then. “He hit me first.”

“Oh, but, Esau, my boy, my boy!”

“Well, what’s the good o’ crying? Don’t; you’re crying all down my neck. Be quiet. How are you? There. Now do leave off hanging on me. I want to go and have a wash.”

“Oh, Mr Gordon,” cried the poor little woman, as Esau ungraciously shook himself free, “how could you hit Esau first—and you such friends?”

“Because he was trying to make me out a blackguard,” I cried.

“Well, I couldn’t help it,” cried Esau; “I thought it was true.”

“But you’ll shake hands with me, my dear, after I’ve come all these hundreds and thousands of miles—shake hands and say you’re sorry you hit Esau first.”

“Oh, do be quiet, mother,” cried Esau angrily. “What’s the good o’ making such a fuss? We fell out and had a bit of a fight, and it’s all over, and I’m very sorry, and if he’ll shake hands, there’s mine.”

“Not till you tell me you don’t believe I did that,” I cried fiercely.

“Well, there then, I don’t believe you told him. I can’t now you’ve knocked it all out of me. But I should have won.”

“If I had not been so weak from my wound, you would not have won,” I cried.

“Well, no,” said Esau thoughtfully, as we shook hands, “for you do hit precious hard. There, mother, will that do?”

“Oh yes, my dear,” cried Mrs Dean, clinging to my hands now; “and may I kiss you, my dear?”

I bent down and kissed the little woman, whose face was full of sympathy for me.

“And you’ve been dangerously ill and nearly dead, Mr Raydon told us. Well, that excuses everything. Esau’s temper was horrible after he had been ill with measles. You remember, my dear?”

“I don’t,” said Esau, on being thus appealed to. “I know you were always cross with me, and wouldn’t let me go out.”

“Ah well, ah well,” said Mr John Dempster, “never mind about that now. Mayne, my dear boy, do wash your face, and let’s have a long talk. I am sorry my dear wife saw you like this, for she has been talking so much about you. I am very sorry.”

“Sorry, sir!” I cried passionately; “it is horrible.”

“Yes, it is unfortunate, but an accident,” he said smilingly, as he laid his hand upon my shoulder. “You have not fought much since I saw you last?”

“Fought? No,” I said, unable to keep back a smile at his question.

“Ah! you laugh, but I have one memory of your prowess in that way. There, remove those marks.”

“That’s better,” he said, a few minutes later. “Now I want to know all about your adventures.”

“And I about yours, sir,” I said eagerly, for we were alone, Esau having passed out of the strangers’ quarters with his mother. “Tell me about Mrs John. Is she better?”

“Ah, you did not see,” he said, with a smile that was quite womanly lighting up his face. “For a time she frightened me, but once we were at sea she began to mend, and for months now the change has been wonderful.”

“I am glad,” I cried.

“Yes, wonderful,” he continued. “My brother Raydon was right; but had I known, enthusiastic as I am, what a terribly long, slow, tedious journey it was across those vast plains, I should never have dared to venture.”

“But she has borne it well?”

“Borne it! My dear boy, she is no longer the same. The delightful air, the freedom from all restraint, the grandeur of the scenery we have come through, everything has seemed to be giving her back her lost strength, and it is a new life she is beginning to live.”

“I am thankful,” I said.

“But tell me, Mayne,” he said; “there is some coolness between you and my brother. He did not tell me what it was. Have you not been happy with him?”

“Yes,” I said, “till now.”

And then I told him everything, from the discovery of the gold to the moment of his arrival. He stood looking thoughtful for a few moments, and then said—

“And young Dean believes it too?”

“Yes,” I said; “and that caused the struggle that you saw.”

“Of course—of course. I see.”

“But, Mr John, indeed, indeed I kept my word. I did not—I would not tell a soul; and I have carefully avoided going to the place.”

He stood with his brows knit in silence, looking straight away.

“You do not believe me?” I said, piteously.

“Believe you? Why not?” he said, rousing himself from his musing. “Of course I believe you, Mayne, and so will my brother. He ought not to have doubted you. Ah, here he comes back.”

