It was very hot in the little West African factory where trader Niven lay dying. The sea breeze had died away, and though sunset drew near, it was not yet time for the spicy airs from the inland forest to mitigate the temperature. The dust lay still in the sun-scorched compound, about which the palm fronds hung motionless, and only the roar of breakers on the beach broke through the drowsy silence.
Two white men lounged in cane chairs upon the veranda which encircled the building. Both were limp, gaunt of frame, and pallid in face, because the climate they lived in is particularly unhealthy. Neither had enjoyed much education, or felt the lack of it in the trade they followed, while the cocktail jug on the little table betokened their favorite relaxation. Redmond and Gilby were West Coast traders who lived far remote from intercourse with their fellows, except for the two French rivals with whom they periodically quarreled. They concerned themselves with little beyond the well-being of their factory, and indulged each appetite on opportunity, knowing that on the morrow they might suddenly die. Yet they had their strong points, including a tenacious regard for their employers' interests, which led them to toil twelve hours daily when sick of fever if trade was good, and sometimes defy the French authorities, and an inconsistent generosity, as the result of which they had camped in the store shed, and turned over their own quarters to the man who stood behind them, and his stricken companion. The former was of very different type.
"You have done your best for the poor devil," said Redmond, glancing regretfully from him toward the empty jug. "But if I know anything about coast fever—and I ought to—Niven will get his release to-night. Still rambling about that fortune, I suppose?"
Carsluith Maxwell nodded, and Gilby commented meditatively: "It may be all a fever fancy, and it may be true. Niven was well known in this afflicted colony years ago, and there is gold up yonder. In fact, right away from here to the Volta you can find the color in the rivers, but there's very little of it that will pay for the washing, and few British mining companies that distribute much in dividends. Still, the old Portuguese took a good deal out, if the tales are true, and one gets small lots now and then put up in quills."
Redmond laughed maliciously.
"The last quills Gilby took in contained brass filings, and the firm wrote off their nominal value against our commission. Gilby had been drinking cocktails all that day. He may be right about the gold, but it's my firm opinion that unless the French send up a strong column and root out the Leopards, no white man will ever find it. You have heard about them, Maxwell?"
Maxwell was a man of discretion, and though he had ventured beyond the fringe of the Leopards' country, he only said:
"I don't know much about them. Do you?"
"He does not," said Gilby. "Neither does any white man; unless perhaps it's Rideau, or Niven. They are supposed to be members of one of the secret leagues run by the bush magicians in connection with the cult of the Ju-Ju; and if you want to know just what kind of devil a Ju-Ju is, you need not ask me. Anyway, from what one hears, those fellows can't be all impostors. They could apparently give our amateur necromancers points in hypnotism, and what they don't know about poisons is not worth learning. They're no fools at bush politics either; and have managed to run Shaillu's kingdom, and keep white men out of it pretty successfully. It is believed that Shaillu would be glad to rule it without them, in his own way."
Maxwell knew all this, and a little more which his informant apparently did not; but he made no comment, and asked only one question:
"Who is Rideau?"
"He says he is a Frenchman," answered Gilby. "One would suppose that he ought to know; but after a dispute about the count of some monkey skins, Clancy of Axim once asked in public if there was not a dash of the tar brush in him, and was taken ill suddenly that night—which may, of course, have been a coincidence. In any case, he goes trading inland; and though he brings down a little gum, nobody knows exactly what he buys or sells. As you have heard, it's a ghastly country, and there's a heavy penalty for supplying niggers with modern rifles. The little French commandant would give a good deal to fix a charge on him."
"Thanks. I will remember if I meet him; but it is about time I returned to my patient," said Maxwell, and the other two looked after him until he disappeared round a corner of the dwelling.
"A curious man," Gilby commented. "He's probably like the parrot, for he says very little. Still, it is not everybody who would have turned back with his expedition on the very odd chance of saving a crazy countryman. It is just possible, however, he was glad to, after the bushmen had scared him."
"African parrots never think, unless it's about the pricking inside them," said Redmond. "You wouldn't either, if a nigger had fed you with broken glass, so you'd die as soon as he'd sold you, and keep the demand up. You're wrong, as usual, in other ways, too. If I'm a judge of character, there are no niggers in Africa who could scare that man."
Meanwhile Maxwell had seated himself on the opposite veranda, and, after a glance at a trestle couch which showed him that Niven was apparently asleep, was gazing out to sea. He was close on the age of thirty, of average stature, but spare and sinewy. His sallow face had been further darkened by the African sun, and though now its expression and that of the dark eyes was thoughtful, it was the face of a resolute man. Carsluith Maxwell was also, in a somewhat somber fashion, a handsome man; and though some of his fair acquaintances described him as too silent, and others as too sardonic, all agreed that he was interesting. Maxwell described himself as an individual of unsettled habits, born with fastidious tastes and no means to gratify them—which, he said, explained his wanderings in search of a fortune. He did not add that his chief ambition was to restore to its former prosperity an old Border stronghold which, with every acre of its grass parks and stony plow-land heavily encumbered, stood behind the shores of Solway. Carsluith Maxwell, who some day would be master of Culmeny, had inherited more than a trace of the silent grimness of the old moss-troopers from whom he sprang.
