Thurston of Orchard Valley

"If he hammered three or four of those wedges clear it would only need a bang on another one to give the river its way," Gillow said excitedly. "Then it would take Thurston six months to fix up the damage, if he ever did, and nobody would know how it happened. The cold-blooded brute's in the maintenance gang?"

"Just so. A blame smart man, too!" asserted Mattawa Tom. "I guess the boss wouldn't want everybody to know. Rustle back your hardest and bring him along."

Fifteen minutes later Thurston took his place behind the boulder, and, because the light was clearer now, he could dimly see the man swinging a heavy hammer, against the rock. He knew that the miscreant, whose business was to prevent the possibility of such accidents, need only start a few more keys, which he would probably do when the dam was clear of men, and many thousand dollars' worth of property and the result of months of labor would be swallowed by the river. His face paled with fierce anger when he recognized this fact.

"I want that man," he declared with shut teeth. "I want him so badly that I'd forfeit five hundred dollars sooner than miss him. Slip forward, Gillow, as much out of sight as you can, and hide yourself on the other side of the ladder. Mattawa and I will wait for him here, and among us three we ought to make sure of him."

Gillow, who stole forward stooping, swore softly as he fell over many obstacles on the way. The man they wanted became visible, ascending another ladder across the river. Then, hanging in the suspended trolley, he moved, a black shape clear against the snow – along the wire which stretched high across the gulf. While the others watched him, his progress grew slower on reaching the hollow, where the cable bent slightly under the weight at its center. Suddenly the car's progress was checked altogether, and it began to move in the opposite direction more rapidly than before, while Thurston sprang to his feet.

"Slack the setting up tackles, Gillow. Hurry for your life," he shouted. "He'll cast the cable loose and be off by the Indian trail into the ranges, if he once gets across."

Gillow ran his best, where running of any kind was barely possible even by daylight. He knew that his master was slow to forgive those whose carelessness thwarted any plan, and that, while taking the easier way over instead of crawling round a ledge, he had probably alarmed the fugitive. He reached the foot of the ladder. Climbing up in a desperate hurry, he cast loose the end of the tackle by means of which the cable was set up taut, but neglected in his haste to take a turn with the hemp rope about a post, which would have eased him of most of the strain.

"Got him safe!" cried Tom from Mattawa, scrambling to the top of the boulder, as the curve of the wire rope high above their heads increased. In spite of the fugitive's efforts, the trolley from which he was suspended ran back to the slackest part of the loop that sagged down nearer the river. Thurston, who watched him, nodded with a sense of savage satisfaction. He did not for a moment believe that, of his own initiative, any workman would have made a long journey or would have run considerable personal risk to do him an injury. That was why he was so anxious to secure the offender.

The curve grew rapidly deeper, until the rope stretched into two diagonals between its fastenings on either shore. Then the trolley descended with a run towards the river, and Geoffrey ran forward, shouting, "The weight's too much for Gillow. Bring along the coil of line from the tool locker, Tom. Hurry, I don't want to drown the rascal."

What had happened was simple. The cook, endeavoring to take a turn of the line too late, had failed, and the hemp ran through his half-frozen fingers, chafing the skin from them. Seeing Thurston floundering in his direction over the boulders, he valiantly strove to check it, regardless of the pain until it was whipped clear of his slackening grasp and the trolley rushed downwards towards the torrent. Thurston was abreast of it before it splashed in, and had just time to see its occupant, still clutching the rope, drawn under by the sinking wire, before he plunged recklessly into the foam.

The water was horribly cold, and the first shock left him gasping and almost paralyzed. The stream was running fast, and rebounding in white foam from great stones and uneven ledges below. But the distance was short, and Thurston was a strong swimmer, so almost before the man had risen, he was within a few yards of the struggling figure. Hardly had Geoffrey clutched the man before Mattawa Tom, who had, meantime, run down stream, whirling a coil of line, loosed it, and the folds, well directed, shot through the air towards Geoffrey, uncoiling as they came. By good fortune Thurston was able to seize the end and to pass it around them both, when – for Gillow had by this time joined his companion – the two men blundered backwards up the contracted beach, and Thurston and the fugitive were drawn shorewards together, until their feet struck bottom.

