Then he turned and moved down the track, vanishing into the growing darkness.

When the tale was finished, Prescott sat a while, smoking thoughtfully.

He imagined that he had struck Jernyngham's trail; all that he had heard was characteristic of the man.

"Do you know where Kermode went?" he asked.

"No. Guess he might have headed for a camp farther west; I've heard they're short of men."

Prescott thought this probable and determined to resume his search in the morning. Presently the gravel train came back and the stream of light from the head-lamp, blazing along the embankment, rested on the half-buried dump. Then there was a roar as the plow flung the load off the cars, and in the silence that followed one of the men got up.

"Morning will come soon enough; I guess it's time for sleep," he said.

CHAPTER XIV

ON THE TRAIL

When Prescott got up the next morning, dawn was breaking across the muskeg. There was frost in the air, the freight-cars on the side-track and the roofs of the shacks were white, and a nipping breeze swept through the camp. It was already filled with sounds of activity--hoa.r.s.e voices, heavy footsteps, the tolling of a locomotive bell, and the rattle of wheels--and Prescott's new friends were eating in a neighboring shed.

Going in, he was supplied with breakfast, and when he left the table the Englishman joined him.

"Have you made up your mind whether you want a job or not?" he asked.

Prescott said he thought he would push on, and the man looked at him deprecatingly.

"Well," he said, "we don't want to appear inhospitable, but as things are run here, you're the guest of the boss, and since he didn't give the invitation, there might be trouble if he noticed you."

"As it happens, I want to get hold of Kermode as soon as I can," Prescott answered.

"You shouldn't have much difficulty in finding him. It's hardly possible for a man of his gifts to go through the country without leaving a plain trail behind."

Prescott agreed with this. He had not much doubt of Kermode's ident.i.ty, and he thought his missing friend would give any acquaintances he made on his travels cause to remember him.

"There's a construction train starting west in about half an hour,"

resumed the railroad hand. "If you get on board with the boys, it will look as if you belonged to the gang."

Daylight had come when Prescott clambered up on one of the long flat cars loaded with rails and ties, and in a few minutes the train started. It followed what was called a cut-out line, which worked round the muskeg and back to the main track through a country too difficult for the latter to traverse; and for a while Prescott's interest was occupied by its progress. Groups of men in brown overalls were seated on the rails, which clanged musically in rude harmony with the clatter of the wheels. A sooty cloud streamed back above them, now and then blotting out the cl.u.s.ters of figures; the cars swayed and shook, and in view of the roughness of the line Prescott admired the nerve of the engineer.

The wind that whipped his face was cold and pierced the blanket he had flung over his shoulders; but the sunshine was growing brighter and the mist in the hollows was rapidly vanishing. As a rule, the depressions were swampy, and as they sped across them Prescott could see the huge locomotive rocking, while the rails, which were spiked to ties thrown down on brush, sank beneath the weight and sprang up again as the cars jolted by. As they rushed down tortuous declivities, the cars banged and canted round the curves, while Prescott held on tight, his feet braced against a rail. It was better when they joined the graded track, and toward noon he was given a meal with the others at a camp where a bridge was being strengthened. When they started again, he lay down in his blanket where the sunshine fell upon him and the end of the car kept off the wind, and lighting his pipe became lost in reflection.

It was obvious that he must use every effort to find Jernyngham and he thought he might succeed in this; but what then? To prove his innocence, in which she already believed, would not bridge the gulf between him and Muriel Hurst. It seemed impossible that she should be willing to marry a working rancher. Yet he knew that he could not overcome his love for her; there was pleasure as well as pain in remembering her frankness and gaiety and confidence in him; and the charm of her beauty was strong. He recalled the crimson of her lips, the glow of warm color in her hair, the brightness of her smile, and the softness he had once or twice seen in her violet eyes. Then he drove these thoughts away; to indulge in them would only make the self-denial he must practise the harder.

