CHAPTER VII
THE OCCULT MAN
After breakfast the next morning, Blake and Harding sat on the verandatalking to the farmer. When they mentioned their first objectivepoint, and asked if he could give them any directions for reaching it,he looked thoughtful.
"I only know that it's remarkably rough country; thick pine bush onrolling ground, with some bad muskegs and small lakes," he said. "Youwould find things easier if you could hire an Indian or two, and acanoe when you strike the river. The boys here seldom go up so far;but Clarke could help you if he liked. He knows that country like abook, and he knows the Indians."
"We're willing to pay him for any useful help," Harding said.
"Be careful," cautioned the farmer. "If you're on a prospecting trip,keep your secret close. There's another bit of advice I might give."He turned to Blake. "If you're a friend of Benson's, take him alongwith you."
"I suppose I am, in a way, though it's a long time since I met him.But why do you suggest our taking him?"
"I hate to see a man go to pieces as Benson's doing. Clarke's ruiningthe fellow. He must have got two or three thousand dollars out of him,one way or another, and isn't satisfied with that. Lent him money onmortgage to start a foolish stock-raising speculation, and keeps himwell supplied with drink. The fellow's weak, but he has his goodpoints."
"But what's Clarke's object?"
"It isn't very clear. But a man who's seldom sober is easily robbed,and Benson's place is worth something; Clarke sees it's properlyfarmed. However, you must use your judgment about anything he tellsyou; I've given you warning."
The farmer rose as he spoke, and when he had left them, Blake satsilent for a while. Though he and Benson had never been intimatefriends, it did not seem fitting to leave him in the clutches of a manwho was ruining him in health and fortune. He would rather not havemet the man at all; but, since they had met, there seemed to be onlyone thing to be done.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to take Benson with us," he said toHarding.
The American looked doubtful.
"We could do with another white man; but I guess your friend isn't thekind we want. He may give us trouble; and you can't count on much helpfrom a whisky-tank. However, if you wish it, you can bring him."
Soon afterward Benson came out from the dining-room. He was two orthree years younger than Blake and had a muscular figure, but he lookedshaky and his face was weak and marked by dissipation. Smiling in adeprecatory way, he lighted a cigar.
"I'm afraid I made a fool of myself last night," he said. "If I madeany unfortunate allusions, you must overlook them. You must have seenthat I wasn't altogether responsible."
"I did," Blake answered curtly. "If we are to remain friends, you'dbetter understand that I can't tolerate any further mention of thematter you talked about."
"Sorry," responded Benson, giving him a keen glance. "Though I don'tthink you have much cause to be touchy about it, I'll try to remember."
"Then I'd like you to know my partner, Mr. Harding, who has agreed to asuggestion I'm going to make. We want you to come with us on a trip tothe northern bush."
"Thanks," said Benson, shaking hands with Harding. "I wonder what useyou think I would be?"
"To tell the truth, I haven't considered whether you would be of anyuse or not. The trip will brace you up, and you look as if you neededit."
Benson's face grew red.
"Your intentions may be good, but you virtuous and respectable peoplesometimes show a meddlesome thoughtfulness which degenerates likemyself resent. Besides, I suspect your offer has come too late."
"I don't think you have much reason for taunting me with beingrespectable," Blake answered with a grim smile. "Anyway, I want you tocome with us."
Tilting back his chair, Benson looked heavily about.
"When I was new to the country, I often wished to go North," he said."There are caribou and moose up yonder; great sights when the riversbreak up in the spring; and a sled trip across the snow must be a thingto remember! The wilds draw me--but I'm afraid my nerve's not goodenough. A man must be fit in every way to cross the timber belt."
"Why aren't you fit? Why have you let that fellow Clarke suck the lifeand energy out of you, as well as rob you of your money?"
"You hit hard, but I deserve it, and I'll try to explain."