I felt a curious shrinking as I saw Mr Raydon coming across the enclosure; and as he entered there was the stern severe look in his countenance which he put on when he was angry.

“I came to fetch you back, John,” he said quietly. Then turning to me, “May I know the cause of the disgraceful scene that was taking place a little while ago?”

“Yes,” cried Mr John, instituting himself as my champion directly. “It seems that you have had unjust suspicions of my young friend Mayne, and that his companion shared them. Mayne could not turn and thrash you, but he could young Dean, and he did.”

Mr Raydon looked at me sharply.

“You may take his word for it,” continued Mr John, “as I do. There has been a mistake.”

“You have not altered a bit, John,” said Mr Raydon drily. “Come.”

“Yes, I’ll go back with you, for there is so much to say. Come, Mayne.”

I saw Mr Raydon raise his brows a little, and that was enough.

“Not now, Mr John,” I said.

“But my wife, she wants to see you.”

“Yes, sir, and I want to see her; but not now.”

“He is quite right, John,” said Mr Raydon. “Let him stay for the present.”

Mr John looked from one to the other and then said seriously—“As you will, Dan. Good-bye then for the present, Mayne. There, keep up your heart. I’ll talk to my brother, and I’ll warrant that before long he will see the truth as I do.”

He stopped back to say this, and then went on after Mr Raydon, leaving me to fling myself on the bench, rest my elbows on the table, and bury my face in my hands. For it seemed to me that I had never felt so miserable before, and as if fate was playing me the most cruel of tricks. I felt indignant too with Mr Raydon, who had seemed to look upon his brother-in-law’s faith in me with a cruel kind of contempt, treating him as if he were an enthusiast easily deceived.

And all this stung me cruelly. I was touched in my pride, and the worst part of it seemed to be that Mrs John might have so much faith in her brother, that she would be ready to believe his word before mine.

As I sat there thinking, I was obliged to own that matters did look black against me, and that with such terrible evidence in array, there was some excuse for Mr Raydon.

“But she might believe me,” I said, half aloud. But even as I said this, I recalled how he had evidently dreaded that I should betray the secret, and watched me and Gunson at our last meeting, which certainly did look suspicious when taken into consideration with the object of the latter’s visits to the neighbourhood.

“Gunson shall come here and tell him everything. He shall make him believe,” I said to myself; and then in a despondent way, I felt that I could not go up to the camp without making Mr Raydon think worse of me at once, and then Mrs John would believe in him more and more. And it all seemed over, and as if the happy days I had looked forward to when the travellers came, would never be, and that I was the most unfortunate fellow that had ever breathed, when a hand was laid gently on my head, and a voice said—

“Mayne.”

I started to my feet, and there was Mrs John gazing at me sadly, but so changed since I had seen her before my start, that I could only look at her wonderingly, and when she held out her hand I caught it and was about to raise it to my lips, but she drew me to her, and the next moment she was seated on the bench I had left, and I was down upon my knees gazing up into her sweet face, feeling that while she lived I had one who would always take for me the part of the mother I had lost so long.

Chapter Forty One.

An Invasion of Savages.

It was quite two hours later that, as she rose to go back to Mr Raydon’s quarters, Mrs John said—

“There, I believe in you, Mayne, and so does my husband. Be satisfied.”

“I never shall be till Mr Raydon tells me he was wrong,” I said.

“And he will as soon as he feels convinced, so be patient and wait. My brother is rather strange in his ways, and always was. When he becomes prejudiced through some idea he is very hard to move.”

“But I cannot stay here,” I said.

“You will not go and leave us now that we have come so far. We shall want your help.”

“But—”

“Come, Mayne, you will not object to suffering a little, I hope, for our sake. I dare say my brother will keep on in his stern, hard way, for a time; but when he is fully convinced, you will be glad that you bore with him.”

“I shall do exactly as you wish me to,” I said quietly; and I again looked wonderingly at her, she was so changed.

“We shall not lead you wrong, Mayne,” she said, smiling; and, at her wish, I walked back with her to Mr Raydon’s place, where Mr John rose to make room for us, but Mr Raydon hardly glanced at me, and his manner was so strained during the next hour, as I sat listening to the conversation about the adventures during the long journey across the plain, that I was very glad to make an excuse so as to get away to where Mrs Dean was seated in the strangers’ quarters relating her story to Esau.