Turning presently, he saw that Niven was wide awake and looking out to sea. Their acquaintance had been brief, and dated from the night when Niven reeled into the camp of a small French expedition, alone, fever-stricken, and half-crazy. Seeing that he would die in the forest when the expedition continued its march, Maxwell abandoned his prospecting journey and turned back to the coast with him. The African malaria often attacks a white man's brain as well as his body; and during most of the time Niven had talked erratically. Now, however, Maxwell noticed that he appeared sensible and sane.
"Good to come back to, isn't it?" he said, glancing at the sea, athwart which the track of the sunset beat luridly. "I used to long for it in the forest when Lyle and I first set up the one factory which ever stood more than twelve months in Shaillu's country. That reminds me! I have a good deal to tell you, and, considering that I may not last out to-morrow, it's high time I began. I have given you a good deal of trouble, but you may not regret it when I have done."
"I shall not regret it in any case," said Maxwell quietly. He was seldom emphatic in speech.
"You are like Lyle, and that's partly why I'm going to tell you. He and I went up into Shaillu's country long ago, and the Leopards tried to poison us. They wanted no white men there, and did not like free trade. They also tried other ways; but if our lives were in our own hands, we held them tight—and any man might face the devil with a partner like Lyle. You will understand presently why I'm commencing at the beginning. Well, we nursed each other through fevers, and twice stood behind a stockade with the rifle barrels burning our hands; but we made money, and I think the Leopards grew afraid of us because we lived in spite of them. Of course, we had our friends, because the brown traders from the North had to pay a heavy toll to the Leopards before we came; and some of them told us about gold having been washed out of a far-off river by niggers who had a poor idea of its value. We were too busy to trouble about ventures of that kind; and as the river flowed through No Man's Land there was nobody to sell us a marketable concession."
The sunset was fading off the waters when Niven paused to gather breath, while his strained voice sank to a deeper tone as he proceeded:
"There was a dispute as to who owned some gum we had paid for, and two men were shot before we convinced the niggers that nobody could lay violent hands upon our property. Then one of Shaillu's sub-headmen, who said there had been a mistake somewhere, summoned us to a palaver to talk the question over. We went, with twenty armed Krooboys scared almost to death, who feared Lyle more than they did the niggers, and were given a fair hearing. Several of the big Leopard men were there, but the headman held us justified, and when we had made everybody a present the palaver ended in revelry. I warned Lyle; but to fear nothing, and be equally ready with smile or pistol, was always my comrade's way.
"We came back safely; but he dragged himself up the stairway with his face all twisted the next night, and I knew what had happened before he told me. 'Those devils have poisoned me,' said he."
It was almost dark now, and the white mist from the forest slid in ghostly wreaths past the little factory. Niven shivered before he proceeded:
"Have you ever seen a comrade poisoned by the bushmen—when they meant to hurt him? No! Then you have something to be thankful for. Lyle, by worse luck, was young and strong, and took an unconscionable time dying; I don't know that I did well when I took the pistol from him. For three mortal hours I suffered all with him, and there was no power left in me when at last he let his head drop on the table. There are things it is not fit to remember which one can never forget. Then I knew all that the man had been to me; and what I must do was plain before me.
"I sent the chief Leopard man a message, with a token which, in accordance with his own superstitions, made it more impressive, that sooner or later I would demand full satisfaction, or, if I died too soon, would pass the debt on in a way he understood; and I had not forgotten when a new trading combination made me general manager. You see, I needed money, and could wait very patiently. I also made money, and, when badly sick, let the firm send me home, a fairly prosperous man, to recruit in England. It was there I met the woman I married; and she was worlds too good for me. I even forgot Lyle, and what we had done in Africa; and—for one looks at things differently over there—hoped for nothing better than to end my days in peace and security."
Niven so far had spoken sensibly, but he ceased when the thick hot African darkness rolled down like a curtain, and was silent a space. The land breeze had delayed its coming, the temperature was almost insupportable, and the roar of the breakers set the whole factory vibrating in unison. It is possible that the fever gathered strength, as it often does, at nightfall; for the sick man's speech was slow and disjointed when he began again. It was also evident that he was a little hazy in his mind.
"Poor Elsie died, and left me very lonely. Without her the life grew tame, and I would lie awake thinking of Africa and Lyle. He was growing impatient, and tried to warn me it was time I went back again. The warnings grew plainer, and at last I went. I had, so far as it was in me, trusted one man and loved one woman, and both of them had gone. The trading firms had forgotten my name, but I remembered the gold in the Leopard's country, and determined, if I could find it, to hire my own fighting boys, and hunt down the whole accursed league. There is no law but the right of the strongest hand in Shaillu's country. I went up with fifty Krooboys; and perhaps the Leopards remembered and were afraid of me, for we had almost reached the place in safety, when one of the sicknesses common up there seized us. I left most of the boys behind in camp with my headman, and pushed on for the river where the gold was said to be. I found it—or Lyle found it for me."