Benson indicated the desolate settlement with a gesture of weariness.Ugly frame houses straggled, weather-scarred and dilapidated, along oneside of the unpaved street, while unsightly refuse dumps disfigured theslopes of the ravine in front. There was no sign of activity; but twoor three untidy loungers leaned against a rude shack with "Pool Room"painted on its dirty windows. All round, the rolling prairie stretchedback to the horizon, washed in dingy drab and gray. The prospect wasdreary and depressing.
"This place," Benson said grimly, "hasn't much to offer one in the wayof relaxation; and, for a man used to something different, life at alonely homestead soon loses its charm. Unless he's a keen farmer, he'sapt to go to bits."
"Then, why don't you quit?" Harding asked.
"Where could I go? A man with no profession except the one he hasn'tthe means to follow is not of much use at home; and all my money issunk in my place here. As things stand, I can't sell it." He turnedto Blake. "I left the army because a financial disaster for which Iwasn't responsible stopped my allowance, and I was in debt.Eventually, about two thousand pounds were saved out of the wreck; andI came here with that, feeling badly hipped. Perhaps that was onereason why I took to whisky; and Clarke, who engaged to teach mefarming, saw that I got plenty of it. Now he has his hands on allthat's mine; but he keeps me fairly supplied with cash, and it savestrouble to leave things to him."
When Benson stopped, Blake made a sign of comprehension, for he knewthat somewhat exceptional qualities are required of the man whoundertakes the breaking of virgin prairie in the remoter districts. Hemust have unflinching courage and stubbornness, and be able to dispensewith all the comforts and amenities of civilized life. No interestsare offered him beyond those connected with his task; for half the yearhe must toil unremittingly from dawn till dark, and depend upon his ownresources through the long, bitter winter. For society, he may have ahired hand, and the loungers in the saloon of the nearest settlement,which is often a day's ride away; and they are not, as a rule, men ofculture or pleasing manners. For the strong in mind and body, it isnevertheless a healthful life; but Benson was not of sufficiently toughfiber.
"Now, see here," said Harding. "I'm out for money, and this is abusiness trip; but Blake wants to take you, and I'm agreeable. If youcan stand for two or three months' hard work in the open, and veryplain living, you'll feel yourself a match for Clarke when you getback. Though there's no reason why you should tell a stranger likemyself how you stand, if you'd rather not, I know something of businessand might see a way out of your difficulties."
Benson hesitated. He would have resented an attempt to use histroubles as a text for improving remarks, for he fully appreciated hisfailings. What he desired was a means for escaping their consequences;and the American seemed to offer it. He began an explanation and, withthe help of a few leading questions, made his financial position fairlyclear.
"Well," said Harding, "Clarke has certainly got a tight hold on you;but I guess it's possible to shake him on. As things stand, however,it seems to me he has something to gain by your death."
"He couldn't count on that--to do the fellow justice, he'd hardly go sofar; but there's some truth in what you say."
Benson looked disturbed and irresolute, but after a few moments heabruptly threw his cigar away and leaned forward with a decided air.
"If you'll have me, I'll go with you."
"You're wise," Harding said quietly.
Shortly afterward Benson left them, and Harding turned to Blake.
"Now you had better go along and see if you can learn anything fromClarke about our road. He's a rogue, but that's no r
eason we shouldn'tmake him useful. If he can help us, pay him. But be careful what yousay. Remember that he was watching you at the hotel in Montreal, andI've a suspicion that he was standing in the shadow near the stairswhen Benson talked last night."
Borrowing a saddle, Blake rode over to Clarke's homestead, which had awell-kept, prosperous look. He found its owner in a small roomfurnished as an office. Files of papers and a large map of the WesternProvinces hung on one wall; and Clarke was seated at a handsomeAmerican desk. He wore old overalls, and the soil on his bootssuggested that he had been engaged in fall plowing.
As Blake entered, Clarke looked up and the light fell on his face. Itwas deeply lined and of a curious dead color, but, while, it bore asensual stamp and something in it hinted at cruelty, it was, Blakefelt, the face of a clever and determined man.
"Ah!" said Clarke. "You have ridden over for a talk. Glad to see you.Have a cigar."
