It was a relief to load the sled, and when that was done they set off in the hide traces across the ice with the snow whirling about them. It was arduous work apart from the hauling of the load, for the ice was rough and broken, and covered for the most part with softening snow. They had only gum-boots with soft hide moccasins under them, for snow-shoes are only used in Eastern Canada, and it takes one a long while to learn to walk on them. Sometimes they sank almost knee-deep, sometimes they slipped and scrambled on uncovered ledges, but they pushed on with the sled bouncing and sliding unevenly behind them until the afternoon had almost gone.
Then they set up the saturated tent behind a hummock, and crouched inside it upon a ground sheet while Charly boiled a kettle on the little oil blast stove, and the wind that screamed about it hurled the snow upon the straining canvas. It, however, stood the buffeting, and when they had eaten a very simple meal Charly put the stove out and the darkness was only broken down when one of them struck a match to light his pipe. They had only a strip of rubber sheeting between them and the snow, for the water had got into the sleeping bags, and their clothes dried upon them with the heat of their bodies. They said nothing for awhile, and Wyllard was half-asleep when Charly spoke.
"I've been thinking about that boat," he said. "Though I don't know that we could have done it, we ought to have tried to pull her out."
"Why?" asked Wyllard. "She'd have been all to pieces, anyway."
"I'm figuring it out like this. If Dampier wasn't up in the shrouds when we made the landing he'd sent somebody. We could see him up against the sky, but we'd be much less clear to him low down with the ice and the surf about us. Besides, it was snowing quite fast then. Well, I don't know what Dampier saw, but I guess he'd have made out that we hadn't hauled the boat up, anyway. The trouble is that with the wind freshening and it getting thick he'd have to thrash the schooner out and lie to until it cleared. When he runs in again it's quite likely that he'll find the boat and an oar or two. Seems to me that's going to worry him considerable."
Wyllard, drowsy as he was getting, agreed with this view of the matter. He realised that it would have been quite impossible for Dampier to have sent them any assistance, and it was merely a question whether they should retrace their steps to the edge of the ice next morning and make him some signal. Against this there was the strong probability that he would not run in if the gale and snow continued, and the fact that it was desirable to make the beach as soon as possible in case the ice broke up before they reached it. What was rather more to the purpose, he was quietly determined on pushing on.
"It can't be helped," he said simply. "We'll start for the beach as soon as it's daylight."
Charly made no answer, and the brawny, dark-skinned Siwash, who spoke English reasonably well, only grunted. Unless it seemed necessary, he seldom said anything at all. Bred to the sea, and living on the seal and salmon, as he had done, an additional hazard or two or an extra strain on his tough body did not count for much with him. He had been accustomed to sleep wet through with icy water, and crouch for hours with numbed hands clenched on the steering-paddle while the long sea canoe scudded furiously over the big combers before bitter gale or driving snow. Wyllard, who rolled over, pulled a wet sleeping-bag across him, and after that there was silence in the little rocking tent.
In the meanwhile, Charly's deductions had been proved correct, for when the breeze freshened Dampier climbed into the shrouds. He had noticed the ominous blackness to windward, and knew what it meant, which was why he had hauled a reef in the schooner's mainsail down, and now kept her out a little from the ice. As the light faded he found it very difficult to see the boat against the white wash of the seas that recoiled from the ice, but when the snow was whirling about him he decided that she was in some peril unless her crew could pull her round the point. It was evident that this would be a difficult matter, though he had only an occasional glimpse of her now. He waved an arm to the helmsman, who understood that he was to run the schooner in; there was a rattle of blocks as the booms swung out, and as the Selache sped away before the rapidly freshening breeze it seemed to Dampier that he saw the boat hurled upon the ice. Then a blinding haze of snow shut out everything, and he came down with a run.