“Ah,” she cried, as I entered; “and what do you think of Mrs John?”

“I hardly knew her,” I said. “She is indeed better.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Dean, drawing herself up proudly, “I think I did my duty there.”

“I am sure you did.”

“Such a poor, thin, weak creature as she was till I began to nurse her.”

“The change worked wonders,” I said.

“Yes, of course, it did her good, sir; but no change is of any good without plenty of nursing.”

I saw that I was touching on tender ground, and was trying to think of a fresh subject, when loud, blustering voices outside made both Esau and me get up to see, for there was evidently an angry altercation going on just inside the gate.

“I have told you plainly,” Mr Raydon was saying as we drew near. “This is neither an hotel nor a liquor-bar, and you cannot have it here.”

“Well, you might be civil,” said a voice which made me start and feel puzzled as to where I had heard it before. “Not going to refuse travellers a shelter or a glass of liquor, are you?”

Esau gave my arm a jerk, but I did not look at him, for my attention was taken up by Mr Raydon, who was facing, with Grey and two more of the men, a party of a dozen roughs.

“You do not want shelter on a fine night like this, and I have no spirits except to use for medicine.”

“That’s right,” said the familiar voice. “Medicine—physic—that’s what we want; drop o’ spirits for medicine—eh, lads?”

There was a chorus of laughter at this, and the men began to press forward.

“Then you will not get it here, my lads, so go back to the place from whence you came,” said Mr Raydon, firmly. “Bread and meat, and butter or milk, you can have; nothing more.”

“But we want a drink,” said another man. “Here, we don’t want you to give it us. Look here,” he cried, taking some gold from, his pocket. “Now then, I’ll give you all this for a bottle of whiskey.”

“Ay, and I’ll give you this for another bottle,” cried a third man.

“Keep your stuff in your pockets, lads,” cried the first speaker, and I felt a kind of thrill run through me now, for I had recognised in him the big, fierce fellow who had wrestled with Gunson on board the boat, and threatened mischief next time they met. “Keep your stuff in your pockets; the old ’un is going to give us a bottle or two of the liquor he swaps with the Injuns for the bear-skins. Now then, old boy.”

“I am going to give you nothing, neither food nor drink,” said Mr Raydon, firmly. “You have only come down from the camp yonder this evening.”

“Well, who said we hadn’t? That’s right enough. We’ve got claims up there, and we’ve come to treat you all and have a drink with you.”

“I have told you that you will get no drink here.”

“Get out!” said the big fellow, whose voice I had first heard. “You don’t mean that. Come, get out the bottles. Come along, lads; we arn’t going to be served like this.”

“No,” came angrily in chorus; and the men pressed forward, but Mr Raydon and his party stood their ground.

“We’re going to take it, arn’t we, if he don’t fetch it out—eh, lads?”

“Ay.”

“Stand back!” cried Mr Raydon, authoritatively. “Grey!”

The latter took half a dozen steps backward, and stood waiting for orders.

“You, Gordon, and you, Dean, run to my house, and keep there in shelter.”

“Oh,” said the big fellow, with a laugh. “Turning nasty, eh? Well then, we’ll take it. Show him your shooting-irons, lads, and let him see that we can be nasty too.”

Half a dozen of the men pulled out revolvers, and there were a few sharp clicks heard.

“Did you hear me, Gordon?” said Mr Raydon, harshly. “Run.”

“I can’t run away, and leave you like this,” I said. “Obey orders, boy. Both of you back, quick!”

There was a something about him which enforced obedience, and I went back towards the house wondering why the other men did not come to their chiefs help, especially now that he was being backed slowly across the enclosure by the gang of men, each of whom had a revolver in his hand.

“Yes,” said Mr Raydon, sharply, and Grey and another man turned and ran for one of the little block-houses in the corner of the enclosure.

“Hah! Yah! Hoo!” roared the fellows, derisively; and one of them fired a shot, an example followed by two more, not aimed at the retreating party, but evidently meant to scare them and hasten their retreat. There was another roar of laughter at this, followed by more derisive shouts, as Grey and his companions disappeared in the building before named.

