Partners of the Out-Trail Part 13

CHAPTER IX

AN HONEST ANTAGONIST

It was very hot on the rocky hill, and Jim stopped in the shade of a stunted pine, for he had gone far through the bush. His Hudson's Bay blanket and a bag of food, made up in a pack with straps for his shoulders, and a small ax, were a rather heavy load. When he had lighted his pipe he looked about. Tangled forest rolled up the hills wherever the stiff, dark pines could find soil in which to grow. Some were charred by fire and the tall rampikes shone silver-gray in the strong light; some were partly uprooted by storms and leaned drunkenly against each other.

At the head of the valley there was a faint blue haze, and Jim, knowing this was the smoke of a camp fire, began to muse. Now he would soon meet the man he was looking for, he doubted if he had been wise to come, and wondered what he would say. He had set off when an Indian reached the telegraph line and stated that a white man with a number of packers was camped in the valley. Jim imagined the man was Martin, Davies' employer, and meant to see him. He did not know if Davies was with Martin or not.

By and by he set off, avoiding fallen trees and scrambling across round-topped rocks. It was rough work and he was tired, but he could get forward without using the ax, which he had been forced to do when he fell among the horrible devil's club thorns. For all that, dusk was falling when he came to an opening by a creek where a big fire burned and a double-skinned tent stood at the edge of the trees. Six or seven st.u.r.dy packers lounged beside the fire, and Jim saw this was not a poor man's camp. For a few hot weeks, a traveler need suffer no hards.h.i.+p in the North, if he can pay for packers and canoes. A double-roofed tent will keep out sun and rain and a mosquito bar will keep off the flies, but packers who carry comforts cannot carry tools, and a utilitarian journey is another thing.

Jim was not traveling for pleasure and had gone alone. He was mosquito-bitten and ragged, and his boots were broken. The packers looked up with languid curiosity as he advanced, and when he asked for the boss one indicated the tent. Jim stopped in front of the tent and a man came out. He wore clean summer flannel clothes and looked strangely neat, but he was sunburnt and strongly made. Something about him indicated that he knew the bush and had not always traveled luxuriously.

"Are you prospecting?" he asked. "If you have struck us for supper, you can see the cook."

"I came to see you, and got supper three or four miles back. I'm Dearham, of Winter & Dearham. You have probably heard about us."

"Sure," said Martin, rather dryly. "You hold the contract for the new telegraph line. Somebody told me there was a dame in the firm."

"My partner's sister; I expect Davies told you, but don't see what this has to do with the thing."

"Sit down," said Martin, indicating a camp-chair, and then beckoned one of the men. "Bring some green bark and fix that smudge."

The man put fresh fuel on a smoldering fire and pungent blue smoke drifted about the tent.

"Better than mosquitoes; they're pretty fierce, evenings," Martin remarked. "Will you take a cigar?"

"No, thanks," said Jim. "I'll light my pipe."

He cut the tobacco slowly, because he did not know where to open his attack. Martin was not altogether the man he had thought and looked amused. He was a bushman; Jim knew the type, which was not, as a rule, marked by the use of small trickery. Yet Martin could handle money as well as he handled tools.

"Won't you state your business?" the contractor asked.

"I expect you and the Cartner people didn't like it when we got the telegraph job?"

"That is so. We thought the job was ours," Martin admitted.

"And you got to work to take it from us?"

"How do you mean?"

"To begin with, Probyn, Cartner's man, offered us a thousand dollars to quit."

"A pretty good price," said Martin. "Since you didn't go, I don't see why you are bothering me."

"It looks as if you and Cartner had pooled your interests. When we got to work, your man, Davies, came along and tried to hold us up. It was not his fault he didn't; the fellow's a crook."

"I haven't studied his character. In some ways, he's useful," Martin rejoined coolly. "Well, you reckon I sent him! How did he try to embarra.s.s you?"

"Don't you know?"

"It's for you to state your grievance."

Martin's face was inscrutable; one could not tell if he knew or not.

It was curious, but Jim could not take it for granted that he did know and he told him about the broken wall.

"You imagine Davies paid the fellow to cut your underpinning?" the contractor remarked.

"The thing's obvious."

"Then I don't understand why you came to me. There's not much advantage in telling your antagonist he has. .h.i.t you pretty hard."

"I wanted you to understand that you hadn't hit us hard enough. Your blow was not a knockout, and we mean to guard against the next. We have taken the contract and are going to put it over; I want you to get that. You can't scare us off, and while I don't know if you can smash us or not, it will certainly cost you high. Hadn't you better calculate if the thing's worth while?"

"You were far North for some time," Martin said carelessly.

"I was," Jim admitted with surprise, for he could not see where the remark led. "So were you."

Martin nodded. "A blamed hard country! Looks as if we were both pretty tough, since we made good yonder, and I think I get your proposition. Your idea is, we had better make terms than fight?"

"Something like that," Jim agreed.

"Very well," said Martin, who paused and smiled. "Now I'll tell you something. I don't like your b.u.t.ting in, but I did not put Davies on your track."

Jim looked hard at him, and although he was surprised did not doubt his statement. "Then, I imagine he made the plan himself; wanted to show you he was smart, but said nothing when it didn't work as smoothly as he thought."

Martin was silent for a few moments and Jim imagined he was thinking hard. Then he said, "It's possible; that's all."

"Perhaps the Cartner people sent him without telling you," Jim suggested.

"Cartner made you a square offer, and you can't grumble much because Probyn hired your men. Cartner is hard and I allow he'd like to break you, but I haven't known him play a crooked game."

"Then I can't see a light at all."

"It's puzzling," Martin agreed.

Jim filled his pipe again and pondered. There was something strange about his talking confidentially to a man he had thought an unscrupulous antagonist, but he was persuaded that Martin was honest.

The latter seemed to be considering, for Jim saw his brows were knit when the firelight touched his face. It had got dark, but the fire leaped up now and then and threw a red glow upon the rows of trunks.

The creek shone and faded; sometimes the smoke curled about the tent and sometimes blew away.

"You struck copper up North," Martin resumed after a time. "Has anybody tried to buy your claim?"

"Baumstein gave us an offer twice."

"Ah," said Martin, thoughtfully, "I suppose you wouldn't sell?"

"Not at his price. We thought we had better hold on; some day the Combine might buy."