He stood for several minutes gazing forward grim in face beside the wheel, but he could see nothing except the filmy whiteness and the tops of the seas that had steadily been getting steeper. The schooner was driving furiously down upon the ice, but it was evident to him that to send Wyllard any assistance was utterly beyond his power. He could have hove the schooner to while he got the bigger boat over, and two men might have pulled her towards the ice with the breeze astern of them, but it was perfectly clear that they could neither have made a landing nor have pulled her back again. It was also, though this appeared of less consequence, uncertain whether he and the other man could have brought the schooner round or have got more sail off her, which would, as he recognised, very soon have to be done. Still, he stood on while the snow grew thicker until they heard the wash of the sea upon the ice close to lee of them, and then it was a hard-clenched hand he raised in sign to the helmsman.
"On the wind. Haul lee sheets!" he said.
She came round a little, heading off the ice, and when she drove away with the foam seething white beneath one depressed rail and the spray whirling high about her plunging bows, there was a curious tense look in the white men's faces as they gazed into the thickening white haze to lee of her.
They thrashed her out until Dampier decided that there was sufficient water between him and the ice, and then stripped most of the sail off her, and she lay to until next morning, when they once more got sail on her and ran in again. The breeze had fallen a little, it was rather clearer, and they picked up the point, though it had somewhat changed its shape. Then they got a boat over, and the two men who went off in her found a few broken planks, a couple of oars, and Charly's cap washing up and down in the surf. They had very little doubt as to what that meant.
CHAPTER XXV.
NEWS OF DISASTER
When the boat reached the schooner Dampier went off with one of the men, and contrived to make a landing on the ice with difficulty only to find it covered with a trackless sheet of slushy snow. Though he floundered shorewards a mile or two there was nothing except the shattered boat to suggest what had befallen Wyllard and his companions, but the skipper, who retraced his steps with a heavy heart, had little doubt in his mind. After that he waited two days, until a strong breeze blew him off the ice, which was rapidly breaking up, and then stood out for open water, where he hove the Selache to for a week or so. Then he proceeded northwards to the inlet fixed upon.
He was convinced that this was useless, but as the opening was almost clear of ice he sailed the schooner in, and spent a week or two scouring the surrounding country. He found it a desolation, still partly covered with slushy snow, out of which ridges of volcanic rock rose here and there. On two of these spots a couple of days' march from the schooner, he made a depôt of provisions, and raised a beacon of piled-up stones beside them. At times when it was clear he could see the top of a great range high up against the Western sky, but those times were rare. For the most part, the wilderness was swept by rain or wrapped in clammy fog.
There was, however, no sign of Wyllard, and at length Dampier, coming back jaded and dejected from another fruitless search, after the time agreed upon had expired, shut himself up alone for a couple of hours in the little cabin. He was certain now that Wyllard and his companions had been drowned while attempting to make a landing on the ice, since they would have joined him at the inlet as arranged had this not been the case. The distance was by no means great, and there were no Russian settlements on that part of the coast. He sat very still, with a clenched hand upon the little table, and a set face, balancing conjecture against conjecture, and then regretfully decided that there was only one course open to him. It was dark when he went up on deck again, but the men were sitting smoking about the windlass forward.
"You can heave some of that cable in, boys," he said. "We'll clear out for Vancouver at sun-up."
They said nothing, but they shipped the levers, and Dampier went back to the cabin, for the clank of the windlass and the ringing of the cable jarred upon him.
Early next morning the Selache stood out to sea, and once they had left the fog and rain which hung about the coast behind, she carried fine weather with her across the Pacific. On reaching Vancouver, Dampier had some trouble with the authorities, to whom it was necessary to report the drowning of three of his crew, but he was more fortunate than he expected, and after placing the schooner in the hands of a broker for sale, he left the city one evening on the Atlantic train. Three days later, he was driving across the prairie towards the Hastings homestead, and, as it happened, its inmates were sitting together in the big general room after supper, when the waggon he had hired swung into sight over the crest of a rise.
It was a still, hot evening, and as the windows were open wide a faint beat of hoofs came up across the tall wheat and dusty prairie before the waggon topped the rise. Hastings, who lay in a cane chair near the window, with his pipe in his hand, looked up as he heard it.
"Somebody driving in," he said. "I shouldn't be astonished if it's Gregory. He talked about coming over the last time I saw him."
