Jimmy fastened his skin coat, and going to the door of the section-man's hut, looked up the track. The railroad and an angry river occupied the bottom of the gorge, but the water was low and a rapid throbbed on a dull note. Jimmy knew its slack beat was ominous; the frost had stopped the streams that not long since leaped out from the glaciers.

He shivered, for the cold was keen and the coat he had got at Green Lake was old. Besides, he was tired; he had started before daybreak from his shack, but when he reached the railroad the moon was on the rocks. In the shadow, the snow that streaked the mountain-side was blue; across the gorge broken crags shone like polished steel and the small pines growing in the cracks sparkled with frost. Not far off, a dark hole in a slanted white bank indicated the mouth of a snow shed, but Jimmy knew the stones and snow had come down the hill.

When he looked up, his view on one side was cut by the top of a precipice; it was like looking up from a deep pit. Farther along the gorge, the rocks got indistinct and melted in the moon's pale reflections. No track but the railroad pierced the mountains, although the wide chain was broken by narrow valleys running north and south. Jimmy had come up the line from the valley he occupied, and by another some distance off one could reach Green Lake. The nearest station was twelve miles away, at the end of Graham's section.

Jimmy had arrived half an hour since, but had not found Graham, although his stove was burning. Peter Jardine had stated he could trust the man, who had begun to clear a ranch at Green Lake but had stopped when his money was gone. In the mountains, ranching is a slow and laborious job, and men whose means are small are forced at times to follow another occupation.

By and by a lantern twinkled at the mouth of the snow shed and a man came up the track.

"Hello!" he said. "I've got some news and wondered if you'd blow in, but I wanted to take a look at the rock-cut before the freight comes through. Did you make supper?"

Jimmy said he had cooked some flapjacks, although he felt he ought to wait until his host arrived.

"Shucks!" remarked Graham. "Jardine's my neighbor and he allows you're his friend. But the cold's fierce. Let's get in."

They sat down by the stove and for a minute or two Jimmy was content to warm himself and smoke. At the shack he had no light but the fire and the long evenings were dreary. All the same, he was disturbed and with something of an effort he said, "Well?"

"Two troopers got off the west-bound at the depot and my partner, Tellson, allowed they brought a lot of truck. Looks as if they meant to stop around and search the neighborhood."

"Ah!" said Jimmy. "I expect they know I'm about! Did they bring their horses?"

"Tellson saw no horses. If the boys were going to Green Lake, they could ride. Besides, the other outfit went there not long since."

Jimmy nodded. He knew the police had not bothered Margaret and he must think for himself. The troopers not bringing their horses was ominous, since it indicated that they were going to push into the mountains. The valley in which he hid did not open to the track; to reach it one must climb a mountain spur, but he imagined the police meant to climb. If they found the mouth of the valley, they might reach the shack before he knew, and if he got away, he must take the snowy rocks.

"I expect Jardine hasn't yet arranged to send me out on board a train?" he said.

"Peter was trying to fix it; he had to wait until he met a construction boss he knows; but he can't fix it now. The police will stop the gangs and tally up the boys."

"If they come down the line, to find out where I am won't take them long."

"Your chances don't look very good," Graham agreed. "If you could cross the range to the park valley, you might get away south, but I doubt if you could make it."

Jimmy said nothing. He imagined Deering stated the range had been climbed by some city members of the Canadian Alpine Club; but they, no doubt, took packers to carry supplies and went when the snow-line was high. For a lonely man to venture on the icy rocks was ridiculous. After a few minutes Graham pulled out his watch.

"The freight's making good time and when she's gone I must go up the track to the piece the boys underpinned," he said. "I reckon I'll be away an hour and you had better go to bed."

Jimmy heard a rumble and went with Graham to the door. To watch the great train come down the gorge would for a few minutes banish his gloomy thoughts. Up the track, a streak of silver light touched the rocks and trees. The speeding beam got brighter, and by and by dazzling radiance flooded the gorge. The ground began to shake, harsh, clanging echoes rolled across the rocks; one heard the big cars jolt and the roar of wheels. Then black smoke swirled about the hut and the beam was gone. In the dark, the banging cars rushed by, a blaze touched the snow shed and went out, and the turmoil died away.

