Drummond left them and Thirlwell said, thoughtfully, "It's plain that he deceived Stormont by telling him the creek flowed south. This would make the fellow think the ore was on our side of the last height of land, but if the water goes east, it must run into the James Bay basin on the other slope. That's something of a clue, but I see a risk in keeping Drummond here. Suppose he makes friends with Driscoll?"

"Driscoll doesn't make friends," Scott rejoined and added with a twinkle: "Then as you don't admit there is a lode, it's not worth while to wonder whether the lad could tell Black Steve anything useful."

"We'll let that go," Thirlwell replied, and when Scott strolled away read Agatha's letter again with keen satisfaction. It was a charming, frank letter, and he thrilled as he noted her trust in him.

Drummond went to work next morning and Thirlwell, allowing for some awkwardness at first, thought he would earn his pay, while a doubt he had felt about the prudence of engaging him was presently removed. Going to the smith's shop one afternoon, he heard angry voices and stopped to see what was going on. The smithy, which stood at the edge of the clearing round the mine, was a rude log shack without a door. It was generally rather dark, but just then a ray of sunshine struck in and the charcoal fire on the hearth glowed a dull red. The smith leaned on his hammer, watching Driscoll and Drummond, who confronted each other close by.

Driscoll was heavy and muscular, Drummond wiry and thin, but as they stood, highly strung, Thirlwell noted the athletic symmetry of both figures. Driscoll had, no doubt, acquired it by travel in the woods, and Drummond by inheritance from Indian forefathers. The older man's limbs and body had the fine proportions of a Greek statue, and since he did not move one could not see that he was lame. Their faces, although different in modeling, were somehow alike, for both had a curious, quiet watchful look. They disputed in low voices, but Thirlwell saw their mood was dangerous. He knew that noisy fury seldom marks a struggle in the North, where hunting animals and men strike in silence. There was something strangely like the stealthy alertness of the animals in their att.i.tudes.

Waiting in the gloom among the pine-trunks, he gathered that the quarrel was about the sharpening of tools. Drummond had brought some cutters from the boring machine, and Driscoll wanted his ax ground.

"I came along first," Drummond declared. "Tom's going to fix my cutters; your ax has got to wait!" He glanced at the smith, sharply, as if reluctant to move his eyes from Driscoll. "Give the wheel a spin and let's get busy!"

"He certainly won't," said Driscoll; "I've unshipped the handle. You'll get your cutters quickest if you quit talking and wait until I'm through."

"That's not playing it like a white man. Don't know why they hired you at the mine. Your job's smuggling the Indians liquor."

"Your folks!" sneered Driscoll. "You're not white."

"Stop there!" said Drummond, with stern quietness, and Thirlwell saw him balance a cutter he held. It was a short but heavy piece of steel, curved at the point.

Driscoll's eyes glittered. "Your father was a squaw-man; your mother--"

He bent his body with the swift suppleness of an acrobat, and the cutter, flying past, rang upon the wall of the shack. Then he swung forward and the end of a pick-handle missed Drummond by an inch.

Another cutter shot from Drummond's hand and struck Driscoll's side. He stooped, and Thirlwell thought he was falling but saw that he had bent down to pick up his ax. Next moment the blade flashed in a long sweep and Drummond sprang behind the anvil, which occupied the middle of the floor. He had another cutter and held it back, with his arm bent, ready to launch it at Driscoll's head, but Thirlwell imagined he was pressed too hard to feel sure of his aim and wanted to get out of his antagonist's reach. It was plain that the situation was dangerous, but Thirlwell knew he could not stop the men by shouting, and the fight would probably be over before he reached the shack. He had, however, forgotten the smith, who pulled a glowing iron from the fire.

"You can quit now; I b.u.t.t in here!" he said, holding the iron close to Driscoll's chest. Then he turned to Drummond. "Put that cutter down! I don't: want to see you killed in my smithy."

All were quite still for a moment, and then Driscoll moved, as if he meant to get round the anvil, but the smith held him back.

"Try it again and I'll surely singe your hide!" he shouted, and swung round as he heard Drummond's cautious step. "If you sling that cutter at him, I'll put you on the fire. Get out now; I'm coming to see you go!"

Drummond backed to the door, with the red iron a few inches from his face, and when he had gone the smith signed to Driscoll.

"You're not going yet! Sit down right there and take a smoke."

A few moments later Thirlwell joined Drummond, who was waiting near the smithy. "If you mean to make trouble, I'll pay you off," he said.

"You're hired to work, not to fight."

"If I quit now, Steve will get after me again," Drummond grumbled.

"I think not. In fact, I'll see about that; but if you provoke the man, you'll be fired as soon as I know. It's worth while to remember that you're a long way from the settlements."