Breathless and dripping, they staggered out, and, because Geoffrey still clutched the stranger's jacket, the man said:

"Mightily obliged to you! But you can let up now there's no more swimming. I couldn't run very far, if it was worth while trying to."

"You needn't trouble to thank me," was the answer. "It wasn't because I thought the world would miss you that I went into the water; but I can't expect much sense from a half-drowned man. Do you think the rest of the boys have heard us, Tom?"

The foreman glanced towards the tents clustered in the mouth of a ravine above, and seeing no sign of life there, shook his head, whereupon Geoffrey directed:

"Take him quietly to the cook-shed, and give him some whiskey. I've no doubt that in spite of my orders you have some. Lend him dry clothes, and bring him along to my shanty as soon as he's ready. Meantime, rouse the maintenance foreman, and, if any wedges have worked loose, let him drive them home."

"You're a nice man," commented Mattawa Tom, surveying the stranger disgustedly as the man stood with the water draining from him in the cook-shed. "Here, get into these things and keep them as a present. I wouldn't like the feel of them after they'd been on to you."

"That's all right!" was the cool answer. "I expect the game's up, and I'm quite ready to buy them of you. By the way, partner, you helped your boss to pull me out, didn't you? As I said before, I'm not great on swimming."

"I'm almost sorry I had to," said Mattawa Tom, who was a loyal partisan. "But don't call me 'partner,' or there'll be trouble."

The stranger laughed, as, after a glass of hot liquor, he arrayed himself beside the banked-up stove, and presently marched under escort towards Thurston's wood and bark winter dwelling. Mattawa Tom followed close behind him with a big ax on his shoulder.

"I might be a panther you'd corralled. How do you know I haven't a pistol in my pocket, if it was any use turning ugly?" the prisoner inquired.

"I'm quite certain about you, because your pistol is in my pocket," was the dry answer, and Tom chuckled. "You weren't quite smart enough when you slipped off your jacket."

From the door of his shanty, Thurston called them, and Mattawa, thrusting his prisoner in, proceeded to mount guard close outside until Thurston reappeared to ask angrily:

"What are you doing there?"

"I figured you might want me, sir. That man's not to be trusted," answered Tom, and Thurston laughed as he said:

"Go back, see that the maintenance man has made a good job of the wedges, and if any of the boys should ask questions you'll tell them – nothing," Geoffrey commanded. "You don't suppose I've suddenly grown helpless, do you?"

Mattawa Tom withdrew with much reluctance, and it was long before any person knew exactly what Geoffrey and the stranger said to each other, though Gillow informed his comrade that the captured man said to him, by way of explanation before sleeping:

"Your boss is considerably too smart a man for me to bluff, and I've kind of decided to help him. Shouldn't wonder if he didn't beat my last one, who would have seen me roasted before he'd have gone into a river for me. I'm not fond of being left out in the rain with the losing side, either, see? It's not my tip to talk too much, and I guess that's about good enough for you."

"You're going to help him!" commented Gillow, ironically. "All things considered, that's very kind of you."

Next morning Thurston, who summoned the cook and foreman before him, said: "I want you two to keep what happened last night a close secret, and while I cannot tell you much, I may say that the man who will remain in camp was, as you have no doubt guessed, only the cat's paw of several speculators, whom it wouldn't suit to see our employer, Savine, successful."

"But mightn't he try the same game again?" asked Mattawa, and Thurston answered:

"He might, but I hardly think he will. I intend to keep him here under my own eyes until I want him. There's no particular reason why you shouldn't see that he earns his wages, Tom. Gillow, it's perhaps not wholly unfortunate you dropped him into the river."

"Kind of trump ace up your sleeve!" suggested Mattawa, and his master answered with a smile:

"Not exactly. The other side is quite smart enough to know who holds the aces; but I fancy the complete disappearance of this few-spot card will puzzle them. Now, forget all about it. I wouldn't have said so much, but that I know I can trust you two!"

