The Lure of the North Part 18

"It looked as if he'd taken some liquor, but I don't know," Thirlwell answered. "He was obviously scared."

"Sure," said Scott. "But he wasn't scared of getting drowned. Steve's a better canoe hand than either of us and has physical pluck."

"Then why was he afraid?"

Scott looked thoughtful. "I imagine he was afraid of the rapid and the dark. When he hailed us to take him over, I thought it an excuse; he could have got across in his own canoe if he had braced up. My notion is he didn't want to make the trip by himself." He paused and gave Thirlwell a keen glance. "Curious, isn't it?"

"He's a curious man," said Thirlwell, who had dark suspicions that he did not want to talk about. "When we were drifting into the rapid, I got a glimpse of his face and didn't look again. Thought I'd better not; the fellow's nerve had gone. Anyhow, if he hates the rapid, why does he stop here and live near the bank?"

"Steve is primitive; I guess you don't understand him yet. He's an old trapper and one gets superst.i.tious in the bush. For all that, he's stubborn, and if he has an object, he'll persist until he carries it out."

"But what object has he got?"

Scott made a vague gesture. "I can't tell you that. Hadn't you better get out the plates? I want some food."

Thirlwell put a frying-pan on the stove and they talked about something else.

CHAPTER XVI

THE PIT-PROP

Driscoll was sorting pit-props, throwing them on to piles at the bottom of the shaft, when Thirlwell stopped to hook a small, flat lamp to his hat. The man sometimes worked in the mine for a few weeks when the trapping season was over, and Scott was generally willing to engage him because he was skilful with the axe and labor was scarce. He made no friends among the men, and gave Thirlwell a sour look without speaking when the latter picked up his lamp.

Thirlwell went on down the inclined gallery. Water splashed upon his slickers and trickled about his feet; the tunnel was narrow and the air was foul. Here and there a smoky light burned among the props lining the walls, and the dim illumination touched the beams that crossed the roof, but the gaps between the spots were dark. The timbers were numerous, and where one could see a short distance, ran on into the gloom in rows so closely s.p.a.ced that they seemed continuous.

By and by Thirlwell found Scott looking up at a ma.s.sive beam a few inches overhead. The beam was not quite level, and the prop beneath one end had bent, while a threatening crack extended across the roof.

"We may have a bad fall here," Scott remarked. "The prop's getting shaky and the pressure's pretty fierce. I reckon we'd better sh.o.r.e her up as quick as we can. It's lucky our lumber doesn't cost us much."

Thirlwell examined the crack and thought it dangerous. There were one or two transverse splits, which indicated a heavy ma.s.s of rock was ready to come down. None of the men were near the spot, and he knew they were occupied, but Driscoll had left a few props between the timbers, ready for use where the roof was weak. Thirlwell found one and dragged it to the spot.

"We'll put this up and then I think I'll get a fresh beam across."

Scott helped him to raise the timber. It was a few inches too long, and crossed the s.p.a.ce between floor and roof with a small slant, but it was meant to do so, in order that when its lower end was driven forward until it stood upright it would wedge fast the beam above. Then Thirlwell brought an ax and struck the prop some heavy blows with its back while Scott steadied the top. It was almost in place, and the bent timber was getting loose, when the top slipped and shook the beam. There was an ominous crack and a few small stones broke away and fell on Scott's head.

"I've got her b.u.t.ted solid now," he shouted after a short breathless struggle with the timber. "Be quick! The roof's coming down!"

Thirlwell saw the danger. So long as the prop slanted, it would not support the beam, and if the beam gave way, the roof would fall and crush them before they could get from underneath. He thought he had a few moments to hammer the prop straight, and swung the ax savagely while the sweat ran down his face. He dared not look up again, but the ominous cracking went on and while he wondered what was happening, Driscoll ran past. A big stone fell beside the man as he seized another prop and with a tense effort jambed it under the beam.

"I'll take some weight off her while you sh.o.r.e her up," Driscoll gasped.

He had brought a heavy mallet, but before he used this he dragged the foot of the timber round, bending his body forward while his arms got stiff and hard, as if carved from wood. His sullen face was darkly flushed and the swollen veins stood out from his forehead. Thirlwell saw him for a moment as he lifted his ax, and remembering the scene afterwards, thought the fellow had looked a model of savage strength. It was obvious that he had no fear.

In the meantime, he was vaguely conscious that Driscoll had saved his life. He and Scott had stayed too long, and could not have fixed their prop before the beam gave way had not the other come to help. For that matter, they were not out of danger yet. Unless they could wedge the timber in the next few moments, the roof would come down. There was not room to swing the ax properly, his body was cramped from bending, and he could not lift his head. Stooping in the low tunnel, he nerved himself for a tense effort and struck several furious blows. The prop quivered, groaned as it felt the pressure from above, moved an inch or two, and stood upright. Then Thirlwell dropped his ax and staggered back. He felt limp and exhausted, and wanted to get away. The beam would hold the roof for some minutes and might do so for a time.

"You can let up now, Driscoll," Scott called out when they stopped a few yards off. "We'll see if the prop will stand before we do anything else."

"Guess I'll fix the other," Driscoll replied.

"Come out," Scott insisted. "You don't know if it's safe."