“It’s all right, lads; that’s where the landlord’s cellar is: come on!”

Mr Raydon still backed toward the corner building, and Esau and I continued our retreat to the chiefs quarters, where I saw Mr and Mrs John at the door, alarmed by the firing.

“Tell them to keep in,” cried Mr Raydon to me; and seeing that there was danger, I ran to them, half forced them back, and without instructions I snatched up Mr Raydon’s double rifle and cartridge-belt.

“Good heavens, Gordon, what is the matter?” cried Mr John.

“Nothing serious, I hope,” I said. “Orders: stay inside.”

I darted out again with the rifle, and ran to where Mr Raydon was standing his ground still, and he was saying something in a loud voice to the men, but I only caught the words—“Fair warning.”

“Hah! Good!” he exclaimed, as I ran up with the rifle; and he caught it and the cartridge-belt, but he did not attempt to load.

“Back to them,” said Mr Raydon to me; and I went unwillingly, for it seemed cowardly to go.

“He’s going to fight,” said the leader of the gang. “There, don’t pepper him, mates.”

There was another roar of laughter at this.

“I warn you once more, my good fellows. This is an outrage you are committing, and if blood is shed the fault will be yours.”

“Those bottles o’ whiskey.”

“You get nothing here. Go!”

“Rush them, lads.”

The miners with their revolvers were about a dozen yards from the corner block-house, and Mr Raydon and the man with him were half-way to the door, their backs towards it, when the bully gave his order.

Like an echo of that order, and just as the men were in motion, came one from Mr Raydon.

“Make ready—present!”

I shrank back startled as I heard the loud military commands, and the effect was the same upon the gang of rough gold-diggers, who stopped short, while half of them turned and began to run.

For, as the order rang out, Grey and another man sprang to the door with presented pieces, and from the openings on the floor above half a dozen more rifles were thrust out.

“Another step forward and I give the word—Fire!” cried Mr Raydon, fiercely. “You see we are prepared for unpleasant visitors here, whether they are white savages or red. Now then, have the goodness to go, and don’t trouble us with your presence here again.”

“Oh, it was only a joke, mate,” cried the big fellow. “Needn’t make such a fuss about it.”

“A joke, to fire on my retiring men?” said Mr Raydon, fiercely. “Go, or my men will perpetrate a similar joke on you, you miserable bully and coward.”

“Bully am I?—coward am I?” growled the fellow, menacingly cocking his revolver.

“Cover this fellow, Grey,” said Mr Raydon without turning, and I saw Grey make a slight movement.

“That man is a dead shot, my good man,” said Mr Raydon. “Once more, go!”

“Right; we’re going, eh, mates?”

“No,” said another. “Let’s—”

“Another word, and I order my men to fire,” cried Mr Raydon, fiercely. “We have driven off a hundred Indians before now, and I tell you that we are well prepared.”

“Oh, all right,” growled the fellow. “Come on, mates. This is English hospitality, this is. Well, every dog has his day, and perhaps ours ’ll come next.”

They walked slowly toward the gate, and passed out muttering threateningly; and as they passed out, in obedience to an order, Grey and another man ran across to the opening with their rifles at the trail, each seizing one of the swing-back gates which they were about to close, when half a dozen of the gang reappeared and fired from their revolvers. Before they could repeat the shots the gates were banged to and barred, while Grey sprang up a few steps and applied his eye to a loop-hole.

“Well?” said Mr Raydon, advancing quietly.

“Running back toward the river, sir. Shall we fire over their heads?”

“No. They have gone,” said Mr Raydon.

Then turning to me, where I stood just outside the door of his house, he said sternly—

“You see why I wished to keep this district free of all that is connected with gold?”

I made no answer, for none would come.

“We have enough enemies among the Indians,” he continued. “These people add to our cares.”

Still I made no answer, for I was thinking of Gunson, who was, as I had heard, gold-finding up our stream, perhaps quite alone. These people, all well-armed, were going up his way, and one of them had sworn to do him some mischief. Did he know that Gunson was there? Did Gunson know that this man was within a few miles of him, perhaps close at hand?