"If he wants to talk about a deal in wheat, he can stay away," said Mrs. Hastings with a certain dryness. "If all one hears is true, he has lost quite a few of Harry's dollars on the market lately."
Hastings looked somewhat troubled at this. "I'd sooner think it was his own dollars he'd thrown away."
"That's quite out of the question. He hasn't any."
"Well," said Hastings, with an air of reflection, "I'll get Sproatly to make inquiries. He'll probably be along with Winifred this evening, and if he finds that Gregory is getting in rather deep I'll have a word or two with him. Anyway, I can't have him wasting Harry's money, and I have some right to protest as one of the executors."
Agatha started at the last word. It had an ominous ring, and she fancied that Hastings had noticed the effect it had on her, for he seemed to glance at her curiously. Turning from him, she rose and walked quietly towards the window.
The wheat stretched across the foreground, tall and darkly green, and beyond it the white grass ran back to the rise, which cut sharp against a red and smoky glow. The sun had dipped some little time ago, and already there was a wonderful exhilarating coolness in the air. Somehow the sight reminded her of another evening, when she had looked out across the prairie from a seat at Wyllard's table, almost a year ago.
In the meanwhile, a waggon was drawing nearer down the long slope of the rise, and the beat of hoofs which grew steadily louder in a sharp staccato made the memories clearer. She had heard Dampier riding in the night Wyllard had received his summons, and now she wondered who the approaching stranger was, and what his business could be. She did not know why, but she scarcely thought it was Gregory.
Presently Hastings looked round again. "It's the team Bramfield hires out at the settlement," he said. "None of our friends would get him to drive them in. There seems to be two men in the waggon. Bramfield will be one. I can't make out the other."
Mrs. Hastings, who was evidently becoming curious about the unexpected guest, walked forward in turn, and they stood watching the waggon until Agatha made a little abrupt movement.
"It's Captain Dampier," she said.
Then she stood tensely still, with lips slightly parted, and a strained look in her eyes, while Hastings gazed at the waggon for another moment or two.
"Yes," he said, and his voice was harsh, "it's Dampier. The other man's surely Bramfield. Harry's not with him."
Once more he glanced at Agatha, who turned away, and sat down in the nearest chair. She said nothing, and there was an oppressive silence, through which the beat of hoofs and rattle of wheels rang more distinctly.
In another few minutes Dampier came in, while his companion drove off to the stables. He shook hands with Agatha and Mrs. Hastings diffidently.
"You remember me?" he said.
"Of course," said Mrs. Hastings, with a trace of sharpness. "Where's Harry?"
The skipper spread a hard hand out, and sat down heavily.
"That," he said, "is what I have to tell you. He asked me to."
"He asked you to?" said Agatha, and though her voice was strained there was relief in it.
The skipper made a little gesture, which seemed to beseech her patience.
"Yes," he said, "if – anything went wrong – he told me I was to come here to Mrs. Hastings."
Agatha turned her head away, but Mrs. Hastings saw the laces which hung beneath her neck sharply rise and fall.
"Then," she said, "something has gone wrong?"
"About as wrong as it could," and Dampier quietly met her gaze. "Wyllard and two other men are drowned."
He broke off abruptly, and Mrs. Hastings fancied she saw Agatha shiver, but in another moment or two the girl turned slowly round with a drawn white face. It was, however, Hastings who spoke, almost sternly.
"Go on," he said.
"I'm to tell you all?"
This time it was Agatha who broke in.
"Yes," she said with a curious quietness that struck the rest as being strained and unnatural, "you must tell us all."
Dampier, who appeared to shrink from his task, commenced awkwardly, but he gained coherence and force of expression as he proceeded. At least, he made them understand something of the grim resolution which had animated Wyllard. He pictured, in terse seaman's words, the little schooner plunging to windward over long phalanxes of icy seas, or crawling white with snow through the blinding fog. His companions saw the big combers tumbling ready to break short upon the dipping bows out of the dark, and half-frozen men struggling for dear life with folds of madly thrashing sail. The pictures were, however, necessarily somewhat blurred and hazy, for after all only an epic poet could fittingly describe the things that must be done and borne at sea, and epic poets – it is, perhaps, a pity – are not bred in the forecastle. When he reached the last scene he gained almost dramatic power, and Agatha's face grew strangely white and tense. She saw the dim figures pulling in the flying spray beneath the wall of ice.
