Men of the Mist E-Book

T.C. Bridges

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

The TEA at the Wasperton School was nothing more than thick slices of bread and margarine and an ominous black mixture served in huge metal teapots. The food was so bad that the boys could hardly eat it, but they did not dare to complain, at least as long as they were under the gaze of their master, Mr. Silas Craishaw. Because his eyes were no less rigid than his cane, and not a day passed, but some of them felt a prick of it. Among the forty or so boys who were sitting at two long tables, there was a couple that was somehow different from the rest. Despite their worn clothes and patched boots, an atmosphere of reproduction reigned around Clem and Billy Ballard.

Leseprobe

Contents

I. THE COMING OF BART

II. SEALED ORDERS

III. THE "BIG BRITISHER"

IV. A HASTY LANDING

V. THE "BORE"

VI. NIGHT IN THE FOREST

VII. THE COMING OF THE STRANGER

VIII. THE DEATH SLIDE

IX. THE LAST REFUGE

X. INTO THE UNKNOWN

XI. THE FALL OF THE GLACIER

XII. BILLY'S FIND

XIII. TREASURE TROVE

XIV. THE BROKEN ROOF

XV. PELLY SHOWS HIS TEETH

XVI. THE SECOND START

XVII. BIRDS AND BEASTS

XVIII. THE BOYS' BLUNDER

XIX. THE STONE MAN

XX. THE HOLLOW MOUNTAIN

XXI. THE BLACK GAP

XXII. THE VALLEY OF THE MIST

XXIII. LAKE FISHING

XXIV. WHEN THE STORM BROKE

XXV. INTO THE DARKNESS

XXVI. THE SOUND IN THE NIGHT

XXVII. NO WAY OUT!

XXVIII. THE MONSTER

XXIX. BILLY'S BRIGHT IDEA

XXX. THE OUTCAST

XXXI. THE INVADERS

XXXII. THE RACE IN THE SNOW

XXXIII. IN THE CLEFT

XXXIV. WHEN THE WATCHDOG BARKED

XXXV. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY

XXXVI. CLEM TO THE RESCUE

XXXVII. THE TABLES ARE TURNED

XXXVIII. CLEARING UP

I. THE COMING OF BART

TEA at Wasperton School was nothing but thick hunks of bread and margarine and an evil-looking black mixture served in huge metal teapots. The food was so bad that the boys could hardly eat it, but they dared not complain, not, at any rate, so long as they were under the hard eyes of their master, Mr Silas Crayshaw. For his eyes were no less hard than his cane–and never a day passed but some of them felt the sting of that.

Among the forty or so boys who sat at the two long tables were a couple who somehow looked different from the rest. In spite of their shabby clothes and patched boots, there was an air of breeding about Clem and Billy Ballard.

As Clem took his place beside his brother, Stiles, the grimy old school porter, came along and dropped a letter by his plate. Clem glanced at the address, and slipped the letter into his pocket. Pendred, a big, sullen-looking youth who sat opposite, laughed unpleasantly. “Scared to open it, I suppose?” he remarked. “Don’t want us to see the broad arrow on the paper.”

Clem went oddly white, but Billy’s eyes flashed and the colour rose hotly in his cheeks. Clem caught him by the arm. “Sit still, Billy. Don’t pay any attention to him,” he said coolly. “It’s from Uncle Grimston,” he added in a whisper.

Just then Mr Crayshaw came in, and Pendred subsided. He was not going to risk a cut from the master’s cane.

The meal went on in absolute silence, and the moment it was over the two Ballards hurried out. “Let’s go down to the quarry,” said Clem, and Billy, merely nodding, dropped into step.

Wasperton was near the big manufacturing town of Marchester, and the whole countryside was foul with soot and smoke. The two boys walked down a grimy lane, turned into a bare-looking field, and passing through some gorse and a clump of half-dead trees reached the edge of an old stone quarry, at the bottom of which was a deep pool of sullen greenish water. There they plumped themselves down on the grass. “What’s he say?” asked Billy.

Clem tore open the envelope, and had hardly begun to read before he stopped with a gasp.

“What’s the matter?” demanded Billy sharply.

“He–he–can’t have us back, Billy! We–we’ve got to spend the holidays here!”

“What! Here at Wasperton?”

“Yes. That’s what he says,” Clem answered, with his grey eyes fixed upon the fatal sheet.

“Oh, he can’t! He can’t mean it!” groaned Billy.

“It’s plain enough,” said Clem bitterly. “He says he can’t have us knocking about the place.”