I shuddered as I thought of the wealth up that stream. These men could only be fresh-comers, attracted by rumours of a new find of rich gold. Perhaps Gunson had already found a good deal; he most likely would have found a great deal, and this would be an additional inducement for them to attack him, rob, perhaps kill him out of revenge.

“And this was all due to the discovery of the gold,” I thought, and it was emphasised the next moment, for Mr John came up to his brother-in-law.

“Who are those men, Daniel?” he said, eagerly.

“Scum of the earth come for the metal whose existence I have kept secret ever since I came here. I fought very hard to keep the gold unknown, but my efforts have been in vain. You see for yourself the result of the discovery;” and then, as I saw his lowering brow and anxious face, he exclaimed—

“Yes, the rich finds are made known, and we do not know the extent of the mischief yet.”

He glanced at me again sharply, and I knew I looked very conscious; but it was not on account of the stubborn suspicion he persisted in feeling about me, but because I was excited about Gunson, for I was asking myself what I ought to do with respect to a man who in his rough way had done so much for me, and the answer came at once just as if something had whispered to me—

“Never mind about what people think if your intentions are good and true. Warn the poor fellow before it is too late. Go!”

Chapter Forty Two.

We make up our Minds.

Mr John gave me a troubled look, for in his simple earnest way he was hurt at seeing the strained situation, and, as he told me afterwards, there was great excuse for his brother-in-law, as matters did look black against me, sufficient to make Mr Raydon feel that I had acted a very unworthy part.

I stood there alone, and otherwise quite unnoticed for a few minutes, while Mr Raydon gave his people some quick, sharp orders, and then walked into his quarters with Mr John.

“What shall I do?” I thought. “If I go and ask him to let me run and warn Mr Gunson, he will think I want to join him, and that this is only an excuse. I can’t go down on my knees and vow and protest again that I kept my word. Some one told Gunson, of course. Could it have been Esau, and is he playing unfairly?”

I did not like to think it of him, and I was just trying to drive the thoughts away, when he came out of the strangers’ quarters, where I had seen him go with Mrs Dean.

“Well, it’s all over,” he said. “I thought we was going to have some rare fun.”

“Esau!” I cried, aghast. “What, with men being shot!”

“Yes; why not, if they tried to shoot us? But, I say, they’ll come back again; see if they don’t, to help themselves to all there is here.”

I shook my head.

“No,” I said; “they’ve been too much scared as it is.”

“Not they. Of course they run when they saw the rifles. I shouldn’t wonder if we have a really big fight like you’ve read of in books.”

“You are talking nonsense,” I said. “But look here, Esau. About that gold?”

“Yes,” he cried eagerly; “going to have a try for it?”

“No.”

“Oh,” said Esau, gloomily. “Thought you were coming to your senses. I don’t see why other folks should get it all, and us left nowhere.”

“Esau!” I said, as I caught him by the sleeve, “you see how I am being suspected of all this. Mr Raydon still thinks I told Mr Gunson.”

“Well, so you did, didn’t you?” he replied, with a curiously sly look.

“No,” I cried, fiercely; “and you know I did not. But did you?”

Esau looked me full in the face for a few moments, before turning his eyes away, and beginning to whistle softly.

“Do you hear what I say?” I cried, angrily. “Course I do,” he replied, with a mocking laugh.

“Then tell me—at once—the truth. Did you give Mr Gunson to understand where this gold was?”

“Let’s see: you asked me before, didn’t you?” said Esau, coolly.

“You know I did.”

“Well, then, don’t ask no questions, and nobody won’t tell you no lies.”

“Then it was you,” I cried; “and it was a mean, cowardly, cruel trick to let me be suspected and treated as I have been here. I have always been fair and open with you.”

Esau whistled again in a low soft way, giving me a sidelong glance again, and then taking out his great knife and making a pretence of cutting his nails, for which task the knife was about as suitable as a billhook.

“Are you going to own it?”

No answer.

“Are you going to own to it?” I said, more loudly.