He next tried to occupy his mind with Gertrude Jernyngham, for he was still without a clue to her disconcerting change of mood. She had no great attraction for him, but he had pitied her and found a certain pleasure in her society. It was strange that after taking his view of her brother's fate against the one her father held, she should suddenly turn upon him in bitter anger. He was hurt at this, particularly as he did not think the revelation that he had personated Cyril accounted for everything. However, as it was unavoidable, he thought he could bear Miss Jernyngham's suspicion.

He was disturbed in his reflections by a sudden jolt of the train as it stopped at a water-tank. Getting down with the others, he saw a man standing in the entrance of a half-finished wooden building. The fellow looked like a mechanic, and his short blue-serge jacket and other details of his dress suggested that he was an Englishman. On speaking to him, Prescott learned that the train would be detained a while, because a locomotive and some empty cars were coming down the line. The man further mentioned that a number of railroad hands had been engaged in putting up the building until lately, when they had been sent on somewhere else, and Prescott inquired if there had been a man among them who answered to his friend's description.

"There was," said the other dryly, and called to somebody inside: "Here's a fellow asking for Kermode!"

"Bring him in!" replied a voice, and Prescott entered the building.

It contained a pump and two large steel tanks. Near one of them a man was doing something with a drill, but he took out his pipe and pointed to a piece of sacking laid on a beam.

"Sit down and have a smoke," he said. "You have plenty of time. Was Kermode a friend of yours?"

Prescott looked about the place. He saw that it was a filtering station for the treatment of water unfit for locomotive use.

"Thanks," he responded. "I knew Kermode pretty well; but I needn't stop you."

"Oh, don't mind that!" grinned the other. "We're not paid by the piece on this job. Besides, they've some chisels for us on your train and we haven't got them yet."

"You're English, aren't you?" Prescott asked. "Are you stopping out here?"

"Not much!" exclaimed the other with scorn. "What d'you take me for?

There's more in life than whacking rivets and holding the caulker. When a man has finished his work in this wilderness, what has he to do? There's no music halls, no nothing; only the dismal prairie that makes your eyes sore to look at."

Prescott had heard other Englishmen express themselves in a similar fashion, and he laughed.

"If that's what you think of the country, why did you come here?"

"Big wages," replied the first man, entering the building. "Funny, isn't it, that when you want good work done you have to send for us? Every machine-shop in your country's full of labor-saving and ingenious tools, but when you build bridges with them they fall down, and I've seen tanks that wouldn't hold water."

"Oh, well," said Prescott, divided between amus.e.m.e.nt and impatience, "this isn't to the point. I understand Kermode was here with you?"

"He was. Came in on a construction train, looking for a job, and when we saw he was from the old country we put him on."

"You put him on? Don't these things rest with the division boss?"

The man grinned.

"You don't understand. We're specialists and get what we ask for. Sent the boss word we wanted an a.s.sistant, and, as we'd picked one up, all he had to do was to put him on the pay-roll."

"And did Kermode get through his work satisfactorily?"

"For a while. He was a handy man; might have made a boiler-maker if he'd took to it young. When we had nothing else to keep him busy, he'd cut tobacco for us and set us laughing with his funny talk."

This was much in keeping with Jernyngham's character. But the man went on:

"When we'd made him a pretty good hand with the file and drill, he got Bill to teach him how to caulk. He shaped first-rate, so one day we thought we'd leave him to it while we went off for a jaunt. Bill had bought an old shot-gun from a farmer, and we'd seen a lot of wild hens about."

"It would be close time--you can only shoot them in October; but I suppose that wouldn't count."

"Not a bit," said the boiler-maker. "All we were afraid of was that a train might come in with the boss on board; but we chanced it. We told Kermode he might go round the tank-plate landings--the laps, you know--with the caulker, and give them a rough tuck in, ready for us to finish; and then we went off. Well, we didn't shoot any wild hens, though Bill got some pellets in his leg, and when we came back we both felt pretty bad when we saw what Kermode had done. Bill couldn't think of names enough to call him, and he's good at it."

"What had he done?"