Wolf Breed

by Jackson Gregory

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE LOST GOLDEN GIRL PAYS AN OLD DEBT

  Drennen, presenting himself early upon the second morning in theoffices of the Northwestern Mining Company, found that he was expected.A clerk, arranging papers of the day's work upon his desk, came forwardquickly, a look of interest in his eyes.

  "Mr. Drennen?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "This way, sir. You come early but they are looking for you."

  Drennen followed him through a second office, unoccupied, and to aglazed door upon which was the inscription, "Local Manager." The soundof voices coming through the door fell off abruptly at the clerk'sdiscreet knock.

  Drennen entered and the clerk, closing the door, went back to his ownoffice. Fronting Drennen, at his flat-topped desk, sat old MarshallSothern, the muscles of his face tense, his eyes grim with the purposein them. A second man, small, square, strong-faced, a littlereckless-eyed, sat close to Sothern. The third man of the group,standing fronting the two, was a young looking fellow, tall and withthe carriage of a soldier, wearing the uniform of an officer of themounted police.

  Sothern rose, putting out his hand across the table.

  "Good morning, Mr. Drennen," he said evenly. "I am glad that you havecome so soon. This is Mr. McCall," nodding toward the strong-faced,middle-aged man with the young eyes. "You've heard of him, no doubt?Our chief over the Western Division. And this is Lieutenant Max of theNorthwest Mounted, one of 'my boys.' Be seated, Mr. Drennen. And ifyou will pardon us a second?"

  He turned toward Lieutenant Max. Drennen, having gripped Sothern'shand, having bestowed upon him a sharp look which seemed to seek topierce through the hard shell which is the outer man and into the soulof him where the real self is hidden, acknowledged the twointroductions and sat down.

  "I think that that is all, isn't it, Lieutenant?" Sothern was saying ashe picked up the thread of conversation which Drennen's entrance hadsnapped. "Those are the people you want?"

  "Yes." Max's words, though very quiet and low toned, had in themsomething of the precision and finality of pistol shots. "They'll notget away this time, Mr. Sothern."

  "_He_ mustn't get away. But remember, Lieutenant, that the time is notripe yet. I positively can do nothing to help your case until . . .until I am ready!"

  "I'll wait."

  Max lifted his hand in a sort of salute, turned and went out. Drennen,bringing his eyes back from the departing figure, found that bothMarshall Sothern and McCall were studying him intently.

  "Mr. Drennen," said Sothern, "I presume you are here to talk business.You have a mine you want us to look at?"

  "I am here for two purposes," answered Drennen steadily, his eyes hardupon the older man's. "That is one of them."

  "The other can wait. Mr. McCall and myself are at your disposal. Fromthe specimens I have seen I am inclined to think that you have notdiscovered a new mine at all, but have stumbled on to the old LostGolden Girl. If so, you are to be congratulated . . . and so are we."

  Drennen nodded, waiting for Sothern to go on.

  "You made a certain offer to Charlie Madden," continued Sothern. "Wasthat your bona fide proposition, Mr. Drennen? Or were you merelysparring for time and putting out a bluff?"

  "I meant business," returned Drennen. "I know that the property isworth considerably more than I am asking. But I have a use for justthat sum."

  "A hundred thousand dollars, cash, I believe? And a ten per centroyalty?" put in McCall quietly.

  "Exactly." Again Drennen nodded.

  "You want me to look it over with you, Sothern?" demanded McCall. "Itisn't necessary, you know. Not now."

  "I want you to do me the favour, McCall," answered Sothern. "Mr.Drennen, yesterday the only man in the West empowered to do businessfor the Northwestern upon such a scale as this was Mr. McCall. Butthings have happened in the East. Our chief, Bruce Elwood, is dead.Mr. McCall goes to-morrow to Montreal, stepping into Mr. Elwood'splace. I move on and up into Mr. McCall's."

  He paused, his face inscrutable under its dark frown. Suddenly heswung about upon McCall.

  "Andy," he said sharply, "you're going to do more than just look at Mr.Drennen's find with us. You're going to act upon his offer as you seefit. As a favour to me, Andy."

  Both Drennen and McCall looked at him curiously. Sothern's stern facetold nothing.

  "As a favour to me, Andy," he repeated. "You bring me word of mypromotion. Pigeonhole it until after this deal is made or rejected."

  McCall, his hesitation brief, swung about upon Drennen.

  "Where is this mine of yours?" he demanded curtly. "How long will ittake us to get to it?"