“No, I ain’t,” he cried, angrily, “and I don’t want to be bothered about it no more. Wish I’d gone after the gold myself. I could ha’ made mother rich and comfortable all her life. What business had he to interfere and keep it all from us? Meant to have the place to himself, and now somebody else has got it, and serve him right.”

I turned away from him angrily, but I was too much worried to be able to do without advice, and I walked back to where he was still chopping at his nails.

“Esau,” I said; “you saw that big fellow with the gang?”

“Easy enough to see,” he replied, sulkily.

“You saw who it was?”

“Yes. Chap Gunson pitched over that day aboard the steamer.”

“Yes. And you remember how he threatened Mr Gunson?”

“Course I do.”

“Well, they’re going up the little valley to where Mr Gunson is.”

“And if old Gunson meets him he’ll send him back with a flea in his ear.”

“One man against a party of twelve all well armed, Esau?” I whispered. “I’m afraid about Mr Gunson. Suppose he is up there somewhere alone, and has found a great deal of gold?”

“What!” cried Esau, excitedly, for my words had moved him now.

“I say, suppose he has collected a lot of gold, and those rough fellows know of it?”

“Why, they’d kill him, and take every scrap,” cried Esau. “Here, let’s go and tell Mr Raydon.”

“He would not stir to help, I am sure. Mr Raydon does not want Gunson there, and he would be glad if he was driven away.”

“Think old Gunson knows of those chaps coming?”

“I don’t know. I should think not.”

“Let’s go and see.”

“Yes?”

“And if he don’t know, tell him.”

“Yes; that is what I should like to do,” I said. “We ought to warn him.”

“Course we ought. He helped us.”

“But how can we manage it?”

“Go. We know the way.”

I stood for a few moments thinking, and at last made up my mind.

“You will go with me, Esau?” I said.

“Yes; soon as it’s dark.”

“They wouldn’t let us go now?” I said, dubiously.

“You try,” said Esau, with a laugh. “Why, if old Raydon thought we were going to try and get out, he’d lock us up.”

“Don’t let’s stand here,” I said, in a husky voice, for the excitement was increasing. “Let’s go back to the quarters and talk there.”

“Can’t. Mother’s in there, and we shouldn’t be able to say a word.”

“Then as soon as it’s dark we’ll climb over, and make straight for the mining camp.”

“That’s so,” said Esau; and we waited patiently for the coming on of night.

As soon as it was decided, that which had seemed to me so very easy began to show itself in quite another light, and difficulties sprang up one after the other of which I had not taken thought before.

First of all I learned that a strict watch was to be kept at night, and in consequence it would be next to impossible to get over the palisade without being heard or seen.

Next, when we had escaped—I inadvertently used that word, for it was like running away, though I meant to return—there would be the difficulty of hitting the right valley in the darkness. Then, if we found the valley, how were we to find out the place where Gunson had made his camp? and above all, how were we to pass the camp or resting-place of the gang of men who had been to the Fort that day? It was pretty certain that one of their number would be on guard.

“Yes, and pop at us,” said Esau, when I told him of this difficulty. “Never mind; he couldn’t hit us in the dark. See, too, if old Gunson doesn’t shoot at us if we go disturbing him in the night.”

“He would not fire at us,” I said, contemptuously.

“Oh, we are clever!” cried Esau. “How’s he going to know it’s us?”

“Well, we must risk it,” I said.

“Oh, yes, we’ll risk it. Way is to crawl up; then if they fire, they’re sure to miss.”

That starting-time seemed as if it would never come. I had my evening meal with Mr Raydon and Mr Dempster, Esau having his with his mother at the Greys’, but I hardly ate anything, for in spite of Mrs John’s pleasant smiles and words, the constraint seemed to have increased, and I felt, unjustly enough perhaps, as if my presence was only tolerated on account of my friends.

I got away as soon as I could, and as I waited for Esau to come, I began now to think that I was not doing right. But I drove the thoughts away in a reckless fashion. Esau would laugh at me, I thought, and, full of determination now, I was glad when he came.

“Well,” he said; “mean to go?”

“Mean to go? Of course!”