Maxwell thought that no sane man would have attempted single-handed to try conclusions with the almost omnipotent league, but he sat still, with a composure that was characteristic of him, asking no questions, though the simple statement had roused his most eager interest. It was some time before Niven proceeded.
"I turned back to camp, and found none of all the boys I left there. Perhaps the headman had sold them. He had, you must remember, a curious cross-shaped scar upon his forehead. I don't know where the rest went, or what I did, being fever-crazy, and it must have been Lyle who brought me to the Frenchman's camp. Of course, Lyle is dead—I buried him with my own hands under the first big cottonwood behind the factory long ago—but he has never forgotten me. There was good alluvial gold in that river; and when I go you will find a record of my journey, with sketches and compass bearings, under my pillow. I'll bequeath it to you, with my curse upon the men who killed poor Lyle, on this condition: If you meet the Leopards—and whoever goes up there will—you will remember my quarrel with them, and how my partner died."
"After what I have heard about their doings, I can promise that," said Maxwell quietly.
"I think we both can trust you. You look that kind of man," said Niven. "I should never have told you if you hadn't. The two things go together, for the Leopard headmen will know I have passed the quarrel on. You can't take one without the other."
Niven sank into sleep or unconsciousness presently, and Maxwell sat beside him considering what he had heard. He could see that there was a burden attached to the legacy; but he had no profession, and was not a rich man. It was true that he would shortly succeed to Culmeny, and had inherited the family pride in the ancient estate; but, when the interest had been paid, the rental of the poor, encumbered lands would provide the barest living. He determined that if there was gold in the Leopards' country he would stake his life on the chance of finding it. After coming to this decision he called a Krooboy to watch the sick man, and retired to snatch a few hours' badly needed sleep. Sleep, however, was some time in coming. The mildewed building was insufferably hot, and the thunder of the surf sufficient to keep awake any man who had lately emerged from the hush of the twilight forest; but at last Maxwell sank into fitful slumber. It afterward was evident that the Krooboy, too, had slumbered.
Several hours had passed when Maxwell awakened suddenly, and sat up listening. Through the deep monotone of the breakers he could hear the land breeze sigh eerily about the building. A snake rustled in the thatch, and loose boards creaked as they soaked in the damp; but although there was nothing suspicious in all this, Maxwell felt that something unusual had roused him. Men acquire an almost instinctive prevision of danger in the eternal shadow of the African bush.
Suddenly a detonation shook the building. Maxwell, leaping from his couch, ran along the veranda and burst, breathless, into Niven's room. Bright moonlight streamed in through the window, and he saw the sick man lying propped up on one elbow, with a pistol smoking in his hand. Niven appeared perfectly sane, and his voice was steady when he spoke.
"My fingers are shaky, and this is a hard pull-off, or I'd have shown you the man who betrayed me," he said. "It was my book he wanted."
Maxwell, who was quick in action, sprang out upon the veranda and made a circuit of the building. The dusty compound beneath it was clear as noonday under the moon, but, save for two startled Krooboys and trader Redmond who crossed it at a run, nobody moved therein, and Maxwell hardly considered it possible that any fugitive would have had time to reach the bush. He returned and told Niven so.
"You must have been mistaken," he said.
The sick trader laughed harshly.
"I am not in the least mistaken. I saw the man with the scar on his forehead as plainly as I see you. He must have been one of the Leopards; and, whether it's magic or trickery, those fellows are fiendishly clever. You won't be astonished at stranger things before they have done with you. Take the book now, and keep it, if you can. If a man called Rideau ever hears you have it and wants to trade with you, distrust him as you would the devil. If he says I ever made any bargain with him, it will be a lie!"
Maxwell went out and allayed Redmond's curiosity by a promise to confer with him in the morning; then he returned to watch beside Niven, who slept tranquilly during the remainder of the night. After breakfast Maxwell told Redmond as much of the story as appeared judicious; but the trader did not, as he partly expected, laugh at it.
"Of course, it may have been all a delusion, and it may not," he said. "If so, it's a coincidence that I heard Rideau has just arrived at the next beach; and one of my boys, who seemed afraid of it, picked this up in the bush. It's a trifle that has a significance in the country your sick friend rambled through."
The trader handed Maxwell a little tuft of leopard's fur braided with fiber.
"If Niven has told you any of his secrets it might be good policy not to mention it," he cautioned; "and Gilby and I are not curious. This factory is sufficiently remunerative and deadly for us."
Niven grew rapidly weaker all day, and when Maxwell asked him at sunset whether he had any messages to send to friends in the old country, he did not appear to recognize him.
"They're all dead a long time ago," he said ramblingly. "Poor Elsie, who was worlds too good for me, lies in clean English earth a long way across the sea; but Lyle, who understands everything and why I forgot him, is waiting for me. I could not have a better comrade wherever he is."
