Four Flush Island

Taranaki Daily News, 15 April 1935, Page 13

Four Flush Island

CHAPTER XXVI (continued.)

No longer incredulous, the girl showed that keen and vivid interest with which any sample of high-grade will instil a Northerner, man or woman. “How wide was the seam—and how deep?” she questioned. “Inches,” the Indian replied. “But all rich.”

“And then,” Betty said with conviction, “I guess it all petered out.”

Johnnie Bill nodded. “Petered out,” he confirmed. Betty got up from her chair.

“Now I get on to what it’s all about,” she said. “Old man Barraclough happened on one of those claims that are found just about once every million years. I’ve heard of ’em, of course—everybody has, but until now I don’t know anyone whose ever seen one. Lowgrade, with just a thin streak of highgrade running through like a shallow stream that has sort of soaked in.”

“But why all the secrecy?” Natalie asked.

“Because he was frightened of ‘high gradin’,” Betty replied promptly. “High-grading?” Natalie inquired, and the Canadian girl nodded. “Sure. In every place of quartz as big as a baseball there’d be dollars an’ dollars of gold, and if it had got about just what kind Of a claim he’d struck ■he’d have had too many callers—at night. So he just set to work and dug out every ounce of high-grade there was—ja long job it’d be, too; he’d have to use the pick all the time —there’d been too much lost by blasting. When he’d got it all corralled, so as no person could tell there’d been any seam at all, he built himself a furnace well away from the claim, and ‘baked’ the gold out—easy enough with rich quartz like that.” She jerked round fo Johnnie Bill, who had listened to the exposition with his usual passivity. “Am I right or wrong?” she demanded.

“Barraclough bake all right,” the Indian agreed. “What did he do with the gold?” Natalie asked, but Johnnie Bill shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. Betty regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. Then she said quickly. “How did you get on to what you’ve just told us?” “I worked with him,” he said simply. “Barraelough a funny man—but he saved Johnnie Bill’s life once, and after that he trusted.”

“You’re the only person on this bright green earth he did then,” Betty remarked as one who knew. “But - if you were with him all the time, how is it you don’t know where he cached the gold?”

“He send me to Lurgen’s Landing for stores,” Johnnie Bill explained. “When I come back—ail the gold gone.” Betty broke into a laugh. “So that he didn’t trust even you to the extent ef going fifty-fifty when it came to planting the proceeds,” she remarked. “But how did you come to know about the paper those two crooks took from there”—and she indicated the loosened bricks on the hearth.

‘'Old man Barraclough sick,” Johnnie Bill expfeined, “I look after him. Then Miks Stagsden come and stay one night. He want me to go to bed, but I say no, I sit up too. Old man off his headland talk, talk, talk about the gold, so that Mike get on to it.” “How do you know that?” Natalie inquired, looking up. “Because,” the Indian said, “in the mornin’ he ask me where it is.” “And what did you do?” asked Natalie with interest, for she was anxious to ascertain Johnnie Bill’s reaction to such a situation. The answer came promptly. “I kick him off the island,” he said without heat. “But he carne back again?” suggested Natalie. ’

The Indian held up his hand, the thumb concealed by the palm. “In-^one—two—three—.four days,” he said, “Serf Bletso call and find old man sick, and he stay around. Then onetwo days and I see a canoe pull into the lake from Grass River. I look through Serj’ Bletso’s glass and see Stagsden and another feller. Then Serj' Bletso, in his red coat, come to ths door—and a red coat shows up for a long way. Stagsden think the island' taken over by Mounties an’ he beat it back to where he came from.”

Tlie story was both simple and logical; there remained but one point to clear up.

“I wonder what made Stagsden go to London?” Natalie said, speaking half to herself. The reply was supplied by Betty.

“To get in touch with Platt,” she said, “and after that to find you.” “To find me?” Natalie echoed. Betty nodded. “Don't you see his position?” she said. “Of course I don’t know what your uncle said when he was raving, but from what’s happened since it’s dollars to doughnuts it was enough to tell Stagsden there was all kinds of gold right here on the island. After Johnnie Bill gave him the air, and knowing the old man was booked for the star part In a funeral within a few days, he hurries off to Lurgen’s Landing to cpllect another gunman to help shoot up Johnnie Bill and put the island through a fine tooth-comb to find the gold. Then, from a couple of miles distant, he see’s pop’s tunic, and gets on to it the island’s been taken over by the police. So there s nothing to do but turn back • • •” She paused, her brows upraised in query. “So as he can’t swipe the island—or rather what’s on the island—what’s the next thing to do after he hears Barraclough’s handed in his dinner pail?” Eight breaking in upon her perplexity, Natalie’s face cleared. “Buy it.” she said. “Sure!” said Betty. “Not with his own money—he hadn’t five hundred dollars in the world. But havin’ found out not only that pop had taken over the island, but was stickin’ around until the new owner takes over, he kills two birds

I (by L. C. Douthwaite)

with one stone by takin’ the first boat to the Old Country; first to put the proposition to his old side-kicker Platt, who has all the money that’s wanted for the price, and next to make a quick buy from you before you’d time to find out what you were sellin’. It was your deciding to live here that put their plans on the blink.”

Looking back over all that had transpired since the news of her legacy, Natalie was inclined to think that this about represented the actual truth. “How do you know that paper those two took away yesterday was a dud?” she asked Johnnie Bill. “After I kick Stagsden out,” he said, “old man Barraclough get better for a little, and I tell him. He wrote the paper and I pull the bricks out for the cache.” “What was on the paper?” Natalie asked.