CHAPTER XV

A GREAT UNDERTAKING

Except for the wail of a wet breeze from the Pacific and the moaning of the pines outside, there was unusual quietness in the wood-built villa looking down upon the valley of the Hundred Springs on the night that the American specialist came up to consult with Savine's doctor from Vancouver. The master of High Maples had been brought home unconscious, some days earlier, and had lain for hours apparently on the point of death. During this time it was Thurston who took control of the panic-stricken household. It was he who telegraphed Thomas Savine to bring his wife. He had sent for the famous American physician and had allayed Helen's fears. When the girl's aunt arrived he had prevented that lady from undertaking the cure of the patient by her own prescription. Geoffrey's temper was never very patient, but he held it well in hand for Helen's sake.

On the night in question, Geoffrey anxiously awaited the physician's verdict. He was in the library with Thomas Savine, and had made spasmodic attempts to divert the attention of the kindly, gray-haired gentleman from the illness of his brother. At last, when the tension grew almost unbearable, Thomas Savine said:

"They cannot be much longer, and we'll hear their verdict soon. I'm trying to hope for the best, Thurston, knowing it can't be good all the time. This has been a blow to me. You see we were a one-man family, and it was Julius who started off all the rest of us. He must have been mighty sick of us several times after he married, but he never showed a sign of impatience. What a man he was – tireless, indefatigable, nothing too big for him – until his wife died. Then all the grit seemed to melt right out of him, and during the last few years I knew, what mighty few people besides yourself know now, that Julius was just a shadow of what he had been. He held all the wires in his own hands too long, and, as he hadn't an understudy with the grit to act by himself, I was glad when he took hold of you."

"He has always been a generous and considerate employer," interposed Geoffrey. "But I had better leave you. I hear the doctors coming."

Savine laid a detaining grasp upon his arm with the words: "I want you right here. It's your concern as well as mine."

The two doctors entered, and the one from Vancouver said:

"I will let my colleague express his opinion, and may say that our patient admitted to him a complicating weakness which I had suspected. I wish we had better news to give you, but while it was your brother's wish that Mr. Thurston should know, I should almost prefer first to communicate with his own family."

"You can both speak right out; only be quick about it," Thomas Savine told him.

"It is tolerably simple, and while I sympathize with you, I must not disguise the truth," said the keen-eyed, lean-faced American. "Though Mr. Savine will partly recover from this attack, his career as an active man is closed. His heart may hold out a few years longer, if you follow my instructions, or it may at any time fail him – if he worries over anything, it certainly will. In any case, he will never be strong again. Mental powers and physical vigor have been reduced to the lowest level by over-work and excessive, if intermittent, indulgence in what I may call a very devilish drug – a particular Chinese preparation of opium, not generally known even on this opium-consuming coast. Under its influence he may still be capable of spasmodic fits of energy, but while each dose will assist towards his dissolution, I dare not – at this stage – recommend complete deprivation. I have arranged with your own adviser as to the best treatment known to modern science, but fear it cannot prove very efficacious. That's about all I can tell you in general terms, gentlemen."

"It is worse than I feared," said Thomas Savine, leaning forward in his chair, with his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands. Before the two doctors withdrew, the Canadian said:

"He is anxious to see Mr. Thurston, and in an hour or so it could do no harm. I will rejoin you shortly, Mr. Savine."

The door closed behind them, and Thomas Savine looked straight at Thurston as he observed: "I know little about his business, but shall have to look into it for his daughter's sake. You will help me?"

"Yes," replied Geoffrey. "It seems out of place now, but I cannot honestly co-operate with you without mentioning a conditional promise your brother made to me. Perhaps you can guess it."

"I can," said Savine, stretching out his hand. "I won't say that I hadn't thought Helen might have chosen among the highest in the Dominion just because it wouldn't be true, but you'll have my good wishes if you will see my poor brother through his immediate difficulties at least. You had Mrs. Savine's approval long ago." After a pause, he added, "There is one part of Julius's trouble Helen must never know."