"I got him with the cutter, anyhow," Drummond rejoined, and when he went off Thirlwell entered the smithy.

He imagined what he said to Driscoll would prevent the quarrel beginning again, and presently went back to the mine, feeling satisfied. There was now not much risk of Drummond and Driscoll making friends and finding that both knew something about the lode. Thirlwell was persuaded that Driscoll did know something, more in fact than anybody else; he knew where Strange had expected to find the ore. Thirlwell had not admitted this to Scott, because he shrank from stating his suspicions, which were dark but vague. Now, however, he thought he would try to formulate them and see how they looked, since he might, after all, take Scott into his confidence.

To begin with, n.o.body knew why Strange's canoe capsized. Strange was clever with the paddle, and Driscoll's narrative, while plausible, left something to be accounted for. It was improbable that he had quarreled with his partner while they shot the rapid, because their minds would be occupied by the dangerous navigation. Then supposing that Driscoll had intentionally let the canoe swerve when they were threatened by a breaking wave, it was hard to see what he would gain. If he thought Strange had found the ore, it would obviously be impossible to learn anything about it after the man was drowned. The theory that Strange had already told him where the lode was, and Driscoll meant to get rid of a partner who would demand the largest share, must be rejected, since if Strange had told him, Driscoll would have gone away to register the claim. But he had not done so.

The thing was mysterious, and Thirlwell could see no light. He must wait and watch for a hint, and in the meantime resolved to talk to Scott about it. So far, he had rather avoided the subject of Strange's death, but it might be better to abandon his reserve. He did not think he could expect much help from Scott, but he was clever and Thirlwell had known him to solve some awkward puzzles.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE HAND IN THE WATER

Scott lying among the pine-needles after work had stopped, lighted his pipe and glanced at Thirlwell, who had been talking for some minutes.

"On the whole, it was lucky the smith had an iron hot," he said. "Black Steve's a dangerous man and we know something about the _Metis_ temper.

Drummond, of course, is hardly a _Metis_, but he has a drop of Indian blood that must be reckoned on. It's a remarkably virile strain."

"I was rather glad they quarreled. I'd been afraid Driscoll might learn he knew something about the lode and persuade him to join the gang. I wouldn't trust him far."

"You can trust his Indian instincts," Scott replied. "No doubt he's greedy, but he hates Stormont, and I imagine he'd sooner punish the fellow than find the silver." He paused, and looked thoughtful when he went on: "The other matter's difficult; but, like Father Lucien, I don't see what we can do. It's possible that Steve drowned his partner, or anyhow, took advantage of an accident to let him drown; but we're not detectives, and you can't move against a man without something besides suspicion to go upon. Then we were under the cracking beam when he fixed the prop that stopped the roof coming down."

"I suppose, if he's guilty, that oughtn't to count?"

"It's an awkward question," Scott replied. "However, we don't know if he is guilty, and I don't see much chance of our finding out. But there's something else. Miss Strange had the shock of hearing about her father's sudden death, and it would not be kind to harrow her again."

"Certainly not," said Thirlwell, who felt annoyed because his comrade had guessed his thoughts.

A week later, Thirlwell was walking down the tunnel when he saw one or two of the men and Driscoll shoring up the roof. Drummond was helping, but a stone fell on him and he sat down. There was no light except the flicker of the lamps in the men's hats and they did not see Thirlwell.

"Are you hurt, kid?" one asked Drummond.

"He's scared," Driscoll growled. "Let him get out; this is a man's job."

Drummond sprang to his feet, although Thirlwell noted an ugly bruise on his forehead.

"Talk about being scared!" he cried. "Why you're 'most scared to death of the rapid! What d'you reckon lives there that's going to get you in the dark?"

Driscoll stepped forward. His face looked gray, but his mouth was hard and his eyes shone with savage rage. Thirlwell thought the man's pa.s.sion was dangerous, and running up, got in front of him and sent Drummond to the shaft.

"Load up that broken rock," he said. "If you leave the job and come back here, I'll fire you out."

He was disturbed by the quarrel, because he understood something of Driscoll's feelings when stung by the taunt. Then he was curious about Drummond's object for making it, and wondered how much he knew. He kept them apart and when they stopped at noon Driscoll came up to him.

"I want to quit when the week's up," he said.

"Why?" Thirlwell asked, looking hard at him.

"For one thing, I've put up most of the new timbers and guess she'll hold for a while. Then I sure don't like that _Metis_ kid. Reckon I'll kill him if I stop."

"Do what you think best," said Thirlwell, who saw he must get rid of one and would sooner keep Drummond. "If you come back later, we may find you a job."