"We ran her in," he added, "with the snow blinding us. It was working up for a heavy blow, and as we'd have to beat her out we couldn't take sail off her. We stood on until we heard the sea along the edge of the ice, and then there was nothing to do but jam her on the wind and thrash her clear. There was only a plank or two of the boat, an oar, and Charly's cap, when we came back again!"
"After all, though the boat was smashed, they might have got out," Hastings suggested.
"Well," said Dampier simply, "it didn't seem likely. The ice was sharp and ragged, and there was a long wash of sea. A man's not tough enough to stand much of that kind of hammering."
Agatha's face grew a little whiter, but Dampier, who had paused, went on again.
"Anyway," he said, "they didn't turn up at the inlet as we'd fixed, and that decided the thing. If Wyllard had been alive, he surely would have done."
"Isn't it just possible that he might have fallen into the hands of the Russians?" asked Hastings.
"I naturally thought of that, but so far as the chart shows there isn't a settlement within leagues of the spot. Besides, supposing the Russians had got him, how could I have helped him? They'd have sent him off in the first place to one of the bigger settlements in the South, and if the authorities couldn't have connected him with any illegal sealing they'd no doubt have managed to send him across to Japan by and bye. In that case, he'd have got home without any trouble."
He paused, and it was significant that he turned to Agatha with a little deprecatory gesture.
"No," he added, "there was nothing I could do."
It was evident that Agatha acquitted him, but she asked a question.
"Captain Dampier," she said, "had you any expectation of finding those three men when you sailed the second time?"
"No," said the bronzed sailorman, with an impressive quietness, "I hadn't any, and I don't think Wyllard had either. Still, he meant to make quite certain." He spread a hard hand out forcibly. "He felt he had to."
He gazed at Agatha, and saw comprehension in her eyes.
"Yes," she said, "and when you have said that, as you have done, you could have said very little more of any man."
Then she turned her head away from them, and once more there was for a few moments a heavy silence in the room. It cost the girl a painful effort to sit still, apparently unmoved, but there was strength in her, and she would not betray her distress. She felt that the latter must be quietly grappled with. It was almost overwhelming, horribly acute, but there was mingled with it a faint consolatory thrill of pride, for it was clear that the man who had loved her had done a splendid thing. He had given all that had been given him – and she knew she would never forget that phrase of his – willingly, and it seemed to her that the gifts he had been entrusted with were rare and precious ones – steadfast, unflinching courage, compassion, and the fine sense of honour which had sent him out on that forlorn hope. He had gone down, unyielding and undismayed – she felt curiously sure of that – amidst the blinding snow, but this was his vindication which had crowned him with immortal laurels.
Then Mrs. Hastings rose, and set food before Dampier, while by and bye Sproatly and Winifred arrived and were told the story. After that Dampier, who seemed to be a man of tact, stood up. He had already, when asked by Mrs. Hastings, promised to stay with them a day or two.
"Well," he said, "it seems to me you'll naturally want to talk over things. If you'll excuse me, I'll take a stroll across the prairie."
He went out, and Hastings who lighted his pipe lay back in his chair and looked at the rest.
"Harry's friends are numerous, but we're, perhaps, the nearest, and, as Dampier said, we have to consider things," he said. "To begin with, there's a certain possibility that he has escaped, after all."
He saw the little abrupt movement that Agatha made, and went on rather more quickly.
"Gregory, of course, has control at the Range until we have proof of Harry's death, though the latter made a proviso that if there was no word of the party within eighteen months after he had sailed, or within six months of the time Dampier had landed him, we could assume it, after which the will he handed me would take effect," he added. "This, it is evident, leaves Gregory in charge for some months yet, but it seems to me it's our duty to see he doesn't fling away Harry's property. I've reasons for believing that he has been doing it lately."