“He always hated us,” said Billy fiercely.

Clem shrugged his shoulders. “Well, he’s kept us since Mother’s death. I suppose we ought to be grateful.”

“What’s the good of his keeping us?” cried Billy, “I’d sooner work as an errand-boy in a shop than go on like this. The school is a pig of a place; we don’t learn anything, there are no decent games, and I hate the very sight of it, and of Crayshaw too.”

In his excitement Billy sprang to his feet and went stamping up and down. “And the chaps jeering at us about Father!” he went on. “As if it was his fault or ours that they sent him to prison.”

“Steady, Billy!” said Clem. “It’s no good getting excited.”

“But I can’t help it!” retorted Billy. “It isn’t fair. Everything’s gone wrong since they tried Father for taking money which you and I know he never touched. And now to keep us in this place all the holidays! It’s the limit, and I’m not going to stand it!”

“Look out!” cried Clem suddenly and leapt to his feet. He was just too late, for Billy had gone too near the edge, and with a deep crunching sound a great piece of turf had broken off and slipped down, carrying Billy with it.

“Billy! Billy!” cried Clem in horror. When he reached the edge he fully expected to see his brother plunged into the depths of the pool thirty feet below, and his relief may be imagined when he caught sight of him clinging to a narrow ledge only a yard or so down. In a flash he had flung himself on his face, and reaching down caught hold of Billy. “Hang on!” he cried. “Hang on, Billy! I’ll get you up!”

But when he tried to do so he found that it was out of the question. The weight was too much for him to lift, and Billy could get no foothold. With a sinking feeling of horror, Clem realized that unless he kept quite still he himself would be pulled over the edge, and both would plunge to destruction in that noisome green water so far below.

“Help!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Help!”

Clods of earth fell away beneath him. Another slip threatened. Billy looked up at him with agonized eyes. “Let me go, Clem!” he said. “Let me go! I shall only drag you down.”

But Clem’s teeth set hard. “No!” he answered curtly. “Hang on!”

More earth fell. Clem was slipping. Another moment and it would have been all over, when he felt a tremendously powerful grip on his legs. “Hang on, sonny!” came a cool, deep voice. “I reckon I can pull ye both up if ye’ll hold still.”

Such a pull! It was like that of a steam-crane. Clem’s muscles cracked, but he held on, and next minute he and Billy were both safe on firm ground.

“There, that’s all right,” said his rescuer, as calmly as ever, and Clem, recovering a little, looked up into the face of a man of middle height, square built, and evidently of immense strength. His features were blunt, and tanned to the colour of an old saddle, but his eyes, of a singularly clear blue, held that curiously far-seeing look peculiar to men who spend their time entirely in the open air. He was dressed in a ready-made blue serge suit much too tight across his immensely broad chest.

“Thanks awfully,” gasped Clem. “You saved us both. I say, you are strong!”

The other smiled, and it was a very pleasant smile which lit up his whole face.

“Glad I came along in time, sonny. But you’re all right now. Well, I guess I’ll be going. Good evening.”

But Clem caught his arm. “Please tell us your name,” he begged.

The big man smiled again. “Bart, I’m called–Hart Condon. And what’s yours?”

“Ours is Ballard,” replied Clem. “I’m Clem, and this is my brother Billy.”

Condon’s blue eyes widened. Clem almost thought he saw him start slightly. But all he said was, “I’m mighty glad to have met you. You’re from the school, I reckon?”

“Yes,” replied Clem. “I say, you come from America, don’t you?”

“That’s so, son. Say, I’ll walk up as far as you’re going.”

So the three walked back together, but Clem had no chance to pursue his inquiries, for Condon did most of the talking. He asked many questions about the school, and by the time they reached the gates had got the boys to tell him practically all about it and about themselves. They had told him how their father had been put in prison for a theft he had never committed, how their mother had died of grief, and how their uncle, Mr Robert Grimston, a hard, mean man, had taken charge of them, and put them at this wretched school, where they had now been for two years.

“But your dad escaped, didn’t he?” asked Condon.

“Yes. But how did you know?” asked Clem quickly.

“Guess I read it in the newspaper,” was the reply.

“Yes,” said Clem. “He got away more than eighteen months ago, and they never caught him. They say he’s gone to Australia. I do hope he’s safe there.”

“Mighty good place to get to, I reckon,” said Condon. Then he stopped, and offered his hand first to Clem, then to Billy. “I reckon we’ll meet again some time,” he said, and, turning in his quick, quiet way, was gone.