These were his last comprehensible words, for he passed out of existence, sleeping, with the chill of early morning, and was, as usual, laid to rest that day. Maxwell returned thoughtfully from the simple funeral, feeling that the legacy might well prove an unmixed blessing.
On reaching the veranda stairway, he heard somebody moving softly about what had been the sick man's room. He had good ears, and felt tolerably certain that the next sound he caught was that made by cotton garments being quickly unfolded or wrapped together. Somebody, it appeared, was searching Niven's apparel. In spite of Maxwell's quickness, he had not reached the doorway when a man came out of it and advanced, smiling toward him. He was rather dark in face and full in flesh for an European who had dwelt any time in Western Africa. He also was more elaborately dressed, in spotless white duck, fine linen, and silk sash, than the average trader; but if his lips were a trifle thick, and his eyes cunning, he had an easy, good-humored air, and saluted Maxwell gracefully.
"Monsieur Maxwell, is it not? I have the honor to present myself—Victor Rideau," he said. "By grand misfortune, I arrive too late to change the adieux with my friend of long time, the estimable Niven, and so wait to ask if he left any paper for me. We have affair together, and there is small debt he owe me, voyez vous?"
Maxwell was a man of keen perceptions, and he would have distrusted the speaker even if he had not been warned against him.
"He left you no papers. Neither, so far as I can discover, did he leave a single franc piece in money."
"Grand misfortune!" exclaimed Rideau. "Possible it is he tell you of his affair. The estimable Niven, you understand, was old friend of me. That is why I have the pleasure of wait your company."
"He told me very little about his business affairs, and the rest was spoken in strict confidence," said Maxwell; and for a few seconds the two men eyed each other—Maxwell curious but expressionless in face; Rideau somewhat uneasy. The advantage was with the Briton, for he was seldom loquacious, while the man of Latin extraction seemed to find the silence irksome.
"You are perhaps busy," he said at length. "You grieve for the estimable Niven. Me, I grieve for him also. So, if it is not intrusion, to-morrow, by the morning, I come for condole with you."
Rideau withdrew, and Maxwell first packed his few belongings—a homeward bound steamer was due to call on the morrow—and then sat down to make a copy of the dead man's itinerary, with the sketches attached to it. He was surprised to find that, mad or sane, Niven had noted the magnetic direction of each day's march, as well as taken cross bearings of prominent objects wherever there was open country. These details increased his hopefulness; and when he had enclosed the copy in a sealed envelope and handed it to the French postmaster, he buttoned the original in an inside pocket and sat down on the veranda, smoking thoughtfully.
"It appears that other men beside myself believe Niven actually did find gold up there, as two attempts to steal his diary seem to prove," he reflected. "Whoever goes up to look for it will probably have to deal with Monsieur Victor Rideau as well as the Leopards; and a little delay in setting about the search may throw him off the scent. The first necessity is a reliable partner, and I can think of nobody better than Hyslop."
The homeward bound mailboat arrived before Rideau the next day, and when she stopped at the first port connected by cable, Maxwell despatched a message to London:
"Wire Hyslop to meet me by Malemba."
Before the steamer proceeded he received the answer:
"Hyslop dead South America, according to Dane."
"Poor Andrew!" thought Maxwell. "That is check number one. Still, there must be many suitable men at home, and I dare say I shall find one. Who Dane is, Carslake, parsimonious as usual, does not explain."
It was a pleasant summer evening when Hilton Dane leaned against a beech trunk outside Thomas Chatterton's villa which stands upon a hillside above the Solway shore. He was a tall, fair-haired man who looked older than his age, twenty-five, with steady blue eyes, and usually a somewhat masterful air; but just then his eyes were wistful, and his face, which betokened an acquaintance with the tropical sun, expressed somewhat tempered satisfaction. He had certainly cause for the latter feeling, because, after toiling hard at railroad building in a foreign land, it was comforting to know that he had earned the right to rest a while in that peaceful retreat.
The sun still touched the velvet lawn, though the shadows lengthened across it, and the larch wood behind the red-tiled building diffused resinous odors. The grass sloped to a river which came down amber-tinted from the stretch of heather growing black against the east, and, curving round two meadows, flashed through the gloom of fir branches into a deep pool. All this was pleasant to the wanderer newly returned from the glare of the desolate pampa and the turmoil of dusty construction camps; but Dane found the keenest pleasure in watching his companion.
Lilian Chatterton, niece of the childless owner of The Larches, was worth inspection. She was a year or two younger than the man, and lay in a low chair opposite him, her fingers busy with a ball of colored thread, while the last of the sunlight sparkled in her hair. Dane noticed how its bronze color flashed into lustrous gold, and decided that the changing lights in the hazel eyes matched it wonderfully well. Nevertheless, he had seen them burn with quick indignation, for the girl possessed a spice of the Chatterton temper, which was never remarkably equable. Presently he allowed several loops of thread to slip from the skein he held, and she looked up with a trace of indignation.
