Thrice Armed

Jordan did so, and felt his blood tingle when Carnforth favored him with a glance of unconcerned inquiry. There was a suggestive complacency in his faint smile that was, in the circumstances, intensely provocative, but Jordan contrived to restrain himself. Then Mrs. Forster and Eleanor came out, and the latter took the parcels from him.

"Four of them?" she said. "You haven't dropped any?"

Jordan did not think he had, and the girl pressed one or two of the parcels between her fingers. "Then I wonder where the muslin is?"

"I guess they can tell me in the store," said Jordan.

He swung around, and in a moment or two was back at the counter. The clerk there, however, had to refer to one of her companions, and, as the latter was busy, Jordan had to wait a minute or two.

"I wrapped up the muslin with the trimming," she said at last. "Miss Wheelock had four parcels, and I saw you take up all of them."

Jordan turned away with an unpleasant thought in his mind, and was out of the store in a moment. There was, however, no wagon in the street, and after running down most of it he stopped with a harsh laugh. Forster's team was a fast one, and Jordan realized that it was very unlikely that he could overtake it, especially when Eleanor, who usually drove, did not wish him to. After all, her quickness and resolution in one way appealed to him, and he remembered that he had promised to dine with Austerly that evening. Still, he went back to his business feeling a trifle sore, and one or two of the men who called on him noticed that his temper was considerably shorter than usual.

He had, in fact, not altogether recovered his customary good-humor when he sat on the veranda of Austerly's house some hours later. The meal which Austerly insisted on calling dinner, though he had found it impossible to get anybody to prepare it later than seven o'clock in the evening, was over, and the rest of the few guests were scattered about the garden. Valentine, who had arrived in the Sorata a day or two earlier, sat at the foot of the short veranda stairway close by the lounge chair where Nellie Austerly lay looking unusually fragile, but listening to the bronzed man with a quiet smile. Austerly leaned on the balustrade, and Anthea sat not far from Jordan. She was, as it happened, looking out through a gap in the firs which afforded her a glimpse of the shining Inlet. A schooner crept slowly across the strip of water, on her way to the frozen north with treasure-seekers.

"She seems very little," said Anthea. "One wonders whether she will get there, and whether the men on board her will ever come back again."

"The chances are against it," said Austerly. "It is a long way to St. Michael's, and one understands that those northern waters are either wrapped in fog or swept by sudden gales. Besides that, it must be a tremendous march or canoe trip inland, and before they reach the gold region the summer will be over. One would scarcely fancy that many of them could live out the winter. In fact, it seems to me scarcely probable that the Yukon basin will ever become a mining district. Nature is apparently too much for the white man there. What is your opinion, Jordan?"

Jordan smiled, though there was a snap in his eyes.

"It seems to me you don't quite understand what kind of men we raise on the Slope," he said. "Once it's made clear that the gold is there, there's no snow and ice between St. Michael's and the Pole that would stop their getting in. When they take the trail those men will go right on in spite of everything. You have heard what their fathers did here in British Columbia when there was gold in Caribou? They hadn't the C.P.R. then to take them up the Fraser, and there wasn't a wagon-road. They made a trail through the wildest cañons there are on this earth, and blazed a way afterward, over range and through the rivers, across the trackless wilderness. It was too big a contract for some of them, but they stayed with it, going on until they died. The others got the gold. It was a sure thing that they would get it. They had to."

"Just so!" said Austerly, with a smile. "Still, if I remember correctly, they were not all born on the Pacific Slope. Some of them, I almost think, came from England."

"They did," said Jordan, who for no very evident reason glanced in Anthea's direction. "The ones who got there were for the most part sailormen. They and our bushmen are much of a kind, though I'm not quite sure that the hardest hoeing didn't fall to the sailor. He hadn't been taught to face the forest with nothing but an axe, build a fire of wet wood, or make a pack-horse bridge; but he started with the old-time prospectors, and he went right in with them. It's much the same now – steam can't spoil him. When a big risky thing is to be done anywhere right down the Slope, that's where you'll come across the man from the blue water."

He stopped a moment as if for breath, with a deprecatory gesture. "There are one or two things that sure start me talking. It's a kind of useless habit in a man who's shackled down to his work in the city, but I can't help it. Anyway, the men who are going north won't head for St. Michael's and the Yukon marshes much longer. They'll blaze a shorter trail in from somewhere farther south right over the coast range. It won't matter that they'll have to face ten feet of snow."

Neither of the other two answered him, but the fact that they watched the fading white sails of the little schooner had its significance. There was scarcely a man on the Pacific Slope whose thoughts did not turn toward the golden north just then, and one could notice signs of tense anticipation in all the wooden cities. The army of treasure-seekers had not set out yet, but big detachments had started, and the rest were making ready. So far there was little certain news, but rumors and surmises flew from mouth to mouth in busy streets and crowded saloons. It was known that the way was perilous and many would leave their bones beside it, and though, as Jordan had said, that would not count if there were gold in the land to which it led, men waited a little, feverishly, until they should feel more sure about the latter point.

By and by Austerly, who spoke to Valentine, went down the stairway, and Anthea smiled when the latter, after walking a few paces with him, turned back again to where Nellie Austerly was lying.

"There are things it is a little difficult to understand," she said. "Valentine has, perhaps, seen Nellie three or four times since she left the Sorata, and yet, as no doubt you have noticed, he will scarcely leave her. She would evidently be quite content to have him beside her all evening, too."