He looked at Sproatly, who sat silent a moment or two.
"I'm rather awkwardly placed," the latter said at length. "You see, there's no doubt that I'm indebted to Gregory."
Winifred turned to him with impatience in her eyes. "Then," she said severely, "you certainly shouldn't have been, and it ought to be quite clear that nobody wishes you to do anything that would hurt him." She looked at Hastings. "In case the will takes effect, who does the property go to?"
Hastings appeared embarrassed. "That," he objected, "is a thing I'm not warranted in telling you in the meanwhile."
A suggestive gleam crept into Winifred's eyes, but it vanished and her manner became authoritative when she turned back to Sproatly.
"Jim," she said, "you will tell Mr. Hastings all you know."
Sproatly made a gesture of resignation. "After all," he admitted, "I think it's necessary. Gregory, as I've told you already, put up a big mortgage on his place, and in view of the price of wheat and the state of his crop, it's evident that he must have had some difficulty in meeting the interest, unless – and one or two things suggest this – he paid it with Harry's money. Of course, as Harry gave him a share, there's no reason why he shouldn't do this so long as he does not overdraw that share. There's no doubt, however, that he has lost a good deal of money on the wheat market."
"Has he lost any of Harry's?" Mrs. Hastings asked.
Sproatly hesitated. "I'm afraid it's practically certain."
Then Winifred broke in. "Yes," she said, "he has lost a great deal. Hamilton knows almost everything that's going on, and I got it out of him. He's a friend of Wyllard's, and seems very vexed with Gregory."
The others said nothing for a moment or two, and then Mrs. Hastings spoke again.
"In a general way," she said, "most of us don't keep much in the bank, and that expedition must have cost Harry a good deal. How would Gregory get hold of the money before harvest?"
"Edmonds, who holds his mortgage, would let him have it," said Sproatly.
"But wouldn't he be afraid of Gregory not being able to pay if the market went against him?"
Sproatly looked very thoughtful. "The arrangement Wyllard made with Gregory would, perhaps, give Edmonds a claim upon the Range if Gregory borrowed any money in his name. I almost think that's what he's scheming for. The man's cunning enough for anything. I don't like him."
Then Hastings stood up with an air of resolution. "Yes," he said, "I'm most afraid you're quite correct. Anyway, I'll drive over in a day or two and have a talk with Gregory."
After that they separated, for Hastings strolled away to join Dampier, and Sproatly and Winifred walked out on to the prairie. When they had left the house the man turned to his companion.
"Why did you insist upon me telling them what I did?" he asked.
"Oh!" said Winifred, "I had several reasons. For one thing, when I first came out feeling very forlorn and friendless, it was Wyllard who sent me to the elevator, and they really treat me very decently."
"They?" said Sproatly with resentment in his face. "If you mean Hamilton, it seems to me that he treats you with an excess of decency that there's no occasion for."
Winifred laughed. "In any case, he doesn't drive me out here every two or three weeks, though" – and she glanced at her companion provocatively – "he once or twice suggested that he would like to."
"I suppose you pointed out his presumption?"
"No," said Winifred with an air of reflection, "I didn't go quite so far as that. After all, the man is my employer; I had to handle him tactfully."
"He won't be your employer a week after the implement people open their new depôt," said Sproatly resolutely. "Anyway, we're getting away from the subject. Have you any more reasons for concerning yourself about what Gregory does with Wyllard's property?"
"I've one; I suppose you don't know who he has left at least a part of it to?"
Sproatly started as an idea crept into his mind.
"I wonder if you're right?" he said.
"I feel reasonably sure of it," and Winifred smiled. "In fact, that's partly why I don't want Gregory to throw any more of Wyllard's money away. In the meanwhile, you have done all I expect from you."
"Then Hastings is to go on with the thing?"
"Hastings," Winifred assured him, "will fail – just as you would. This is a matter which requires to be handled delicately – and effectively."
"Then who is going to undertake it?"
Winifred laughed. "Oh," she said, "a woman, naturally. I'm going back by and bye to have a word or two with Mrs. Hastings."