"That is the second time! You cannot be tired already," she said.
Dane smiled a trifle grimly. He had toiled for twelve hours daily under burning heat and then spent half the night poring over plans, not long ago.
"I am not quite worn out; but is it not an unfair question, considering my present employment? This skein is getting mixed, and I was wondering if you would allow me to help you in straightening it."
Miss Chatterton glanced at him keenly before she shook her head. It was not surprising that she had grown used to masculine homage, but none of her other cavaliers had quite resembled this one. He was slower and more solid, and, while he had a way of anticipating her wishes, he lacked their versatility. Sometimes she wished, with a sense of irritation, that she could dismiss him as summarily as she had done the rest, but that could not be done without incurring Thomas Chatterton's displeasure, which was no small thing to risk.
"No," she said decisively. "I believe you tangled it yourself. Don't you think it would run more smoothly if you gave the thread more length? Well, why don't you act upon the suggestion?"
"I was thinking," the man answered with a meditative air; and Miss Chatterton laughed.
"It is a bad habit of yours. Of the famous mining pump, or the lawsuit, presumably?"
There was something in the speaker's manner which qualified the smile in her hazel eyes, and warned the man that his companion was merely bent on discovering how far he was disposed to respect the wishes she had not directly expressed. He, on his part, was wondering how he could best intimate that certain fears she entertained were groundless. He laughed softly, though a tinge of darker color crept into his tanned face as he remembered the uncompromising frigidity with which she had at first received him.
"I feel that I ought to say something civil," he said. "How could one think of the things you mention in such surroundings?"
The girl was in a variable mood, and she smiled mischievously.
"That is not civil. It implies that I expected you to. Tell me instead how the pump is progressing."
"The pump is not progressing," said the man. "In fact, it is standing still; and, though the court upheld my patent, it will probably continue to stand still for lack of capital. Capital is hard to acquire, you know."
"But you were well paid, and promoted several times on your merits in South America, were you not?" asked Miss Chatterton.
"I was lucky," Dane said quietly. "It was due to no merit of mine that my superiors died off with yellow fever; but when the inventor desires a fair share of the profit himself, it requires a good deal of money to start off pumps and similar inventions successfully."
"You are growing avaricious," declared Miss Chatterton, and let her eyes fall a little under the man's gaze.
"You are right," he said. "I would sell half my life to any one for the few thousand pounds the invention would repay twenty-fold; and somehow I shall get them."
The listener fancied that this was possible, for there was a stamp of force and endurance upon the man; but she did not inquire why he was so anxious for wealth. While she considered her answer, and he wondered how he could best express what must be said, there was an interruption; for it happened a few moments earlier that the owner of The Larches flung down the balance-sheet he was perusing in a room which did not look out upon the lawn.
"Those new directors are a pack of fools," he observed. "They are throwing away all I so painfully built up. I'm going to catch a trout in the moss pool; and, as I saw Maxwell's rascals putting up the fence again, I'll demolish his iniquitous obstruction on my way. Helen, where have these stupid people hidden my flybook again?"
Mrs. Chatterton smiled a little, and, reminding her husband that the book was in his pocket, followed him to the door.
Thomas Chatterton and the father of Hilton Dane had set up a little wire mill when both were struggling men, and, though Dane's rolling machinery had started them on the way to prosperity, its inventor died too soon. Chatterton was always considered an upright man; but, because Dane's widow did not long survive her husband, nobody knew exactly whether his success was due to his own energy or the dead man's invention. Chatterton, however, recognized a moral debt, and would have discharged it, but that Hilton Dane had inherited his mother's pride as well as his father's skill. When the famous business was sold to a company, the iron-master, purchasing a small estate in Scotland, aspired to play the part of a country gentleman, in which he was not wholly successful. He was at once too autocratic and too democratic; and the local magnates of ancient descent resented his habit of doing exactly what pleased himself in defiance of their most cherished traditions. He had accordingly embroiled himself with Maxwell of Culmeny over what he contended was an ancient right of way.
When he reached the door he turned and smiled significantly at his wife.
"They seem well contented, do they not?" he said.
Mrs. Chatterton understood him, though she did not smile as she glanced at the two on the lawn. Lilian's white-robed figure was forced up sharply in a manner that emphasized its comeliness by the somber background of larches; and the last of the ruddy light deepened the faint, warm tinge in her cheeks. Dane's face was in the shadow, as he looked down upon the girl, but his form showing darkly against the light was that of a vigorous, well-made man; and Mrs. Chatterton, knowing his disposition, reflected that her niece might make a less desirable choice. It was, however, she thought, unfortunate that her husband was seldom addicted to leaving those he desired to benefit any choice at all; and she considered that he had made his intentions respecting Dane and his niece too plain, for Lilian had a tolerably strong will of her own.
Chatterton moved forward, and the two turned sharply at the sight of the stout, thick-necked, elderly gentleman, in vivid red leggings and slouch hat adorned with gaudy flies.