Graham picked up his lantern and Jimmy went back to the stove. Lighting his pipe, he pulled out Stannard's map and began to ponder. It was obvious he must not stay long at the trapper's shack. Since the police watched the neighborhood, he could not get food, and when they found the way to the valley he would be driven back into the mountains. In fact, he felt he ought to try for freedom now before his line of retreat was cut, but he was tired and did not see where he could go.

There was no use in stealing off along the track, because the station agents were, no doubt, warned to look out for him. If he started before daybreak, he might perhaps reach the trail to Green Lake, but Peter had already run some risk for him and Margaret was at her cousin's. To go to Green Lake would put the police on her track.

Jimmy studied Stannard's map. Across the mountains behind the shack, the park valley ran southeast and from its other end one could perhaps reach the plains and the United States. Graham had stated Jimmy could not cross the range, but Graham was not a mountaineer. Stannard was a mountaineer and could get supplies and packers. Then Stannard was his friend and perhaps owed him something.

The adventure was daunting, but Jimmy resolved to try it. He must for a few days risk stopping at the shack, and pulling out a blank-book, he wrote a note. Graham would send the note and Stannard would, no doubt, start soon after it arrived. Then Jimmy thought he ought to let Margaret know his plans and he wrote another note. Putting the envelopes on a shelf, he got into Graham's bunk.

When Jimmy's note arrived at the hotel Stannard was at dinner. For the most part, the guests had gone, but Mrs. Dillon had returned with Frank and Laura, and a young man had joined the party. Stevens belonged to the Canadian Alpine Club, and knowing about Stannard's exploits, had cultivated his society.

Stannard took the soiled envelope from the page and noted it had not a stamp.

"Who brought the letter?" he asked.

"A freight brakesman gave it to our porter at the station."

Stannard put down the envelope and resumed his dinner, but Laura said, "The hand is Jimmy's. Aren't you curious?"

"I am curious, anyhow," Dillon declared, and Mrs. Dillon looked up, for she knew something about Jimmy's adventures.

"If you want to read your letter, do so," she said to Stannard.

Stannard opened the envelope and Laura remarked his thoughtful look. She took the note from him and after a moment or two gave it Dillon.

"Is it possible for Jimmy to get across?" Dillon asked.

"I frankly don't know," said Stannard and turned to Stevens. "A young friend of ours wants to try a rather bold exploit; he thinks he can cross the Cedar Range and I could help. In summer, I wouldn't hesitate. To venture on the snow-fields now is another thing."

Stevens's eyes sparkled. He was young and enthusiastic, and to climb with a mountaineer like Stannard was something to talk about.

"Although I haven't long joined the club, sir, I went with Gordon when he explored the Cascades from Rawden. If you go, I'd like to join you."

"I don't yet know if I'll go or not," said Stannard and resumed his dinner.

Mrs. Dillon touched Laura. She was a large and rather quiet lady and not marked by much refinement, but she was kind and sometimes firm.

"I want to see that note," she said.

Laura looked at Stannard and gave her the note.

"The poor young man. He's surely up against it!" she exclaimed. "I like Jimmy. If I was a mountain clubman, I'd feel I'd got a call."

Stannard said nothing and Laura was quiet. She was disturbed about Jimmy, but she knew her father. Besides, she thought Stevens curious. By and by she looked at Dillon, who began to talk about something else.

When dinner was over Mrs. Dillon joined another lady and Stannard went off. Laura and Dillon remained at the table and Stevens saw they did not want his society. He went away and Laura asked: "Do you think Jimmy can escape?"

"If he stops at his hut, I expect the police will get him," Dillon replied.

Laura frowned and looked about. The table was decorated by flowers from the coast, and the electric light was reflected by good china and glass. In the background were polished hardwood panels and carved pillars. The spacious room was warm; all struck a note of luxurious refinement, but Laura thought about Jimmy, cut off from his supplies, in the snow.