  "It's less than forty miles from Lebarge," returned Drennen. "And wecan get there in five hours, if we keep on moving."

  "You have filed your title, of course?"

  "Yes."

  "Come ahead then." McCall was upon his feet, his hat on his head andhis cigar lighted all in little more than an instant.

  In ten minutes the party was formed and had clattered out of Lebarge,back along the MacLeod trail. There were five men in the little group,Drennen, Sothern, McCall and two mining experts in the pay of theNorthwestern. As they swept out of Lebarge, rounding into the canonwhere the trail twisted ahead of them, Drennen saw two men lookingafter them. One was Marc Lemarc who had accompanied him to Lebarge;the other Lieutenant Max.

  Once in the trail the five men strung out in a line, Drennen in thelead. It was easy to see his impatience in the hot pace he set forthem, and they thought that it was no less easy to understand it. Butfor once they followed a man who thought less of his gold mine than ofa girl.

  Drennen's gold mine itself plays no part in this story. He was neverto see it again after this day, although it was to pour many thousandsof dollars into his pockets from a distance. In the _West CanadianMining and Milling News_, date of _August 9, 1912_, appears acolumn-and-a-half article upon the subject, readily accessible to anywho are not already familiar with the matter which excited so wide anInterest at the time and for many months afterwards. The article isauthoritative to the last detail. It explains how the Golden Girlbecame a lost mine in 1799, and how it happened that while DavidDrennen had discovered it in 1912 it had been hidden to other eyes thanhis. A series of earthquakes of which we have record, occurring at thebeginning of the nineteenth century, bringing about heavy snowslidesand landslides, had thrown the course of one of the tributaries of theLittle MacLeod from its bed into a new channel where a suddendepression had sunk the golden vein of the lost mine.

  Here, just before the winter of 1911-12 shut down, David Drennen hadfound a nugget which he had concealed, saying nothing about it. Thesnows came and he went back to MacLeod's Settlement to wait for thecoming of springtime and passable trails. The first man to pack out ofthe Settlement prospecting, he had come to the spot which last year hehad marked under the cliffs known locally as Hell's Lace. The trailhad been rotten underfoot and he had slipped and fallen into one of theblack pools. Clambering out he had found the thing he sought; wherethe trail had broken away was gold, much gold. In the bed of thestream itself, nicely hidden for a hundred years by the cold, blackwater, swept into deep pools, jammed into sunken crevices, was the oldlost gold of the Golden Girl.

  The _West Canadian Mining and Milling News_ of the same date goes on tomention that the last official act of Mr. Andrew McCall as Local Agentfor the Northwestern, had been the purchasing of his claim from DavidDrennen at the latter's figure, namely one hundred thousand dollars incash, and an agreement of a royalty upon the mine's output.

  Despite Drennen's impatience to be riding trail again it was a weekbefore the deal was consummated. Half a mile above his claim it waspossible for the engineers to throw the stream again into its old bed,a score of men and three days' work accomplishing the conditions whichhad obtained before the period of seismic disturbance. Then followeddays of keen expert investigation. Even when they were sure these menwho know a
s most men do not the value of caution when they are allowedto take time for caution, postponed their final verdict. But at lastthe thing was done and McCall, taking his train for the East, leftLebarge with a conscious glow of satisfaction over the last work doneas superintendent of the Western Division.

  Marshall Sothern, returning from the railroad station, found Drennenwaiting for him in his private office.

  "Well, Mr. Drennen," he said quietly, going about the table and to hischair, "how does it feel to be worth a cool hundred thousand?"

  "It feels," cried the younger man sharply, his voice ringing with ahint of excitement which had been oddly lacking in him throughout thewhole transaction, "like power! Like a power I've been hungering forfor ten years! May I have your stenographer for a few moments, sir?"

  Sothern touched the buzzer and the clerk came in from the outer office.

  "Take Mr. Drennen's dictation," said Sothern. "I'll go into the otherroom. . . ."

  Drennen lifted his hand.

  "It's nothing private, sir," he said. "I'd rather you stayed. I'dlike a word with you afterwards."

  The clerk took pencil and notebook. And Drennen, his eyes neverleaving Sothern's face, dictated:

  "Harley W. Judson, Esq., President Eastern Mines, Inc., New York.

