WEALTH OF THE WILD

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXX, Issue 21454, 30 March 1933, Page 16

WEALTH OF THE WILD

(COPYRIGHT)

By L. C. DOUTHWAITE Author of "The Unicorn," " Fourflush Island, etc.

CHAPTER XXIV. NO THROUGH TICKET The others watched the boat until it reached the seaplvie aiid saw the livo embark. Slim threw over a leather coat and helmet to his. passenger. Then tho boat was hauled aboard, the engine started and with a sudden lurch forward the plane skimmed the water. A moment later it had risen, and the journey to Cinnamon Creek had begun. It was getting on for late afternoon now; the short twilight of the north would not he long delayed. As far as the eye could see stretched illimitable forest—dull, dark olive shading to a deep dun brown. And, curving splendidly across it, at curiously regular intervals broadening into lakes, swung the Grassy River, so that the whole effect was of a necklace of uncut crystal threaded on a slender silver chain dropped caielessly on a dark green carpet. They were flying east, so that they missed the full glory of the setting sun. Rearward, however, it was as though one gazed into the heart of a furnace of molten gold and rubies. Roy came back to earth with the sudden knowledge that the plane was descending. Throughout the journey no word or signal had been exchanged between pilot and passenger. The roar of the engine rendered communication difficult Apart from this silence, however, he had been conscious of an atmosphere of antagonism. From the first moment of the journey Peters had stared stolidly and immovably ahead, his whole attitude rigid and uncompromising. So far as the human back is able to convey expression—which is more than a little— Slim's back showed definite hostility. They swooped lower and lower, the lake over which they were flying seeming to hurtle upwards to meet them. Eventually they came to rest on its surface. '.'Engine conked out ?" inquired Roy, whose ignorance of anything in connection with machinery was abysmal. Peters turned half-way in his seat. "No," he said curtly; "but I've a kind of hunch that one of tho starboard wing strut sockets has given out. Maybe you won't mind launching the boat an' just paddlin' round to have a look." Glad to be of use though impatient of the delay, Roy acted on the suggestion. He found as far as his untutored eyes could discover, that all was right and ship-shape. " Looks all right to me," he said, commencing to paddle back to his place—and found himself looking into the muzzle of an automatic pistol! " Get away from this bus!" said Peters. Instinctively, Boy twisted his paddle to check his progress, for there was that in the airman's attitude which showed he meant business. "What are you talking about?" he demanded quietly. " Guess you've no through ticket on this packet," Peters said. Then, as Roy propelled the boat with one savage stroke toward the plane, he pressed the trigger of his automatic. The bullet whistled viciously within a couple of inches of Roy's ear. The airman was too expert with a gun for tho miss to have been accidental, though at the time Roy accepted it as a singularly lucky escape. Wisely, then, he backpaddled. " This locality ain't exactly good for your health," Peters rasped. " You'd best beat it while the goin's good." There was something of calculated purpose in the action which caused Roy to recognise the uselessness of argument. Nevertheless, he had no intention of allowing himself to be dumped into the middle of a lake without having something to say about it. " What exactly is your motive for this exhibition of hooliganism? " ho said, with such cool • contempt that turned on him viciously. "Aw, cut that Oxford and Cambridge college bunk ! " he said savagely. " Yon may. pet away with it with some fellers, but it only gives me a pain in the neck." " Even a pain in the neck," pronounced Roy impartially, " doesn't justify your acting like a blackguard." " Look here, now! " —as he leaned over the side of the seaplane the airman's face was ferocious—" That sort of talk don't cut any ice! What I saw way back there on the beach made mo know that if I go ahead and help you register those claims you're going to end up a pretty rich guy." He waited a moment, and then, as Roy did not speak : " Did I get it right, or didn't I? " lie inquired. Roy's hand closed more tightly over the paddle and his jaw came a little more into prominence. " If you'll get into this boat," he said from between set teeth, " we'll continue the discussion of my personal affairs on the nearest beach!" —a challenge at which the airman regarded him for a moment wide-eyed. i" What for d'you think I'd take a chance of a scrap when I've got you just where I want you right now? " he demanded in genuine astonishment. Roy returned his stare with equal amazement at the point of view expressed. " Because," he said deliberately, " I didn't think there was a man on earth so yellow he wouldn't rather fight than quit." The insult got home, for lie saw a dull flush mount to the airman's lean fare. But it had no beneficial effect; rather the contrary, for Slim's hand strayed purposefully to tho starting-lever. " Say, you make me tired! " ho said. "After I'd downed a Jerry in France d'you think I handed him a nice new machine and the chance of doin' tho same to me? Not on your life I didn't! " " But this doesn't happen to be war," Roy said. The airman raised his eyebrows. " No? " he said at last. " Well, p'r'aps you're right—maybe it's more what you'd call an enforced armistice." The engine began to throb convulsively. " Well, see you later," he shouted above the roar as the seaplane began to move through the water. Roy knew any reply would be inaudible, but lie continued to search his repertoire of abuse until the plane was only a speck against the now fast-darken-ing skies. CHAPTER XXV ROY'S GOOD FORTUNE If Roy could have laid hands on Peters there would have been a fight, compared to which one of those " all-in " scraps of the lumber camps would have appeared as a mere girlish squabble. It was not long, however, before his anger died in the bleak realisation of his position, stranded in the middle of a lake of whose name and position ho was ignorant. and with neither food nor shelter in sight. Now for the second time ho had lost all; money, his father's good name, and the woman lie loved—jockeyed out of them by as callous and barefaced an example of treachery as ever had been perpetrated. Far ahead, silhouetted against the glowing twilight, he could distinguish one of the small islands with which nearly all these lakes are studded, and for this ' he madeu I

