"An unsuccessful prospecting trip is an expensive undertaking," Scott said meaningly. "Then there's the disappointment. You would have got a big lift if you'd been lucky enough to find Miss Strange's silver."

"The silver is not Miss Strange's. The law gives a mineral vein to the person who stakes it off and records it first."

"That is so," Scott agreed. "Well, you don't look as if you had staked a valuable claim! I suppose you stopped too long trying to find the vein, and the ice was unsafe when you left. However, you want supplies to carry you down to the settlement, and if you'll come along to the store, we'll see what I've got."

They went out, and in the afternoon Stormont's party took the trail to the South.

CHAPTER XIV

STORMONT DISOWNS A DEBT

The general store was empty, and Drummond, leaning on the counter, frowned as he glanced at the clock. It was a few minutes after the time for closing and he had been busily occupied all day. Besides, he had an engagement at the pool-room and thought he would be late. If so, a man whom he knew he could beat would probably begin a game with somebody else, and he would miss an opportunity of winning two or three dollars.

This was annoying, because Drummond needed the money, but he had other grounds for feeling dissatisfied.

Keeping store was monotonous and rather humiliating work that left one very little time for amus.e.m.e.nt. He could drive a fast horse as well as other young men he met up town, play a clever card game, and beat his friends at pool. His talents were obviously wasted in measuring dry-goods and weighing flour. Moreover, since meeting Stormont he had been extravagant and got into debt. There was no need to be economical when he had been promised a share in a rich mining claim.

Then he wondered with misgivings what the farmer who had gone into the back office was talking about, and hearing angry voices, felt sorry he had made some alterations in the man's order. Certain stale goods carried a commission if the salesman could work them off, but the thing needed tact and a knowledge of the customer's temper. Drummond feared he had been imprudent.

In the meantime, he looked about the store with a feeling of disgust.

The long room, with its cracked, board walls and dusty floor, was uncomfortably warm, and smelt of hot iron, dry-goods, and old cheese.

Drummond had neglected to regulate the draught when he filled the rusty stove, and now felt that one could not expect a spirited young man to spend his days in such a place. Anyhow, it was after closing time, and sitting on the counter he lighted a cigarette, letting it stick to his under lip. This was the latest fashion and gave one a sporting look.

Soon after he began to smoke, the farmer came out of the office.

"You can send for the truck when you like; I've no use for goods like that," he said. "Next time you pack me a dud lot I'll cut out your account. If you and the sporting guy who's sitting on your counter thought me a sucker, I guess I've put you wise!"

He went down the steps into the street, and the lean, hard-faced storekeeper turned to Drummond with an ominous frown.

"Get off that counter! You make me tired to look at you, with your dude clothes and a cigar-root hanging out of your mouth. Throw the blamed thing away and put up the canned stuff you left about."

Drummond felt tempted to refuse, but his employer's eye was on him and he obeyed sullenly.

"When you've finished, you can clean up that row of shelves," the other resumed. "Then stack the flour and sugar bags where they're kept. Guess you reckoned to leave the truck all night where the transfer man dumped it. If you can't serve a customer, I'll see you keep the store straight!"

Drummond imagined the work would occupy him for an hour and might spoil his clothes. Besides, if he gave way, his employer might make fresh encroachments on his evenings, and he thought the fellow wanted to goad him to revolt.

"No, sir," he said. "It's closing time. I'm going to quit."

"If you quit now, you quit for good! Don't know why I've kept you, anyway!"

"I know," said Drummond, who resolved to be firm. If his employer really meant to get rid of him, he risked nothing, but if not, he might win some advantage. "You couldn't get another clerk to take my job for the wages you pay."

"Well," said the other grimly, "I'm willing to try. It's a sure thing I couldn't get a man who'd muss up the store like you. Come to me for your money and light out when you like."

He went out, banging the door, and Drummond sat down, rather limply, on a dry-goods bale. After all, it was something of a shock to find himself dismissed, but in a few minutes he gathered confidence. Stormont had given him fifty dollars and promised him a share in the silver mine, and although he had soon spent the money, he would go to Winnipeg, ask for another payment, and see what progress the fellow was making. If the vein had not yet been located, Stormont would, no doubt, find him a job.