“What a topping chap!” said Billy to Clem.

Clem nodded. “A real good sort,” he agreed, “and he came just in the nick of time.”

Billy nodded gravely. “I only hope Crayshaw doesn’t hear of this. He’ll stop us going down to the quarry, and it’s the only place we can get to ourselves.”

“Why should he hear?” asked Clem.

“Look at your clothes,” responded Billy.

Just then a cracked bell began to ring.

“There’s the bell for school!” exclaimed Clem. “We must hurry.”

All the boys sat together in the large classroom for evening preparation. Every one was very quiet, for Mr Gorton, the assistant master, was at the desk, and every one knew that his cane was as handy as Mr Crayshaw’s. The silence was broken only by the scratching of steel pens and the rustle of the pages of dog’s-eared books.

And so the minutes dragged on until the hands of the big clock pointed to a quarter past eight. Only a quarter of an hour now, and then came bedtime.

The sound of the door opening made every one look up, and in came Stiles, the dingy old manservant, and went up to Mr Gorton.

He gave a slip of paper to the master, and Mr Gorton glanced at it. His big voice boomed out. “Ballard senior and Ballard junior.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the two boys, standing up.

“You are both to go to Mr Crayshaw’s room.”

As the two left their seats Billy glanced at Clem. “What’s he want?” he whispered to his brother.

“Probably he’s heard from Uncle too,” was Clem’s answer. “Or else Pendred has sneaked about our going down to the quarry. He’s always spying on us?”

II. SEALED ORDERS

MR CRAYSHAW’S study was a large, untidy room which reeked of tobacco, and Mr Crayshaw himself was a tall, bony man who wore a tail-coat which had once been black but now was green, and a sort of fez cap on his bald head. He had bushy eyebrows and deep-set eyes. As Clem and Billy came in he was sitting at his desk. He looked up and stared at them.

“What’s the matter with your clothes, Ballard senior?” he demanded.

Clem held himself very straight. “I had a fall, sir,” he answered quietly.

Mr Crayshaw grunted. “Fighting, I suppose, but you need not be afraid,” he said. “Though no doubt you richly deserve it, you will not get a caning this time.” He picked up a sheet of paper and adjusted his spectacles. “I have a letter here from your uncle,” he went on. “It seems he wishes to take you away from the school.”

“Take us away!” echoed Clem, hardly able to believe his ears.

“Yes,” snapped the master. “In my opinion a very foolish proceeding, but since he has sent a cheque in advance for next term’s fees I have no choice but to let you go.”

He went on talking, but the boys hardly heard. The one fact they realized was that they were to leave Wasperton, and this alone seemed too good to be true. It was also utterly amazing, for the letter telling them they could not come home for the holidays had only just arrived.

“You will pack your things to-night.” were the next words Clem caught. “You are to leave in the morning.” He glared at the boys as though they had done him some injury, but it is quite certain that neither Clem nor Billy took the faintest notice of his expression.

The master turned again to his desk and picked up an envelope. “I am to give you this,” he added, handing it to Clem. “It contains your tickets and money for your journey. You are not to open it until you arrive at the station to-morrow morning, where you will catch the eight-thirty train. You quite understand?”

Clem was almost breathless, but somehow managed to get out, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Then good night, and good-bye, for I shall not see you in the morning. I only hope that you will both benefit by the useful tuition which you have received in my establishment.”

He extended a large, cold hand, which the two boys shook in turn; then somehow they found themselves in the passage outside the study door. They were both gasping like fish out of water. Billy turned to Clem. “I–I say, Clem, it’s a dream, I suppose. It can’t be real,” he said hoarsely.

Clem held up the envelope. “This is real, Billy. No, it’s true. It’s really true.”

“B-but where are we going–back to Uncle Grimston’s?”

Clem shook his head. “There wouldn’t be all this mystery about it if we were,” he answered. “Besides, his letter to me said he didn’t want us at his house for the holidays.”

“Then where?” demanded Billy.

“What does it matter? Anything will be better than Wasperton. Come on. Let’s pack.”

It was a job that did not take long, for one small box easily held all their worldly goods.

“And we don’t even know how to label it,” said Billy, when it was done.

“We shall know in the morning,” Clem answered. “Now we’d better turn in.”

Luckily for them, the rest of the dormitory were already in bed, and, barring a sneer or two from Pendred, they were not molested. But neither of them slept much that night. They were far too excited. Stiles called them at half-past six, and they slipped out like mice. The other boys were still asleep, and Clem and Billy were not sorry. But not until they were in a cab and on their way to the station were they able to believe that they were actually clear of Wasperton.