"We had neither time nor taste for needle-work when I was young, Hilton, but these are degenerate days," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Do you feel inclined to help me to catch a trout during the evening rise?"
Dane glanced appealingly toward his companion. He would have felt no great inclination for being sent into the river to free the iron-master's line, which usually formed part of the program on such excursions, even if he had not a better reason for refusing.
"I am afraid the water is too clear, sir, for an indifferent angler; and it might spoil this skein if I left it partly wound," he answered lamely.
Lilian, however, possibly for Chatterton's benefit, ignored the appeal.
"So far you have only succeeded in entangling it," she said.
Dane had no choice left but to express the pleasure it would afford him at least to carry his host's landing net; and he did it as well as possible, though uneasily conscious that Chatterton was amused at him. Then they waded together through long damp grass which soaked Dane's thin shoes through, while Chatterton discoursed learnedly upon lines and flies. He was as choleric and obstinate as he could be generous when the impulse seized him, and he had ruled stubborn operatives so long that the use of the strong hand had become habitual to him. Presently he halted, fuming with indignation, before a hedge.
"That confounded Maxwell has built it up stronger than ever!" he exploded. "Look at that, and see how he respects a public right of way! Don't you consider it perfectly scandalous, Hilton?"
Dane saw an irate elderly gentleman, and a neatly mended gap in the hedge; but being uncertain as to what answer would best soothe the former, he wisely held his peace until he should furnish further particulars. Chatterton, however, espying a stout stake in the grass, commenced a spirited attack upon the hedge. So vigorous was it that his face grew flushed and his hat fell off, while Dane looked on with suspicious gravity, smothering a desire to laugh.
"If you really want that gap opened, I dare say I could assist you, sir," he said.
Chatterton panted wrathfully.
"Do you suppose I am doing this for exercise? It's a public duty! I have battered it down twice already, and defied Culmeny to sue me."
He plied the stake again until, glancing from a root, it smote him on the ankle. Desisting then, he commented upon his neighbor's conduct viciously while Dane proceeded to attack the obstruction with marked success. Chatterton, when he noticed this, watched him admiringly; and when Dane tore his hand on a strand of barbed wire, he positively beamed on him.
"I'm sorry, Hilton; but, in one way, it's almost a pity you did not tear it worse," he said. "Still, I dare say it will rankle sufficiently to give us something to claim damages from Culmeny upon. Meantime, go home and ask Lily to tie it up. Nobody could do it more neatly."
"I certainly hope it will not, sir," said Dane, with a trace of irritation; though, being thankful for the excuse, he lost no time in returning.
Meanwhile, Lilian Chatterton sat where he had left her, in a contemplative frame of mind. She and Dane had been playmates in their younger days, and the latter had afterward shown his admiration for her in youthful fashion. That was before he went abroad; but her cheeks tingled as she remembered how she had been made to feel, a few weeks earlier, that it was Chatterton's desire that their youthful friendship should speedily ripen into something further. Lilian was grateful to the iron-master, who had denied her nothing, and brought her up as his daughter; but she was also sensitive, and accordingly shrank from Dane, wondering, with a sense of shame, what had been said to him, and whether he, too, considered her own opinion as of no importance. The man's conduct had, however, partly reassured her, for he made no advances; she did not know that he had, during several years spent in strenuous effort, carried her memory and a stolen photograph about with him.
Had she been a free agent she might have been inclined to approve of Hilton Dane. She knew he was honest, resolute, and capable, while as regards physique, nature had treated him well; but as it was, and because there were no friends she could find an excuse for visiting, it appeared essential that he should be made to recognize that there could be no more than a mutual toleration between them. Miss Chatterton had just arrived at this conclusion when the man came toward her across the lawn. Again it struck her that the bronzed face beneath the straw hat was that of an honest man, and that the blue eyes had a kindly gleam in them; but she brushed such thoughts aside impatiently.
"What has brought you back so soon?" she asked.
"The need of assistance," Dane answered with a laugh, and the girl's mood changed swiftly as she glanced at his injured hand. Her eyes grew sympathetic.
"Will you wait a few moments until I find some arnica?" she said.
Dane would have waited a long time in return for such a glance, and, when the girl rejoined him, he felt that the pain was a very small price to pay for the pleasure of letting his torn hand rest in her little cool palm. When it had been bound up with a dainty handkerchief, Lilian smiled prettily.
"I think," she said playfully, "with due care you should now recover."
"Do you know that I feel tempted to go back and tear the other?" returned the man.
Lilian regarded him with some uneasiness.
"Such speeches do not become you," she said. "No doubt there are idle men who consider that they prove irresistible to most of us; but you—you are different."
"Yes," Dane assented somewhat grimly. "I suppose my lot is to drag the measuring chain and do the hard work more famous men get paid for; but a little variety is refreshing—and there were times when you did not seem to find any levity on my part wholly irksome."