Had Jimmy gone back to Lancashire, she admitted she might have married him. He had refused and for a time his obstinacy had hurt, but she was not revengeful and, since she had rather weighed his advantages than loved him, she could let it go. She liked Jimmy and was moved by a gentle sentimental tenderness.

"Are you willing to help Jimmy, Frank?" she asked.

"Why, of course! I thought you knew I mean to help," Dillon declared. "Perhaps I was jealous about Jimmy, but now I'm sorry for him. All the same, your father puzzles me. He's not keen."

"I expect he knows the risk," said Laura thoughtfully, for Stannard's hesitation was obvious. "Since he must lead the party, he feels he ought not to be rash. Then if Jimmy got away across the mountains, I expect the police would make you all accountable."

"Oh, well, the job is awkward, although I expect we could put it over. Suppose we look for Mr. Stannard?"

Stannard was in the rotunda, and when Laura and Dillon advanced he smiled.

"You are young and romantic, but I am not. When one gets old one uses caution."

"I doubt if I am romantic, but I think Mrs. Dillon did not exaggerate," Laura rejoined. "Jimmy is our friend and trusts us. His note is a call."

"Sometimes deafness is not a drawback. I own I'd sooner not hear the call."

"But you mean to go?"

"It looks as if I might be forced. Frank's resolve is rather obvious," said Stannard with a resigned shrug.

Dillon gave him a keen glance. Somehow he felt Stannard did mean to go, but wanted to be forced. Frank thought it strange.

"I feel we ought to help, and now Deering is not about, nobody but you can lead us."

For a few moments Stannard was quiet. Then he said, "Very well, but if we are going, we must start soon. We want packers to carry food and a tent as far as possible, and I'd like a good mountaineer to help on the rocks. The hotel guides are gone, but I expect the clerk knows where to find them."

"Grant lives at Calgary."

"I think the fellow I want's at Revelstoke and he could get the train that arrives in the morning," said Stannard, and pulled out his watch. "We can send a night-letter and needn't use economy. I'll telephone the station agent and give him the message."

Frank knew Grant of Calgary was a good mountaineer, but he said nothing and Stannard gave Laura a smile.

"I expect you are satisfied."

"You're as noble as I thought," said Laura. "I knew why you hesitated and it wasn't for yourself. But I knew you would go."

XXVI
DEERING TAKES THE TRAIL

Stannard was marked by a superficial languidness. Strangers thought him careless and his humorous tranquillity had charm. For all that, when speed was important he moved fast and after he telephoned to the station he got to work. He packed rucksacks for his companions, got ropes and ice-axes, and arranged with the hotel cook to put up a supply of food. Then he sent a messenger for two or three half-breeds who carried loads for fishing parties. Stevens helped and admitted that Stannard knew his job. All he did was carefully thought about.

After some time Dillon joined them and Stannard said, "It's awkward, but Willmer at Revelstoke is engaged. However, he states he can send us a useful man and we are to meet him at the station. He'll come by the train in the morning and we'll get on board. We ought to reach the railroad hut Jimmy talks about by dark and if the night is clear we'll push on."

"If the police are about the station where we get off, they may stop us."

"It's possible," Stannard agreed. "Still they don't know our object and we must persuade them we are mountaineering tourists. Boast about your climbing and the Canadian Alpine Club; Stevens knows their exploits. All the same, I imagine the police are in the mountains. Well, your sack is packed, and when you have got your snow-spectacles and the grease for your skin, we'll stop for a smoke."

In the morning the half-breed packers arrived and soon afterwards all were ready to start. The hotel servants and three or four guests came to see them go, but when the others strapped on their loads Stannard joined Laura on the steps.

"Well, we are going to Jimmy's help," he said with a smile. "Frank is very keen, but as far as possible I'll try to see he does nothing rash. To know your marriage is fixed is some comfort."

Laura looked up quickly. Although Stannard's smile was kind, she was vaguely disturbed.

"When Frank wanted the wedding soon I thought you agreed rather easily. I was satisfied to stay with you for some time."