Blake took one and explained his errand. Clarke seemed to consider;then he took out a small hand-drawn map and passed it to his visitor.
"I won't ask why you are going north, as I dare say it's a secret.However, though it's too valuable for me to lend it to you, this willshow you your way through the timber belt." He cleared one end of thedesk. "Sit here and make a note of the features of the country."
It took Blake some time, but he had been taught such work and did itcarefully.
"I'll give you a few directions," Clarke went on, "and you had bettertake them down. You'll want a canoe and one or two Indians. I canenable you to get them, but I think the service is worth fifty dollars."
"I'd be glad to pay it when we come back," Blake answered cautiously."It's possible that we might not find the Indians; and we might leavethe water and strike overland."
"As you like," Clarke said with a smile. "I'll give you the directionsbefore you go. But there's another matter I want to talk about." Hefixed his eyes on Blake. "You are a nephew of Colonel Challoner?"
"I am; but I can't see what connection this has----"
Clarke stopped him.
"It's not an impertinence. Hear me out. You were a lieutenant ofengineers and served in India, where you left the army."
"That is correct, but it's not a subject I'm disposed to talk about."
"So I imagined," Clarke said dryly. "Still, I'd like to say that thereis some reason for believing you to be a badly treated man. You havemy sympathy."
"Thank you. I must remind you, however, that I have given you nogrounds for offering it."
"A painful subject! But are you content to quietly suffer injustice?"
"I don't admit an injustice. Besides, I don't see what you can knowabout the matter--or how it concerns you."
"A proper line to take with an outsider like myself; but I know youwere turned out of the army for a fault you did not commit."
Blake's face set sternly.
"It's hard to understand how you arrived at that flattering conclusion."
"I won't explain, but I'm convinced of its correctness," Clarkereplied, watching him keenly. "One would imagine that the mostimportant matter is that you were driven out of a calling you liked andwere sent here, ruined in repute and fortune. Are you satisfied withyour lot? Haven't you the courage to insist on being reinstated?"
"My reinstation would be difficult," Blake said curtly.
"It would be at the expense of----"
Blake stopped him with a gesture. He would have left the house onlythat he was curious to learn where Clarke's suggestions led, and howmuch he knew.
There was a moment's silence, and then Clarke went on:
"A young man of ability, with means and influence behind him, has achoice of careers in England; and there's another point to beconsidered: you might wish to marry. That, of course, is out of thequestion now."
"It will no doubt remain so," Blake replied, with the color creepinginto his set face.
"Then you have given up all idea of clearing yourself? The thing maybe easier than you imagine if properly handled." Clarke paused andadded significantly: "In fact, I could show you a way in which thematter could be straightened out without causing serious trouble toanybody concerned; that is, if you are disposed to take me into yourconfidence."
Blake got up, filled with anger and uneasiness. He had no great faithin Harding's scheme; his life as a needy adventurer had its trials; buthe had no intention of changing it. This was an old resolve, but itwas disconcerting to feel that an unscrupulous fellow was anxious tomeddle with his affairs, for Clarke had obviously implied thepossibility of putting some pressure upon Colonel Challoner. Blakeshrank from the suggestion; it was not to be thought of.
"I have nothing more to say on the subject," he answered sternly. "Itmust be dropped."
Somewhat to his surprise, Clarke acquiesced good-humoredly, after akeen glance at him.
"As you wish. However, that needn't prevent my giving you thedirections I promised, particularly as it may help me to earn fiftydollars. I believe Benson spent some time with you this morning; areyou taking him?"
Blake started. He wondered how the man could have guessed; but headmitted that Benson was going.
"You may find him a drag, but that's your affair," Clarke said in atone of indifference. "Now sit down and make a careful note of what Itell you."
Believing that the information might be of service, Blake did as he wastold, and then took his leave. When he had gone, a curious smile cameover Clarke's face. Blake had firmly declined to be influenced by hishints; but Clarke had half expected that, and he had learned enoughabout the young man's character to clear the ground for a plan that hadformed and grown in his clever mind.
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