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When, after twenty minutes, tlio moon had swung over the far background of (he woods to spangle the lake with silver, ho asked himself if it was only liis L imagination that, at irregular intervals, (lie dark mass of Iho island was punctuated hy a pin-point of light. As he i drew nearer, he grew more certain that light actually was there. Then, clear across the water, came the sound of a chorus, sung raucously by a single voice. Though the words wore not convivial, there was nothing spontaneous nor of good cheer in the rendering. The voice was aggressive and, to Roy, supremely unattractive. Ceasing paddling for a moment in order to listen, he recognised that here, on the lonely island upon which he hoped to land, was an example of the effect of "home brew"—that substitute for whisky which is mado from raisins, prunes or apples, the effect of which, consumed raw from distillation, is far worse than from spirit properly matured. Before making his presence known, then, he decided 011 some small investigation. Within measurable distance of the beach he turned and followed the coastline a few hundred yards before landing. lfe found the beach wider than those to which he was accustomed, ranging from firm, hard shingle at the water's edge to heavy sand nearer to the trees. Hard going, perhaps, but muffling to the footsteps. lie followed the water-line until, a few yards through the trees at the top of the slope, he was again aware of the ray of light, which, even as ho watched, was blotted out, only to reappear for a brief instant a moment later. And all the while the raucous drinking-song shattered the cool stillness of the pine-laden air. Soft-footed, he began to mount the narrow strip of beach, so intent upon his investigation lio did not notice the obstacle in his way until he found himself sprawling full length on the sand. He sat up, cursing and rubbing his lacerated shins. A moment later he was bending over a small object covered carefully with a tarpaulin. Pulling' this aside, he found the stern-engine of a canoe, complete with a large tin of gasolene. He stood for a moment, but the sound of his fall had not penetrated the Strident voices of the vocalists. Reinforced now by other voices of equally unprepossessing quality, the chorus roared out louder than before. He replaced the covering on the engine and continued up the slope. Arrived at the fringe of trees, he was not long in discovering the origin of that intermittent triangle of light. ■ It was one of the " permanent " camps used as a trapper's headquarters—canvas or tarpaulin stretched over a triangular [ framework attached tc an 18in. foundation of logs, and which, even in winter, when reinforced by snow, provide as warm a shelter as the ingenuity of man has yet devised. Noiseless on the soft carpet of pineneedles, Roy made his way to the far side of the " shack," where, by a stroke of good fortune, he discovered a hole in 1 the tarpaulin. With considerable caution, he went down. 011 his hands and knees and looked through. At what ho saw he fell back on his haunches with a cry which only some instinct of caution stifled on his lips. Like a flash it came upon him that at this last minute of the eleventh hour the enemy had been delivered into his hand. Thero they were; Brine, Ouletto and Le Fevre, with a stranger ladling profusely from the bucket of home-brew at their feet. Brine was the farthest from Roy, swaying unsteadily from side to sido to the measure of the chorus, so that sometimes his body obscured the narrow V of the tent-opening, while at others the light of the two candles shone through clear across the