It was barely eight when they arrived, and except for a solitary porter there was not a soul on the platform. Billy seized Clem by the arm and dragged him into the deserted waiting- room. “The envelope, Clem–we can open it now,” he said sharply.

Clem’s fingers were not quite steady as he tore open the envelope. It contained a sheet of paper, two tickets, and five pounds in Treasury notes. “The tickets–where are they for?” demanded Billy.

Clem held them up. “Lime Street Station, Liverpool,” he read.

The two boys stared at one another, but neither spoke. Then Clem unfolded the sheet of paper. On it were typed these words: “Your passages are booked for New York on the Pocahontas, sailing at 4 p.m. on Wednesday afternoon. You will be met at Liverpool. The password for which you will be asked is ‘Potlatch.’”

There was no signature to this startling message, no address, no date. Clem and Billy stared at one another in mute amazement. “The Pocahontas–New York!” Clem muttered at last.

Suddenly Billy snatched off his cap, flung it in the air, and gave a whoop which made the solitary porter drop a large parcel he was carrying and turn quite pale. “Hurray!” he shouted. “No more Uncle Grimston! No more Wasperton! Three cheers for America!”

The porter came up quickly. “Here, I say, young feller!” he said, in a scandalized tone. “If you wants to make a noise like that you better go out on the road and do it. This here’s the private property of the railway, and lunatics like you ain’t allowed here.”

Billy turned a beaming face on the man. “I can’t help it, porter. I’m not loony–only happy. So’d you be if you’d just got away from a place like Wasperton, and especially if you’d been there for nearly two years.”

The porter’s expression changed and became quite sympathetic. “Oh, you’re from Wasperton, are you? Yes, I shouldn’t wonder if you was glad to clear out. They do say as it’s a sort o’ ‘Dotheboys Hall,’ like Dickens wrote about.” He paused. “I say, you bain’t running away, be you?” he asked quickly.

“No, indeed!” replied Billy. “We’re going to friends in America. See, here are our tickets to Liverpool.”

The porter inspected the tickets and nodded. “They’re all right. Now you’ll go right through to Crewe and change there, and you’ll get to Liverpool just after one o’clock. That’ll give you plenty of time to get some dinner afore you goes aboard. Tell you what, I knows the guard aboard this train. I’ll tip him a word to look after you.”

“That’s frightfully good of you,” said Billy gratefully, and the good fellow stood chatting with them until passengers began to arrive and he had to get busy. But he did not forget his promise, and when the train came in introduced them to the guard, who put them in a carriage near his van, and was kindness itself.

It is quite safe to wager that two happier passengers than the young Ballards were not carried by any train in England that morning, and when they were swept away from the grimy surroundings of Marchester, and through the lovely hills of North Wales, their delight was beyond words.

Billy was constantly sticking his head out of the window to admire one thing or another, but in between he and Clem talked things over again and again. But the more they discussed the matter the worse puzzled they became. “It’s no use troubling our heads,” said Billy at last. “The paper says that some one is going to meet us at Liverpool. Whoever it is, we can ask him where we are going.”

The train pulled into the big junction at Crewe, and the kindly guard saw the boys and their box across into the other train, and shook hands with them and wished them luck. Then they were off again, the express racing north for Liverpool.

It seemed a very short time before they reached the huge Lime Street Station, and there they stood on the platform beside their box, waiting alone in the midst of hurrying crowds, and, to say the truth, feeling a little lonely.

“Is your name Ballard?” Clem glanced up quickly, to see a quietly dressed, middle-aged man who looked like a lawyer standing beside him.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

“And the word?”

For a moment Clem wondered what was meant–but only for a moment. “Potlatch,” he answered.

The other smiled slightly, and motioned to a porter to take the box. He led the way to a waiting taxicab, and they drove off.

Billy was the first to speak. “Where are we going, sir?” he asked.

“To get some dinner,” was the reply.

Something in their new acquaintance’s tone checked further questions, and presently the taxi pulled up at a small, quiet- looking hotel. Here the box was taken out and left in the hall, the taxi-man paid and dismissed, and all three went into the coffee-room, where dinner was quickly set before them. It was a plain enough meal, but there was excellent roast beef with Yorkshire pudding and baked potatoes, and an apple tart with custard.

To the boys, accustomed to the greasy, ill-cooked fare at Wasperton, it was delicious, and both had two hearty helpings of each course. Their new friend hardly spoke except to ask them about their journey, and somehow neither cared to question him. The minute the meal was over he got up and looked at his watch.