The girl's color rose a little, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. She understood that this was a challenge, but she did not guess that it had been thrown down for her sake out of kindliness. Unfortunately, she recalled several incidents connected with the days to which her companion referred, and she recollected that he had an unpleasantly good memory.
"We were only boy and girl then," she said. "One forgets such nonsense as one grows older. Still, I am almost glad you mentioned it, because—can't you see the uselessness of remembering?"
Dane, though he did not say so, saw most clearly the impossibility of ever being able to forget; but he was considerate, and had sense enough to see what he would lose by taking advantage of the position. He had noticed how, until his conduct reassured her, she held aloof from him.
"What could an unfortunate man answer?" he asked with a mirthless smile. "Do you expect me to admit that I am pleased to consider it is so?"
Lilian looked down at the grass to hide the anger in her face.
"Please don't—I am not wholly foolish," she said; and added abruptly, "I have almost decided on going to London for a course of art study shortly."
Dane leaned forward a little, and forced her to look up at him.
"That is, you are going away to avoid me," he said. "Have you considered that this might not only render circumstances unpleasant for you, but be unnecessary?"
Lilian looked at him steadily, for she was not lacking in courage.
"I am my own mistress; and they are distinctly unpleasant already."
Every word of the answer cost Dane an effort, but he determined to finish his task.
"I can realize that they must be so," he said. "I am not clever at expressing myself, and what I have to say is difficult to me, but I cannot allow you to be driven away. We are both master of our own inclinations, are we not?—and you have my word that, if you can trust me, it really isn't necessary."
There was no doubt about the relief in Lilian's face; and though it hurt the man to see it, he held out his hand.
"We shall be good friends once more; and that implies a good deal, does it not?" he said. "Promise so much, and I will engage that you have no further perplexity."
Lilian felt very grateful.
"I think I can promise that, now that we understand," she replied.
"Then it is a compact," said Dane, hiding his own regret manfully. "As a change, you might tell me why your uncle finds such satisfaction in destroying his neighbor's fences. He even said it was a pity I did not tear my hand more seriously."
Lilian was glad to change the subject.
"He fancied that Maxwell of Culmeny closed the gap to annoy him," she explained. "Unfortunately, when tearing down the first barrier, he hurt his foot, which naturally made him more determined to maintain ancient privileges. In one way, the feud is amusing; in another, vexatious; because we are lonely here, and the Misses Maxwell cannot well call upon us. Their brother Carsluith has lately returned from Africa, and would have made you a pleasant companion."
"Carsluith Maxwell?" said Dane. "It is curious that I was of some service to a friend of his, named Hyslop, in South America. The poor fellow struck our camp pulled down by sickness and apparently in want of money, and we were able to find him employment."
"Did you not mention that the contractors would not replace the assistants who died of fever?" asked Lilian. "Did they endorse your action?"
"I can't say they did," was the answer. "They were not required to."
"Oh! Then who paid Hyslop's salary?"
"It was arranged," Dane answered ambiguously. "You see, he was a countryman; and the poor fellow died soon afterward, anyway. I think I shall walk over to Culmeny."
Lilian asked no further questions. She felt that any one in trouble could trust the man beside her. She smiled as she said:
"I am afraid that would not be judicious. Your host would consider it an act of treachery."
They went back to the house together; and in the meantime, Thomas Chatterton, who was not a skilful angler, whipped several pools unsuccessfully, hooking nothing but weeds, and once, by accident, a water hen. Thus it happened that he had not returned when darkness fell, and Mrs. Chatterton despatched Dane in search of him. The moon was rising when the latter came down a path through the fir wood and stopped beside a deep, black pool. A streak of silver light crept up to the roots of an alder beside a ruined wall, and he paused to watch the wrinkled current flash athwart it. The odors of the firs and the stillness of the night were soothing: the sacrifice he had lately made had been a heavy one. Dane had not abandoned his hopes, but knew that he might have to wait long for their consummation, if they were ever realized.
Presently there was a sound of footsteps, and Dane guessed that the approaching shape was Chatterton by the red glow of his cigar. The iron-master stopped beside the alder, and it seemed that something which caused a ripple near its roots caught his eyes. Dane suspected that some poacher had set a night line.
Now, the wall marked the boundary between Chatterton's riparian rights and those of Culmeny; and it was out of idle curiosity that Dane watched his host instead of hailing him as, first looking about him, he descended the bank and hauled in the line. An exclamation of disgust followed as a writhing eel was flung out upon the grass; but there were nobler fish attached, and presently Chatterton stood up holding a splendid trout. Dane remembered that his father had sworn by Chatterton's commercial integrity, but he was not wholly astonished when the man slipped the fish, and a second one which followed it, into his creel. Then, surmising that the angler would not have desired a witness, he turned back softly and met him in the wood, flattering himself that he had arranged the meeting neatly.
"Had you any luck, sir?" he asked.
"The water was low, but here is something to convince the mockers," Chatterton answered, holding up a handsome trout; and Dane expressed admiration but no astonishment, which might not have been complimentary.