"Oh, well," said Stannard. "I'm afraid I haven't carried out my duties. I'm a careless fellow and feel my daughter does not owe me much. Although you have grown up beautiful and attractive, Nature and your aunts are accountable. Then, you see, I'm getting old, and mountaineering is my hobby. Sometimes one slips on an icy rock – "

"You mustn't talk like that; it hurts," said Laura with a touch of emotion. "You gave me all I asked for; you have always indulged me. Then I urged you to go, and now I feel I ought not to urge. To be generous in my way costs one nothing. I shall not venture on the rocks; I send you."

Stannard laughed, but Laura, studying him, was moved. Her father was handsome and wore the stamp of high cultivation. Although he was not young, he carried himself like an athlete. She knew his strength and pluck and his gentleness to her. Now she thought him fine and chivalrous.

"You follow your heart," he said and kissed her. Then he pulled out his watch. "But I must not be selfish and Frank is waiting."

Dillon advanced and Stannard resumed: "Youth is romantic and sometimes exaggerates. Laura imagines her generosity and yours accounts for my starting on our adventure. Well, perhaps I'm slow and cautious, but now and then one recaptures a touch of one's boyish rashness. However, I mustn't philosophize. We must get off in a few minutes."

"I'll join you on the trail," said Dillon, who remarked that Stannard implied that he hesitated to go. Stannard had said something like that before, as if he wanted others to note that the plan was not his. All the same, it was not important, and Dillon took Laura's hand.

Five minutes afterwards the party started. The packers carried the heavy loads, the others the ice-axes, and Stevens and Stannard wore round their shoulders coils of Alpine rope. Where the trail turned they stopped for a moment and waved their hats, and then vanished in the trees.

Some time afterwards Laura saw a plume of black smoke roll across the pines and stole off to her room. She did not want Mrs. Dillon's comfort. Her father and her lover had started for the rocks, and if they paid for their rashness, she was accountable.

In the morning she got a jar, for a sergeant of the Royal North-West Police arrived at the hotel. He was polite but firm, and Laura saw she must brace up. Mrs. Dillon had gone with her to the rotunda and to know she had her help was some comfort.

"Mr. Stannard started for the mountains yesterday," the sergeant remarked. "He took a quantity of camp truck and two of your friends. Where did he go?"

"I don't altogether know his line," Laura replied. "When you climb high mountains you cannot make fixed plans. Much depends on the snow."

"Well, I expect Mr. Stannard stated where he meant to start?"

"Why, of course," said Mrs. Dillon. "He'd get off at the Green River depot."

The sergeant remarked her frankness, but thought she saw some frankness was indicated, because for him to find out where the party had got off was not hard.

"Do you know Mr. Stannard's object? Our clubmen go for the rocks in summer. His starting now was strange."

Laura lifted her head and her look was proud. She thought she could play up and the fellow must not imagine Stannard had gone to Jimmy's help.

"My father is not a Canadian clubman. He's a famous Alpine mountaineer and can go where others cannot."

"Our boys are pretty smart," said the sergeant, smiling. "But are all Mr. Stannard's party expert mountaineers? Mr. Stevens, for example? And Mr. Frank Dillon?"

"My son," said Mrs. Dillon, who saw the other had talked to the hotel clerk. "Frank knows something about the rocks and belongs to a club that explores the Olympian range. We're Americans."

The sergeant bowed politely, but she resumed: "Mr. Stannard's English, all the lot are tourists and I sure can't see what the Canadian police have to do with their going off to climb your rocks. You're not going to draw strangers to the country if you bother them like that."

"Sometimes the police's duty is awkward," said the sergeant in an apologetic voice.

"The police have not much grounds to inquire about my father's excursion," Laura remarked haughtily. "When he killed the big-horn he did not know he poached on a game reserve, but he paid the fine and it is done with."

The sergeant saw her eyes sparkled and she was not playing a part. She did not know all he knew, and he must not enlighten her.

"Not long since Mr. Stannard went shooting with the pit-light, which is not allowed, and the game-warden was shot."

"My father did not shoot the warden; he stayed and helped the police."

"Three of his party pulled out," the sergeant rejoined. "Maybe Mr. Leyland could put us wise about the shooting and we reckoned Mr. Stannard knows where he is."

"Then you must wait for his return. If you found his track, I don't suppose you could follow him on the rocks."