“Now we have some shopping to do,” he said, “and since we have not much time we must hurry.”

He walked them off briskly, and took them into a big department store, where he spoke to a shopwalker. They were at once escorted to a lift and whirled to an upper floor, where they found themselves in the tailoring department. Piles of ready-made garments of all sorts were on the shelves.

“I want two suits for each of these boys,” said their guide, “one of plain blue serge, the other of rough tweed, thick and warm.”

He knew exactly what he wanted, and got it. Thence he moved to another department, where he bought flannel shirts, underclothes, socks, collars, and ties. The third place they went to was the boot department, where each was provided with two pairs of new boots and a pair of slippers.

Then Clem and Billy were hurried to a dressing-room, where the blue serge suits were ready, together with complete changes of everything, including boots. “Ten minutes to change,” said their friend briefly. “Meantime I will get each of you a travelling bag, an overcoat, and a cap.”

When Billy stood up in his new clothes and saw himself in the glass he shook his head. “I don’t know myself,” he said slowly. “Nor you either, Clem,” he added. “I’m sure we shall wake up presently and find it’s all a dream. It’s much too good to be true.”

As he spoke the door opened, and in came their lawyer-like friend. “No,” he said, “it’s real enough.” He looked at them, and there was approval in his eyes. “You do me credit,” he said briefly. “Your things are all packed. I will take you to the ship.”

An hour later Clem and Billy stood at the rail, waving to their friend on the wharf, while the big ship, in tow of a tug, began to move slowly down the river.

III. THE “BIG BRITISHER”

ON the eighth morning after leaving England Clem and Billy came on deck to see the huge statue of Liberty towering in front of them, and beyond it the tremendous skyscrapers of New York outlined against a clear blue sky. They had enjoyed every minute of the voyage, but they were still as much in the dark as ever as to where they were going.

On the pier they found waiting for them a man from one of the great travelling agencies. He was an American, very brisk and cheerful. The Customs officials did not worry them much, and almost before they knew it they were driving through the roaring traffic of the capital of the New World to the great Erie Station.

“It’s a real shame that there ain’t time to show you boys something of this little old town,” said their guide, “but my directions is to ship you right through to Seattle quick as you can go.”

“Where’s Seattle?” inquired Billy.

“A long way from here,” replied the other with a grin. “You got to go clean across from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and that’s a week in the train. Wal, here’s the depot (station you calls it in England), and here’s your tickets. I reckon some one will meet you at the other end.”

“Who will meet us? Where are we going?” demanded Billy eagerly. The guide looked at him oddly. “If you don’t know, I’m sure I don’t,” was all he said, and once more the boys found themselves starting off on a new journey without the faintest idea of their real destination.

Everything was new to them–the great steel carriages, so immensely larger than English ones, the big day coach, the ‘sleeper’ with its chairs and tables, the clanging of the engine bell, the negro porters, the boys who brought round newspapers, books, and candy.

Their tickets, they found, included sleeping accommodation, and the conductor had evidently been tipped to look after them. Whoever was paying for their journey was plainly not stinting money.

Over and over again the boys discussed the question of who could be their unknown benefactor. They were both quite certain that it was not their uncle Mr Grimston. Billy had suggested that it was possible they were going right across the Pacific to Australia to join their father, but Clem, older and wiser, had pointed out how unlikely it was that their father could have made money enough in less than two years to pay for all this. In any case, as he said, it would have been far cheaper for them to go by sea all the way. Clem’s own idea was that it might be their father’s brother, Lionel Ballard, who had sent for them. Neither he nor Billy had ever seen this uncle, who had left England many years earlier. All they knew was that their father had sometimes spoken of him.

On the sixteenth day after leaving England they reached Seattle, where they were again met by an agent of the same travel company, taken to a quiet little hotel, and ordered to remain until called for. They stayed there a week, living well and enjoying themselves immensely.

Then one evening they were just going to bed when there was a knock at their door, and in walked a broadly-built man with very clear blue eyes. Clem, who was in the act of pulling his boots off, sat quite still and stared, but Billy leapt to his feet. “Mr Condon!” he cried in utter amazement.

“Not Mister–just Bart,” was the quiet answer, as Bart Condon shook hands gravely, first with Clem, then with Billy. He looked them over. “Well, to be sure, you have come on a whole lot! I reckon you’re each seven or eight pound heavier than when I last seed you. You been weighed lately?”