Driscoll glanced round for a moment. His hat had fallen off and the miner's lamp flared and smoked in the water at his feet. His hair was wet with the drops from the roof, and a thin streak of blood ran down his face from a cut a falling stone had made. But his heavy eyes had a fixed, obstinate look.

"You hired me to mind the timbers; it's my job."

Scott acquiesced with a gesture and he and Thirlwell watched. There was a risk that in wedging the extra prop the man might loosen the first; and then, if neither was able to bear the load, the rock above would fall and bury him. For all that, Driscoll looked undisturbed and did not stop until he had carefully driven the timber into its proper place.

Then he turned to Scott and his glance was slow and dull.

"I want you to send two of the boys along."

"Why do you want them?"

"I've got to have some help. She won't hold up long unless we run another beam across."

"It would be prudent," Thirlwell agreed, and went down the gallery with Scott to the working face.

"What do you think of Black Steve?" Scott asked when they had sent the men and stood near a lamp. "He wasn't scared just now!"

"I'm puzzled," said Thirlwell thoughtfully. "The fellow was quite cool.

If he hadn't come with the prop, I expect the roof would have buried us. But that's another thing. Why did he come?"

Scott smiled. "We were plainly in some danger, but I don't imagine Black Steve was moved by a generous impulse to save our lives. In fact, if it had promised him some advantage, I rather think he'd have seen us buried."

"You don't claim it was a sense of duty?"

"Not in a way; Steve's too primitive. On the whole, I think he explained the thing best when he said it was his job. A fellow of his kind doesn't reason like you; perhaps he did once, but lost the habit in the bush.

He's, so to speak, atavistic; moved by instincts, like the Indians and animals."

"But I don't see--"

"Perhaps it isn't very obvious," Scott admitted. "For all that, the Indian's instinctive obstinacy carries him far. Steve had undertaken to look after our timbering, he's used to danger, and the risk didn't count. I expect he was moved by the feeling the bushman gets when he's up against Nature; he knows he'll be crushed if he can't make good.

Anyhow, I've moralized long enough. Will you see what they're doing with that rock-borer?"

Thirlwell left him and went to the machine, which made a jarring noise.

He spent some time adjusting the cutters, and afterwards stood for a few minutes thinking about what his comrade had said. Scott's argument was involved, but Thirlwell thought he saw what he meant. Driscoll's bemused mind could not grasp the thought of duty that demanded self-sacrifice, but he had animal courage and stubbornness. He would carry out what he had undertaken. Moreover, he might have animal cunning without having cultivated intelligence, and his strength and resolution made him dangerous. Thirlwell did not like Driscoll better than before, but it looked as if the fellow had saved his life, and although he might not have meant to do so, this counted for something. Going back to the shaft presently, he climbed up and sat down in the sun.

A warm wind blew across the pine woods, the sun was getting hot, and the wet grounds about the shaft-head was drying fast. The river had risen as the lakes in the wilds it came from overflowed with melted snow, and raged, level with its banks, in angry flood, rolling broken trees down stream and strewing ledges and s.h.i.+ngle with battered branches. Its hoa.r.s.e roar echoed across the bush, and Thirlwell felt that there was something daunting in the deep-toned sound. One could understand that a man like Driscoll, whose brain was dulled by liquor, might let it fill him with vague terrors when the woods were still at night.

But listening to the river presently led Thirlwell to think about Strange. There was something pathetic about the story of his life, for Agatha had made Thirlwell understand her father's long patience, gentleness, and self-sacrifice. His duty to his family had cost him much, but he had cheerfully paid. It looked as if he had done best at the task he most disliked--managing the humble store in the small wooden town. One could not think of him as having failed there. His wife and children loved him, though all but one had smiled when he talked about the lode.

His daughter, who knew him best, had inherited his confidence, and Thirlwell owned that this had some weight. She was perhaps influenced by tender sentiment, but there was nothing romantic about Driscoll and Stormont, and it looked as if they shared her belief that the lode could be found. Scott, too, thought it possible, and his judgment was often sound. Thirlwell had imagined the lode an illusion of Strange's, but his disbelief was giving way.

Then he forgot the others and thought about Agatha. In some ways she was like Strange, but she was made of finer and stronger stuff. She had his patience, but her brain was keener, and her resolution was backed by moral force. Moreover, she was a very charming girl and Thirlwell admitted that he looked forward with eagerness to their journey. She would come in summer, when the rivers and lakes were open and the woods were filled with resinous smells. The sun was hot in the North then, the days were often calm, and there was a wonderful bracing freshness when the lingering twilight glimmered behind the pines.

It would be strangely pleasant to listen to the girl's soft voice while the canoes glided smoothly across sparkling lakes, and perhaps to tell her stories of the wilds when the smoke of the camp-fire drifted by and the cry of the loon came out of the shadows. For all that, there was not much risk of his falling in love with her. He was not a sentimentalist, and she had told him that her vocation was science. Her journey was a duty, and when the duty was carried out she would concentrate on her studies, and as she had talent presently make her mark. He did not think she would find the lode, but when she was persuaded it could not be found he would no longer be useful and they would go their different ways. Well, he supposed he must acquiesce. He was a poor engineer, and such happiness as marriage could offer was not for him.