In fact, the only trouble was that when he had bought his ticket he would not have enough money left to pay his bill at the boarding-house.

Four days later, he left the town, and reaching Winnipeg one afternoon, began to inquire about Stormont in the great, domed, marble-paved waiting-room. To his surprise, the officials he questioned knew nothing about the man, and when one sent him to the inquiry office, the fashionably dressed lady clerk was ignorant. She, however, threw a directory on the counter and told him haughtily that he could look for the address.

Drummond found it, and walking along Main Street, turned up Portage Avenue. There was a block of traffic at the corner where the broad roads cross, and close by a crowd had gathered to read the bulletins on the front of a newspaper office. Stopping for a few minutes, Drummond studied the row of tall buildings, but saw that the number he wanted was farther on. There was, however, an imposing block some distance ahead, but this turned out to be a huge department store, and afterwards the buildings got smaller and plainer. It began to look as if Stormont was not as important a man as he had thought, and he was conscious of some disappointment as he went on until he stopped where private houses, workshops, and shabby stores ran out towards Deer Park. Then he found the number and entered a narrow, dingy building.

It was obvious that Stormont had studied economy when he chose his office, and Drummond stopped and hesitated on a landing opposite a door that badly needed painting. He began to think he had been rash in leaving his post in the Ontario town, but nerving himself with the reflection that he had a share in a silver vein, knocked at the door.

Somebody told him to come in, and he walked into a small room.

The dirty walls were hung with plans of building lots and surveys of the forest belt in Eastern Manitoba. A gla.s.s part.i.tion ran up the middle and on one side Watson sat in front of a typewriter. He looked at Drummond with surprise, but did not get up.

"Well," he said, "why have you come to town? Have you got a week off, or have you got fired?"

"You ought to know what I've come about, but I want to see the boss,"

Drummond rejoined.

"That's easy, anyhow," said Watson, with a grin Drummond did not like, and indicated a door in the part.i.tion.

Drummond opened the door and saw Stormont sitting at a table covered with papers. He looked up and nodded coolly.

"Hallo!" he said. "Mr. Drummond, isn't it? Sit down for a few minutes."

Then picking up a letter, he knitted his brows. He did not think Drummond could give him much trouble, but he might become something of a nuisance unless he was dealt with firmly. Stormont had not long since come back from the North, feeling disappointed and savage, for he had spent a good deal of money on the expedition. Besides, things had gone wrong at the office while he was away and he had lost some profitable business.

"What can I do for you?" he asked by and by.

"I've left the store," said Drummond. "Thought I'd locate in Winnipeg.

One has better chances in the big cities, and I reckoned you could find me a job. Anyhow, I'll need some money."

"That's a sure thing. But why did you come to me for it?"

"You gave me fifty dollars--"

"When did I give you fifty dollars?" Stormont interrupted with a look of surprise.

"The evening Watson took me to your room at the Dufferin House. Besides, you promised me a share in the mine."

Stormont smiled. "That accounts for the thing! I'm afraid you were drunker than I thought."

"You did give me the money," Drummond insisted. "Are you trying to go back on your promise?"

"Oh, well," said Stormont with an indulgent smile, "in order to satisfy you, we'll ask Watson." He knocked on the part.i.tion and turned to the clerk as the latter came in. "Mr. Drummond states that I gave him fifty dollars on the evening you brought him to the Dufferin House. Do you remember anything about it?"

"Certainly not," said Watson. "You gave him a cigar and some liquor, though I thought he'd had enough. He fell down the stairs afterwards and made trouble for me when I saw him home." Watson paused and resumed with a meaning smile: "It's pretty hard to remember what happens when you've got on a big jag!"

Drummond colored angrily, but pulled himself together. "I remember I got the money and told Mr. Stormont about the ore."

"Now I come to think of it, you did tell me a curious story about a mysterious silver lode," Stormont agreed. "Somewhere in the North, wasn't it? Anyhow, I didn't give the thing much attention. You can hear tales of that kind in any miners' saloon."

"That's so," Watson supported him. "Sometimes we hear them in this office when a crank prospector comes along. All the same, they're not business propositions."