They walked home together, and Lilian met them in the hall. She surveyed the trout suspiciously, then laughed as she said:
"You look hot and muddy, and almost guilty. Are you quite sure you have not been poaching?"
Miss Chatterton was a shrewd young lady, and for a moment the iron-master, who had quelled several strikes unaided, looked positively uneasy.
"Young women were taught that flippancy did not become them when I was young," he rebuked.
Late that night the two men sat talking together.
"You have told me little about your affairs, Hilton," Chatterton said; "but I presume you will stay at home and put your pump on the market instead of accepting the foreign commission. There should be a good demand for it among the deep mine owners."
"I'm afraid not, sir," was the answer. "The patent lawsuit proved expensive, and to start an article of that kind successfully requires a good deal of money. I shall therefore go abroad to earn a little more as soon as the firm sends me."
"And risk your life for a thousand pounds," said Chatterton severely. "Don't you know that there are men with money who would be willing to finance you?"
"All I have met demanded three-fourths of the possible profits in return; and this is my invention."
"It is a valuable one," declared Chatterton with unusual diffidence. "But can't you think of anybody who would lend you the money out of good-will at a very moderate interest?"
Dane looked at the speaker steadily before he answered.
"I think I could; and I'm grateful; but unfortunately I can't bring myself to borrow money from such people. It would be abusing their kindness; and I might lose it for them."
Chatterton frowned.
"You are like your father—and as confoundedly hard to do a favor to," he said.
He retired shortly after this; and Dane went out into the moonlight, and leaned over the rails of a footbridge, watching the river slide past. He found a faint solace in the sounds and scents which filled the shadows, and knew that though he had taken the one course possible, if he was to retain his own self-respect and Lilian's esteem, there would be no sleep for him that night.
While waiting for his foreign commission, Dane found the summer days slip by almost too rapidly, though there were occasions when, after a long afternoon spent in Lilian's company, he fancied he could understand the feelings of Tantallus. The girl appeared completely reassured, and treated him with sisterly cordiality, while Chatterton, who knew nothing of their compact, nodded sapiently as he observed their growing friendship. Dane sometimes wondered if he were not heaping up future sorrow for himself; but, with infrequent exceptions, he found the present very good, and, being a sanguine man who could wait, he made the most of it.
Lilian was troubled by no misgivings. Once, when her aunt asked a diplomatic question, she smiled frankly as she said: "Yes. I am in one way very fond of Hilton; you will remember that I always was. We understand each other thoroughly; and he is so assured and solid that one feels a restful sense of security in his company. You will remember the Highland chieftain's candlesticks—the men with the claymores and torches, Aunty. Well, I fancy that worthy gentleman must have felt the same thing when he dined in state with them about him. He had but to lift his finger and they would disappear, you know."
Mrs. Chatterton looked slightly grave as she answered: "Don't forget that they were also men with passions, and very terrible men, sometimes—for instance, at Killiecrankie. It would not surprise me if you discovered that there is a good deal of very vigorous human nature in Hilton Dane."
Thomas Chatterton still went fishing, generally with indifferent success, but once Lilian caught Dane examining his creel, which was surprisingly well filled.
"I am puzzled, Hilton," she said. "I made a wager with Uncle that he would not catch a dozen good trout in a month, and now I fancy that he will win it."
"Well?"
"Men are deceivers ever—especially when it is a question of catching fish. I have noticed that when your host goes fishing by daylight he rarely catches anything but eels, which, as everybody knows, do not rise to a fly, while when he rises early or returns in the dusk he brings a really fine trout or two. I cannot, however, believe that this one died only two hours ago. Can you suggest an explanation?"
"Charity," said Dane gravely, "suspecteth nothing. Don't you know that trout rise most freely just before the dusk?"
Lilian shook her head.
"You are not sufficiently clever to set your wits against a woman's," she declared.
Dane laughed, a trifle grimly; and the girl, momentarily startled by something in his merriment, decided that she must have been mistaken; but she abandoned the subject with some abruptness.
That very evening, perhaps sent forth by fate, because much depended upon his fishing, Thomas Chatterton took up his rod and landing net, and, as he did not return by nightfall, his wife once more despatched Dane in search of him.
"I think you know where to find him; and I wish I did, for he has only to take two more trout to win," Lilian added significantly.
Dane proceeded by the shortest way to the big elbow pool, but it was almost dark when he reached it. There had been heavy rain, and all the firs which loomed through thin white mist were dripping. The water came down beneath them thick with the peat of the moorlands in incipient flood. Dane could hear its hoarse growl about the boulders studding the tail rapid, and surmised that there ought to be several trout on the poacher's line. Having, nevertheless, no desire to surprise his host red-handed, he did not immediately proceed toward it, but sat upon the driest stone he could find, listening for his coming. There was no sound but the clamor of the river and the heavy splashing of moisture from the boughs above, some of which trickled down his neck, until he heard a rattle of falling stones, and a shadowy figure, which he guessed was Chatterton's, crawled down toward the alder roots.