lake. The stranger, who evidently was the host, was a fat little half-breed whose enormous purple face was scored with a network of wine-coloured veins like a map with rivers. Dacre was there, too, sober, and very much afraid. Ilis especially tailored prospectors' clothing looked rumpled and dejected, as though it had begun to lose faith in the wearer's capacity to do justice to its rakishness. Although he was clean and shaven, he seemed to carry these marks of civilisation almost with an air of apology, as if afraid that the contrast they provided against the matted grimness of his confederates might be cause of offence. It was clear that out here in the wilds he had distinctly less dominion over his associates. They wanted to drink, and they drank, howling their chorus in dreadful unison, tin cups held arm-high, evil-smelling contents dripping, and Dacre shivered into whitefaced silence. As Roy watched, Brine suddenly turned to Dacre, his pannikin in mid-air. " What for you look like dat ?" he demanded. Dacre shied like a startled colt. " Like what, old chap ?" he stammered placatingly. Brine turned his blood-shot eyes in a more or less successful attempt to focus his chief " Like a—like a sick caribou," he said, and, indeed, with his long face drawn longer yet by physical apprehension and thwarted desire for action, the Englishman's resemblance to that animal was almost ludicrous. So much so that the three other 'breeds broke into hoarse yells of laughter. Brine took a hasty swig at his cup, and then leered across at his host. " 'E no goodo sport," he pronounced, with alcoholic depreciation. " 'E no take li'l drink 'E 110 want 11s to visit you, Jules, who for friends 'ave always the welcome." He broke off to imbibe a further supply of " welcome." " 'E say, if you call 011 Jules you get soused; then you no go to the Creek like what we arranged, an' to beat that gol'darn Murrian it is necessary to go queek." He poured the dregs of his home-brew on the floor, as is the custom, and leaned forward to replenish his cup. "'E got cold feet!" he pronounced contemptuously. " What for should we make 'aste? What matter if we not register for munce and munce?'"' He turned again to Dacre. " 'Ow you tink dat bunch get away till we send for 'em ? You tink dey fly 'ome, yes?" he demanded. The lanky Le Fevre indicated approval of the point of view expressed. " We put one over dat Englishman on de Jackfish Lake claim," ho said, " an' we beat de 'ole bunch on dis one." And he broke into a little improvised chorus, lie seemed to find it pleasing, for he repeated it several times. " Dere's no need to 'urry, and dere's 110 need to worry," he hummed. And then catching sight of Dacre's gloomy, apprehensive face: " Mistaire Dacre be more 'appy if 'e take a li'l drink." " I'd rather not, if you don't mind, old man," Dacre stammered. Brine, who, once having succeeded in obtaining the correct focus, seemed to ho reluctant to remove his gaze from the Englishman, repeated his question. " 'Ow you link dey get 'ome?" he demanded again. "You tink dey fly?" Behind Dacre's smilo was a goaded fury he was too afraid to show. " ]\lv suggestion was that we should have a good time after we'd registered," he said " Then we should be certain it was all right." "You tink dey <lv 'ome?" reiterated Brine, who appeared to consider the question the high-water mark of humour.» At this the squat Oulette, inert and snoring hitherto, awakened to annoyance of Dacre's attitude. He considered Dacre's abstinence in face of the prevailing license an offence. He lurched to his feet, tin pannikin in hand. "You dink with me, yes?" he said dangerously. * 1 (To bo continued daily) i