“It say,” Johnnie Bill said slowly, “that the gold is buried under a tree on Loon Island —there”—he pointed through the window to an island some two miles across the lake.

“How do you know it wasn’t?” Natalie questioned. “Because,” the Indian replied more slowly still, “Bar’clough need gold for himself; he think he get better soon. He want to fool ’em!” There was the hurried beating of wings from across the lake, and the cry of startled birds. Natalie turned to speak to Betty, but with a hurried gesture the girl passed swiftly to the window. “Look!” she cried, pointing. CHAPTER XXVII. A WELCOME RETURN. Half a mile away was one of the innumerable small islands that jewelled the stretch of lake between the shack and the mouth of the Grassy River. Skirting the fringe of this a canoe had disturbed a colony of ducks that had taken up residence in a patch of reeds the outer ramparts of which formed the miniature lagoon that was their feeding place, and the noise was their protest at the invasion. And, watching the approach Natalie was possessed of a sense of security. More than security, she knew joy.

“Why, look who’s here!” Betty shouted delightedly, and made a dive for the door.

Natalie followed more slowly. She had known that Kit would come back; there had not been five minutes in any day since he went that she had not found herself thinking of his return —longing for it. But now that he was here she felt a strange shyness, so that it was necessary to steady herself to something of her old control.

Nevertheless she was standing by Betty’s side as the canoe drew up to thp beach. And as Kit stepped asnore, without any preliminary greeting he drew her into his arms and frankly and with-? out any apology kissed her. The action was so spontaneous that for a moment Natalie was content to sur* render herself to the sheer joy of contact. Then with a sudden rush of realisation she gently levered herself free of his arms.

“Really, Kit!” was all the protest she could muster. One couldn’t make a scene in front of the others, anyway. Ignoring them, Kit took her arm and commenced to lead her gently up the slope. “My hat!” he said fervently, so that she alone could hear, “but it's good to be back.”

“You appeared to be rather overcome," she agreed. “I know.” The hand on her arm checked her. “Let the others get in front,” he said. She glanced up at him. “Why?” she asked. “I hate an audience,” he told her. “Audience?” she repeated, though her heat was beating at a pace that kept her voice below its accustomed level. “What do you think you’re troina do now?”

He stopped completely while with slow and infuriating complacency Tim and Betty strolled past. “Do?” Kit said, turning from their retreating figures to look into her eyes. “Do? I’m going to tell you that, when all this business with Platt and Stagsden is over and done with, very humbly and reverently, I shall ask you to be my wife.” For a long m°to. e Pf their glances held, and in that brief interval Natalie knew the ultimate height of joy. “Haven’t you rather reversed the usual order of procedure?” she said puzzlingIy.

“I don’t follow, dear,” he said quietly.

“Well!” she protested, with a small gesture of the shoulders and paused. “It’s rather embarrassing to express,” she explained, “only—l’ve no personal experience, of course —but isn’t it rather the custom to kiss the lady after the proposal?” He threw back his head in a laugh, wholehearted but of an infinite tenderness.

“You’re not more of a novice than my* self,” he said. Then, more gravely: “Will you believe that, excepting for my mother when I was a small boy, you’re the first women I’ve kissed?” “Yes,” she said. "1 believe.” Her expression was brave. “And when you come to-r-ask that, question, the reply is waiting for you.” Afterwards, looking back at the incident, she smiled at his ingenuousness; if he had not been so utterly dear the manner of his wooing would not have been without humour, Perhaps even as it was the humour was there, but under 50 deep a covering of tenderness as to sublimate it to an added dearness.

Presently they strolled up to the shack to find that Betty had prepared a meal: She came to the door of the kitchen as they entered, regarding them with an understanding smile.

“Well, well, well!” she said. “Here at last!”, and disappeared into the kitchen again. Over the meal they held a counsel of war, in which the two girls told of their marooning and of how subsequently

Johnnie Bill had beaten off the marauders. It was Kit’s reception of this which caused Natalie to realise how completely the issue between herself and the criminals had become overshadowed by the discovery of the pamphlet that had betrayed their former activities.

“Curious, when you come fo think of it,” Kit remarked, “that of all people you should be the bait to attract the tigers.” Natalie drew down the comers of her mouth.

“Honoured, I’m sure,” she said dryly, and Kit laughed. Then: “What made you come back so soon?” she asked him. “We missed our men at Lurgen’s Landing,” he explained. “Stagsden had been there, but only to collect Platt. .Stagsden’s not the type to undertake a raid of this kind on his own—he’s a coward at heart, and Pearce’s disappearance must have scared him pretty badly. So ihis first thought was to scuttle off to Platt, who is as fearless as he’s fat. They left Lurgen’s Landing together within a few hours of Stagsden’s arrival.”

“So you followed straight away, I expect,” Natalie suggested. “One time!” Kit replied. “Our orders from your father”—with a glance at Betty—“are to gather in those crooks at any cost.” “Do you think they know you’re after them?” Betty asked. Kit thought for a moment. “I’m pretty sure of it,” he said. “Not for the train hold-up murders though—only for molesting you. Platt’s been here four or five years, and Stagsden about eighteen months, without arousing suspicion, so why should they suspect a nigger in the woodpile now? Only I’d like to know what they think’s happened to Pearce,” he said after a pause. (To be continued.)