“’Cause they’re going to be on the look-out pretty sharp, so Grey says, and they’ve got orders to fire at any one strange.”

“To fire?” I said, feeling rather startled.

“Yes; so if we get fired at when we go, and fired at when we get there, it’s bound to be a lively sort of a time.”

I was silent.

“Well, what do you think of it now?” said Esau, as I did not speak. “Going?”

“Do you want to hang back, Esau?” I said, huskily.

“No; I’ll stick to you, o’ course.”

“Then we’ll go as soon as we can.”

“I thought you’d say so,” he said. “You always was so fond of old Gunson.”

“Then you don’t want to go?”

“Course I don’t, now I’ve got mother here, safe. But if you’re going, I’m going, so how soon?”

It was already dark, and feeling if I waited much longer the hesitation I suffered from might increase, I said excitedly—

“Now.”

“All right then; let’s get a little way further from the corner, make straight for that look-out place, where Grey watched the chaps going, and get over there.”

“Yes,” I said, thoughtfully; “we can get on the top of the big paling and drop down from there. But I say, Esau,” I whispered, “how are we to climb back?”

“Dunno. Let’s do one job first,” he whispered back, philosophically. “Now then, are you ready?”

“Yes,” I said, desperately.

“Then down on your hands and knees, and let’s creep like dogs. They will not see us then.”

It is impossible to describe the feeling of excitement which came over me as I followed Esau’s example, and letting him lead, began to crawl pretty quickly across the enclosure. I looked back, and there were the lights in Mr Raydon’s quarters, where my friends were seated, and wondered what they would think when they heard that I had gone, and what construction Mr Raydon would place upon my departure, for something seemed to tell me that we should be found out; and it was not likely that we should be credited with going for so innocent a reason.

“No,” I said to myself; “he will think I have gone to join Gunson to wash for gold, and—”

“Don’t! I say, mind where you are coming.”

For my head had come sharply in contact with my companion.

“What’s the matter? Why did you stop?”

“Only to look back at that place where mother is. My! won’t she be in a taking if they find out we are gone?”

“Go on quickly, then,” I whispered, “and let’s get back before they know it.”

At that moment there was a loud growl toward one of the block-houses.

“Rough’s heard us,” whispered Esau. “Come on.”

We crept forward, and then I felt a chill of dread, for there was a quick rustling sound, a loud bark, and though we could not see him, I knew that the great dog was coming at us full speed.

My first idea was to get up and run, but before I could put my intention in force, the dog was upon us, barking furiously; but the next minute, after knocking me right over, he was whining and fawning upon me, and giving a share of his attentions to Esau.

“Down! Quiet! Get out!” whispered Esau. “Why don’t you wipe your nose?”

“Here, Rough! What is it, lad? Hold him!” came from the direction of the block-house.

“Oh, it’s all up,” I whispered, as the dog set up a loud volley of barking.

“Seize him!” cried the voice, which I knew to be Grey’s; but the dog barked again, as if in remonstrance, and seemed more disposed to play with us than to seize.

“What is it then? What have you got?”

There was another burst of barking.

“Let’s go back,” whispered Esau.

“No, no, go on. Never mind the dog.”

“Let’s run for it then,” whispered Esau, and catching hold of my hand, he led the way quickly toward the fence, with Rough leaping and bounding round us, and every now and then uttering one of the volleys of barking which sounded terribly loud in the utter silence of that dark night.

We had nearly reached the place, when I heard a familiar voice say—

“What’s the matter with that dog?”

“Don’t know, sir. Seems to have found something, or he wouldn’t go on like that. Here! Hi! Rough, Rough, Rough!”

But the dog would not leave us. We were only friends, and he kept on his excited bark.

“Here, Rough!” cried Mr Raydon, angrily; and at that moment we reached the fence, fortunately for us just by the loophole.

“Over with you first,” cried Esau, and I climbed rapidly to the top, threw my legs over, lowered myself to the full extent of my arms, and dropped lightly.

“Come across and see,” came just then from the other side; and now while I heard the rustling and scrambling noise made by Esau in climbing, as I stood there listening with my heart beating heavily, the dog began to bark furiously, then to growl. There was a struggling noise, and then Esau’s voice came through the crack of the paling.