“Weighed!” cried Billy. “We had something else to think of. How in the world did you come here?”

“Steamboat and train–same as you,” replied Bart calmly. “Well, well, I’m mighty glad you’re both looking so spry. How do you like this town?”

“The town’s all right,” said Billy, “and we’re all right. But it’s you we want to hear about. Did you know we were coming here?”

The blue-eyed man’s expression did not change in the slightest. “Why, I won’t go for to say I didn’t,” he replied.

Clem stood up. “Was it you took us away from Wasperton?” he demanded.

Bart shook his head. “No, sonny, it warn’t me. But say now, I reckon you’d better get right to bed. The steamer leaves at seven to-morrow morning. Now good night to ye. I’ll see as you’re called bright and early.”

He was as good as his word, and early next morning he and the two boys left Seattle aboard a small coasting steamer called the John P. Wilkes, and, working out of Elliot Bay, steamed north across Puget Sound, and so out into the Pacific.

The boys were wild with excitement, for now, for the first time since leaving England, they began to feel that they were getting out of touch with civilization.

Not that Bart told them a word of where they were bound. He would talk about anything except that. It was their fellow- passengers who made them feel it. They were nearly all men, and men of a sort which Clem and Billy had never seen before. There were Americans, English, Swedes, Norwegians, and a few French and Italians. There were also men whose dusky faces and sloe-black eyes showed that they had more than a touch of Indian blood in their veins. Almost all these men were big-muscled, deep-chested fellows dressed in thick flannel shirts and jean trousers, and wearing knee-boots, and handkerchiefs knotted round their necks in place of collars.

“Gold-miners, I believe,” whispered Billy to Clem. “I say, do you think we can be going to the diggings?”

“The ship is bound for Dyea, in Alaska,” replied Clem. “The purser told me. I say, Billy, look at those two who have just passed up the deck. Did you ever see anything like them?”

“Yes, I have. It was in a cinema,” replied Billy as he watched them.

They were worth watching too, if only because they looked so rough and strange. One was a great big man with tow-coloured hair, hard, pale blue eyes, and a face that looked as if it had been carved out of stone; his companion was smaller, with a swarthy skin, a thick black moustache curled at the ends, and hair black as jet and clustering in tight ringlets all over his head.

By degrees the mixed company settled down, and by evening every one had found his place. The weather was very fine, and the ship ploughed steadily northward over a sea so calm that the brilliant stars were reflected in its placid surface. Supper over, Clem and Billy found the deck so crowded that they went aft and perched themselves on top of the emergency wheel-house. Here they sat silent, watching the sky and the sea.

All of a sudden they heard voices close by, and peeping over, saw two men standing and leaning over the stern, apparently watching the gleaming wake. They were the very same couple whom they had noticed earlier in the day.

Next moment the taller of these men spoke. “I take it, then, as you have some real information this time, Craze,” he said in a low yet harsh voice.

“You can be very sure of that, Gurney,” answered the other. “Surely you know me better than to think I should come all this distance on a wild-goose chase. I have it on good authority that the man whom they call ‘the Big Britisher’ is the one we want. There is a reward of a thousand dollars offered by the police for his capture.”

“A thousand dollars!” repeated the tall man in a scornful tone. “You surely are not going to tell me that we are taking this trip for a thousand dollars! Why, that would barely pay our expenses!”

“I am telling you nothing of the sort,” replied the black- haired man sharply. “There’s ten times that money–maybe twenty–if we play our cards right.”

“What do you mean, Craze?” questioned Gurney.

Craze leaned nearer, and spoke in a lower tone, yet the two boys were close enough to hear what he said. “Gold, Gurney. My information is that this man, who is a fugitive from justice, has struck it rich up there in the ranges. And once the police have him, what is to hinder us from restaking his claim?”

Gurney whistled softly. “That’s a different story. Right you are, Craze. I’m backing you all the way through.”

“What a beastly shame!” whispered Billy in his brother’s ear.

But Clem pinched his arm hard. “Keep quiet, Billy,” he answered in an equally low tone. “We must get to the bottom of this.”

There was a pause during which nothing could be heard but the steady beat of the engine, the throb of the screw, and the rush of the broken water in the wake of the ship. Billy had dropped back close alongside Clem, and the two lay motionless, almost breathless.

The silence had lasted so long that Clem was beginning to be afraid that the men were not going to talk any more, when at last Gurney took his pipe from his mouth and spoke again. “What’s this English chap’s name, Craze? Know anything about him?”