"You didn't say all you thought," and Jordan looked at her gravely. "You mean that the usual explanation wouldn't fit their case. That, of course, is clear, since both of them must realize that she can't expect to live more than another year or so. I naturally don't know why she should take to Valentine; but I have a fancy from what Jimmy said that she reminded him of somebody. What is perhaps more curious still, I think she recognizes it, and doesn't in the least mind it."

"Somebody he was fond of long ago?"

Jordan appeared to consider. "That seems to make the thing more difficult to understand? Still, I'm not sure it does in reality. He is one of the men who remember always, too. He would not want to marry her if she were growing strong instead of slowly fading. It would somehow spoil things if he did."

"Of course!" said Anthea slowly. "In any case, as you mentioned, it would be out of the question. But how – "

Jordan checked her, with a smile this time. "How do I understand? I don't think I do altogether; I only guess. A man who lived alone at sea or on a ranch in the shadowy bush might be capable of an attachment of that kind, but not one who makes his living in the cities. One can't get away from the material point of view there."

He broke off, and sat still for a minute or two, for though it was clear that Anthea had no wish to discuss that topic further, he felt that she had something to say to him.

"Mr. Jordan," she asked at last, "have you had any news about the Shasta?"

Jordan's face clouded, but he did not turn in her direction, for which the girl was grateful.

"No," he said, "I have none. As perhaps you know, she should have turned up two or three weeks ago."

It was a moment or two before he glanced around, and then Anthea met his gaze, in which, however, there was no trace of inquiry.

"You are anxious about her?" she asked.

"I am, a little. It is a wild coast up yonder, and they have wilder weather. The charts don't tell you very much about those narrow seas. One must trust to good fortune and one's nerve when the fog shuts down. That," and he smiled reassuringly, "was why I sent Jimmy."

Anthea felt her face grow warm, but she looked at him steadily.

"Ah!" she said, "you believe in him. Still, skill and nerve will not do everything."

"They will do a great deal, and what flesh and blood can do, one can count on getting from the Shasta's skipper. I believe" – and he lowered his voice confidentially – "Jimmy will bring her back again. That's why I sent her up there less than half-insured. Premiums were heavy, and we wanted all our money. Still, if he does not, I know he will have made the toughest fight – and that will be some relief to me. You see, I'm fond of Jimmy – and I'm talking quite straight with you."

There was a hint of pain in the girl's face, and she realized that it was there, but his frankness had had its effect on her. It suggested a sympathy she did not resent, and she smiled at him gravely.

"Thank you!" she said. "There is another thing I want to ask, Mr. Jordan. If you get any news of the Shasta, will you come and tell me?"

"Within the hour," said Jordan, and Anthea, who thanked him, rose and turned away.

Jordan, however, sat still, gazing straight in front of him thoughtfully, for, though she had perhaps not intended this, the girl's manner had impressed him. He fancied that he knew what she was feeling, and that she had in a fashion taken him into her confidence. It was also a confidence that he would at any cost have held inviolable. Then he rose with a little dry smile.

"She is clear grit all through," he said. "And her father is the – rogue in all this Province."

CHAPTER XXIV

JORDAN KEEPS HIS PROMISE

Right sunshine streamed down on the Inlet, and there was an exhilarating freshness in the morning air; but Anthea Merril sat somewhat listlessly on the veranda outside her father's house, looking across the sparkling water toward the snows of the north. She had done the same thing somewhat frequently of late, and, as had happened on each occasion, her thoughts were fixed on the little vessel that had apparently vanished in the fog-wrapped sea. Anthea had grown weary of waiting for news of her.

Hitherto very little that she desired had been denied her, and though that had not been sufficient to pervert her nature, it naturally made the suspense she had to face a little harder to bear, since the money before which other difficulties had melted was in this case of no avail. The commander of the Shasta had passed far beyond her power to recall him; and, if he still lived, of which she was far from certain, it was only the primitive courage and stubborn endurance which are not confined to men of wealth and station that could bring him back to her in spite of blinding fog and icy seas. Anthea had no longer any hesitation in admitting that this was what she greatly desired. Now that he had – it appeared more than possible – sailed out of her life altogether into the unknown haven that awaits the souls of the sailormen, she knew how she longed for him. Still, the days had slipped by, and there was no word from the silent north which has been for many a sailorman and sealer the fairway to the tideless sea.

At last she started a little as a man came up the drive toward the house. He appeared to be a city clerk, but, though Merril had not yet gone out, she did not recognize him as one of those in her father's service. He turned when he saw her and came straight across the lawn, and Anthea felt a thrill run through her as she noticed that he had an envelope in his hand.

"Miss Merril?" he said. "Mr. Jordan sent this with his compliments."

Anthea thanked him, but did not open the envelope until he turned away. Even then she almost felt her courage fail as she tore it apart and took out a strip of paper that appeared to be a telegraphic message addressed to Jordan.

"Held up by fog and got ashore, but arrived here undamaged. Clearing again morning," it read, and the blood crept into her face as she saw that it was signed, "Wheelock Shasta."

For the next five minutes she sat perfectly still, conscious only of a great relief, and then she roused herself with an effort as Merril came out of the house.

"A telegram!" he said, with a smile. "Who has been wiring you? Have you been speculating?"

"In that case, don't you think I should have come to you for information?" asked Anthea, who was mistress of herself again.

"I'm not sure that you would have been wise if you had," said Merril, with a whimsical grimace. "I don't seem to have been very successful with my own affairs of late. Anyway, you haven't told me what I asked."