“He’s got hold of me tight. Run, lad, run!”

But I could not run then and leave my companion in the lurch, and I was about to climb back when the worrying, growling sound ceased, and Esau dropped beside me.

“Come on!” he whispered. “This way. He’s got half the leg of my trousers.”

Catching my hand again we trotted on.

“Jumped at me, and held me so as I shouldn’t get over,” he whispered. “Here, this way. We’re right, I know.”

The dog’s barking was furious now, and I whispered to Esau—

“They’re opening the gate.”

“Hist! Don’t take no notice.”

For there was a shout from behind.

“Halt, there, or we fire!”

“Go on then,” muttered Esau. “Sha’n’t halt now. You couldn’t hit us if you tried.”

“Do you hear? Halt!”

It was Mr Raydon who shouted, but I was desperate now I had gone so far, and we kept up our trot, with Esau acting as guide. His eyes were better than mine in the darkness.

“Fire!” came from behind now, and three flashes of light appeared for an instant, followed by the reports of the rifles.

“Not killed me,” muttered Esau, with a chuckle. But I did not laugh, for a thought had struck me.

“Esau,” I whispered; “they’ll set the dog on our scent, and use him to run us down. There, do you hear?”

For the barking of the dog began once more.

“Can we cross the river?” I said.

“No.”

“Then make for the first stream and let’s wade along it a little way.”

“Never thought of that,” muttered Esau. “Here, let’s go along by the river.”

Five minutes later we were splashing along close to the edge, keeping our feet in the water for a time, with the dog’s deep baying behind coming on so slowly that I knew he must be chained and some one holding him back.

“He will not track us now,” I said breathlessly. “They’ll think we have crossed.”

“Then they’ll think we’re drowned, and go and tell mother,” said Esau, stopping short. “Here, let’s go back.”

“Not now we have gone so far,” I said. “I could not face Mr Raydon now. Besides, they will know that we could take care of ourselves.”

“Course they would,” said Esau. “Come on.” But before we had gone a hundred yards he said, “Why they won’t know it is us yet.”

We tramped on as quickly as we could go for the darkness, and by degrees the barking of the dog grew more faint in the distance, and finally ceased.

“There,” said Esau; “they’ll be clever if they find us now.”

“And we shall be clever if we find our way.”

“Oh, I’ll find my way. I shall never forget how to get to that place, after what happened that day.”

I shuddered, for his words brought up my long illness, and made me tramp on down alongside the stream with a curious sensation of awe.

For the darkness was at times intense, and in the blackest parts the river seemed to dash and roar in a way that was startling, and as we had never heard it before.

It was all fancy of course, and so it was that the pines rose up so black that it was hard work to make out the landmarks in the valley which had grown familiar during our many wanderings.

Twice over we stopped to argue, for Esau was positive and obstinate to a degree, insisting that we had come to the right ravine, while I was as sure that we had not.

He gave way sulkily, assuring me that I was going right on past it, and at last I began to think he must be correct. For I had lost all count of time in my excitement, and I stopped short.

“I’ve taken you right by it, Esau,” I said sadly. “We must go back.”

“No, you haven’t,” he replied, to my great surprise. “I’ve thought since that couldn’t be it, because there was no open pool just below the fall. Don’t you remember, where we saw so many trout?”

“Of course,” I cried; “I remember now. Then it is lower down, and we ought to hear the noise of falling water.”

We listened, but there was only the rumbling roar of the river down on our left.

“I’m afraid we’re wrong,” I said despondently. “If it only were not so dark!”

“Let’s go on a bit further first,” said Esau; and I followed him full of doubts, till we turned a corner where the river made a sudden bend, and Esau uttered a low cry.

“There it is,” he said. “Hark!”

Sure enough there was the roar of a fall, and we knew that we had reached the entrance of the little side valley, where the pool lay below the falls.

Another minute, and we were passing through a clump of little fir-trees, also familiar to us; and then Esau stopped short, for there was a bright light just in front—a light which puzzled us for a few moments, before we understood that it must be the reflection from a fire which we could not see, shining in the clear waters of the pool.