  DEAR SIR:--In compliance with the last request of my father, JohnHarper Drennen, before his departure for Europe in 1901, I amforwarding draft on the Merchants' & Citizens' National Bank of NewYork for $40,000. John Harper Drennen's original indebtedness to yourcompany was, you will remember, $75,000. Of this amount some $50,000was paid from the sales of such properties belonging to him at thattime. The remaining $25,000 at an interest of 6% for the ten yearsduring which the obligation has continued, amounts to the $40,000 whichI enclose.

  Respectfully,"

  "That is all, Mr. Drennen?" asked the clerk.

  "That is all," answered Drennen. The clerk went out. Drennen turnedtoward the man at the desk whose stern set face had gone strangelywhite.

  "The absconding John Harper Drennen made such a request of you?"Marshall Sothern said calmly, though the effort for control was evident.

  "No. It's just a little lie told for my father . . . the only thing Ihave ever done for him!"

  Drennen came suddenly about the table, both of his strong hands out.

  "When a man is very young he judges sweepingly, he condemns bitterly.Now . . . why, now I don't give a damn what you've done or why!" Hisvoice went hoarse, his hands shook and into the hard eyes of DavidDrennen, eyes grown unbelievably soft now, the tears stood. "If onlyyou hadn't shut me out that way . . . God! I've missed you, Dad!"

  The old man made no answer as his hand grew like rock about his son's.A smile ineffably sweet touched his lips and shone in his eyes. Theyears had been hard, merciless years to him as they had been to DavidDrennen. But for a moment the past was forgotten, this brief fragmentof time standing supreme in the two lives. At last, in the silence,there fell upon them that little awkwardness which comes to such menwhen for a second they have let their souls stand naked in their eyes.Almost at the same instant each man sought his pipe, filling it withrestless fingers.

  "My boy," said the man whose name had been Marshall Sothern through somany weary years that it was now more his name than any other, "thereis the tale to tell . . . sometime. I can't do it now. One of thesedays . . . this has been the only dream I've dreamed since I saw youlast, in Manhattan, David . . . you and I are going to pack off intothe mountains. We're going alone, David, and we're going far; so farthat the smoke of our little camp fire will be for our eyes andnostrils alone. Then I can tell you my story. And . . . David . . ."

  "Yes, Dad?"

  "That forty thousand . . . You are a gentleman, David! That was likeyou. I . . . I thank you, my boy!"

  Drennen's face, through a rush of emotions, reddened. Reddened for anunreasoning, inexplicable shame no less than for a proud sort of joythat at last he had been able to do some small thing for John HarperDrennen, his old hero.

  Again there fell a silence, a little awkward. The two men, with somuch to say to each other, found a thousand thoughts stopping the rushof words to be spoken. Drennen realised what his father had had inmind, or rather in that keenly sensitive, intuitive thing which is notmind but soul, when he had spoken of the two of them taking together atrail which must lead them for many days into the solitudes before theycould talk to each other of the matters which counted. Something notquite shyness but akin to it was upon them both; it was a relief whenthe telephone of Sothern's desk rang.

  It was Marc Lemarc asking for Drennen. He had hired men, bought toolsand dynamite, ordered machinery from the nearest city where machinerywas to be had, had spoken to a competent engineer about taking chargeof the work to be done. He was quite ready to return to MacLeod'sSettlement.

  "It's all right, Lemarc," answered Drennen. "I have deposited themoney in your name in the Lebarge Bank. You can draw out whatever youplease and when you please. No, you needn't wait for me; I'll overtakeyou, I have no doubt. Oh, that's all right!"

  Before Drennen had finished there came the second interruption. Theclerk came to announce the arrival of Israel Weyeth, who, uponSothern's promotion, was to fill the vacant position of Local Manager.

  "Mr. Sothern," said Drennen while the clerk was still in the room, "Ishall remember your promise of a hunting trip with me. I am going upto MacLeod's Settlement immediately. I trust to see you again verysoon."

  "Mr. Drennen," answered the old man quietly, "I am honoured in yourfriendship. You have done me a kindness beyond measure but not beyondmy appreciation."

  They shook hands gravely, their eyes seeking to disguise the yearningwhich stood in each soul. Then Drennen went out.

  "There, sir," cried Sothern, and the clerk marvelled at the note in hisvoice which sounded so like pride of ownership, "there goes a man fromwhom the world shall hear one of these days. His feet are at last inthe right path."

  The clerk, going to usher in Israel Weyeth, did not hear the last lowwords:

  "For which, thank God . . . and Ygerne Bellaire!"