"In the meantime, you're resolved not to help us hit his track?"

"I don't know his track," Laura replied.

The sergeant went off. He had talked to the hotel clerk, and although he had not found out much from Laura, he had found out something. The girl was persuaded Stannard had gone to help Leyland, and the sergeant thought his plan really was to help the young fellow get away. In fact, the sergeant thought he saw Stannard's object for doing so.

Laura, however, was disturbed. She was anxious for Jimmy and knew the risks Stannard ran in the mountains, but she imagined she had baffled the sergeant and she resigned herself to wait for news.

When the next train for the coast rolled across the pass Deering was on board a first-class car. He was dressed like a city sportsman, but his clothes were thick and his shooting jacket was lined with sheepskin, for Deering knew the wilds. When he went to Vancouver his movements interested the police, but at Calgary they left him alone, and nothing indicated that they now bothered where he went. Deering thought it strange, unless they knew something he did not.

In the meantime, he was occupied by another subject. Although he meant to see Jimmy out, he had frankly no use for hiding much longer at the ranch. Jimmy must be smuggled across the boundary to the United States and Deering weighed a plan.

When he got down at the station he meant to push on for Jardine's, but Kelshope was some distance off and he resolved to stop at the hotel. He had been for some time at Calgary and Stannard would perhaps know if Jimmy was all right. The clerk sent for Laura and by and by she came down. She gave Deering a cold glance, but he had long known her antagonism.

"You cannot see my father. He and Frank are in the mountains," she said.

Deering knitted his brows. When winter had begun one did not start for the rocks for nothing.

"It looks as if the police have found out Jimmy was at his ranch."

"Then, Jimmy was at the ranch? We didn't know; he did not come to see us. I expect you stopped him!"

"You don't trust me, Miss Laura. Still you ought to see Jimmy dared not come to the hotel."

"I did not think you a proper friend for Jimmy and Frank."

Deering smiled. He knew he was a better friend of Jimmy's than Stannard, but he said, "Oh, well; perhaps it's not important. Anyhow, Jimmy trusts me, and I mustn't let him down. You imply he's not at the ranch?"

Laura told him about Jimmy's note, and he inquired about Stannard's plans. When she had satisfied his curiosity his look was thoughtful.

"Stannard will send back the packers at the bottom of the rocks," he remarked. "Has he got a guide?"

"He could not engage the guide he wanted. Another man about whom I don't think he knew much was sent."

"Your father needs a useful man. Jimmy's steady on an awkward pitch, but sometimes he's rash. The others are raw boys. It looks as if I've got to hit the trail."

"Frank is not a boy, and my father is a famous climber," Laura rejoined. "If he cannot cross the mountains, do you think it's possible for you? Then you ought to have started before. The police have followed Jimmy for some time and I think another party set off yesterday."

Deering thought to embarrass him gave her some satisfaction, but he smiled.

"I know you're not my friend, Miss Laura, and I must try to be resigned. All the same, unless you put me wise, it may be awkward for Jimmy. What about the last lot of police?"

She told him and he bowed. "Thank you! I'll get off."

"But the sergeant is in front of you and there is not a train."

"The police are pretty smart, but I've known them bluffed," Deering remarked. "Then the station agent and another fellow talked about a construction train's going up the line. I've traveled on board a calaboose before."

Laura hesitated, and then gave him her hand. "After all, I think you want to help, and if you agree to leave Frank alone – "

"I rather think you don't know your power," Deering rejoined with a twinkle. "Frank is well guarded from all my wiles. In fact, I'm willing to give you best."

"Oh, well," said Laura, "perhaps I was not just."

He went off and Laura mused. She had not liked Deering. He was a gambler and exploited the extravagance of rich young men. Yet Frank trusted the fellow and she began to doubt if her antagonism were altogether warranted. For one thing, Deering was stanch, and his pluck was rather fine. Her father had started with a well-equipped party; Deering went alone, and when he got to Green Lake must baffle the police. Then she liked his humorous politeness. He knew she doubted him, but he was not revengeful. On the whole, she thought when she gave him her hand she took the proper line.