XI.--CLARK EXPERIENCES A NEW SENSATION, ALSO HIS DIRECTORS
The Japanese cook pottered softly about in the square stone basement ofthe blockhouse, while, up above, his master sat at a table with hiseyes fixed on a small mountain of blackish-gray rock. He had givenorders to admit none. Fingering the pointed fragments he experiencedmore emotion than ever before in his kaleidoscopic life. He sat inprofound contemplation of that which prehistoric and elemental fireshad laid down for his use. There was in his mind no question ofstrangeness that it should be himself who had decided that the thingwas there and must be unearthed. It was the turning of another page inthe book of his own history, the beginning of that chapter which wouldbe the most fascinating of all.
Methodically he searched his retentive brain for data about iron ore.It existed in Pennsylvania and Alabama and New York, and, nearer still,there was the great field of Northern Michigan. But in Canada therewere only the distant mines of Nova Scotia. He unrolled a greatgeological map and pored over it, finding here, as always, the greatestfascination. Within two miles of St. Marys there was an inexhaustiblesupply of limestone. He stared at the map with a queer but quiteinflexible consciousness that this moment was the one he had awaitedfor years and his faith had not betrayed him. He got up with suddenrestlessness and stood at the window. The rapids sounded clearly, buthis mind was not on them. Looking to the west he saw the sky stabbedwith the red streaks of flame from converters that were yet to be, andranks of black steel stacks and the rounded shoulders of great furnacessilhouetted against the horizon. He heard the rumble of a mill thatrolled out steel rails and, over it all, perceived a canopy of smokethat drifted far out on the clear, cold waters of the lake. Heremembered with a smile that his directors would shortly arrive, andworked out for their visit a program totally unlike that they hadmapped out for themselves. Last of all he went to the piano and playedto himself. At any rate, he reflected, he would be known as the manwho created the iron and steel industry in the district of Algoma. Andthat was satisfying to Clark.
Still feeling strangely restless, he moved again to the window, andjust then Elsie and Belding walked slowly past the blockhouse towardthe tiny Hudson Bay lock. Involuntarily he tapped on the pane. Theyboth looked up and he beckoned. When they mounted to the living room,he met them with a smile.
Elsie glanced about with intense interest. She had been there oncebefore, but with a group of visitors. This occasion seemed moreintimate. She surveyed Clark a little breathlessly and with anoverwhelming sensation that here was the nerve center of this wholegigantic enterprise. Belding felt a shade awkward as he caught theglance of the gray eyes.
"Sit down and have some coffee." Clark clapped his hands softly andthe Japanese cook emerged from below. Presently their host began totalk with a certain comfortable ease that gave the girl a new glimpseof what the man might really be.
"The directors are coming up this week--that means more work for you,Belding."
The engineer nodded. Then the other man went on with the fluentconfidence of one who knows the world. Persia, India, Russia,--he hadbeen everywhere.
"But what brought you here, Mr. Clark?" put in the girl presently. Hereyes were very bright.
He turned to her: "What would you say?"
"Was it destiny?" she answered slowly.
"Yes," he replied with sudden gravity and a strange look at her brighteyes, "I think it was destiny."
Her heart beat more rapidly, and from Clark her glance moved to Beldingwho sat a little awkwardly. There was not more than fifteen yearsbetween them but Clark's face had that peculiarly ageless appearancewhich characterizes some men and lends them additional interest.
"And now you'll stay?" added Elsie.
"Don't you think there's enough to keep me?"
Belding roused himself with a chuckle but Clark went on thoughtfully.
"Do you see much change in St. Marys in the last few years?"
"Before you came," she said slowly, "it was just--just Arcadia."
"Are you sorry to say good-by to Arcadia?"
She shook her head, smiling. "Not a bit; I am glad it's over, but Iremember father often talking about the old days long before any of uswere here. First there were just the Indians, and then the Jesuitpriests. They used to paddle up the Ottawa River to Lake Nipissing andthen down the French River to the Georgian Bay, and so up Lake Huronround the rapids and on into Lake Superior. After them came thetraders and then the Hudson Bay Company, but," she concluded a littleapologetically, "you know all about that."
"Yes, I know, and now what do the people of St. Marys think about theworks? Eh, Belding, what do you say?"
"They don't think very much, sir--they've got into the way of takingthem for granted."
Clark laughed. "I think I know that too. But you don't take me forgranted?" Here he glanced provocatively at Elsie.
The girl recovered herself with difficulty. She was only twenty-one,but beside this wizard it struck her that Belding looked immature.Clark had seized on her imagination. He was the dreamer and theprophet and as well a great builder under whose hands marvelous thingstook shape. Now she was filled with a sudden and delightful confusion,and Belding, watching her, remembered the night they had floatedopposite the blockhouse while Clark's music drifted across theunruffled water. He felt good for his own job, but very helplessagainst the mesmeric fascination that the older man might exert if hewould. And behind all this moved his intense loyalty and greatadmiration for his chief.
"Then St. Marys has produced all you hoped for, Mr. Clark?" said Elsie.
"I not only hoped but believed and worked." The answer was vibrant andsteady. "Hope doesn't do very much nowadays without belief and work."He glanced at the piano. "Won't you play something?"
She blushed and shook her head. "No, please do yourself."
"I don't play in public and I never had a lesson in my life."
"But this isn't public," she countered; "I think it's--well--ratherprivate."
He laughed, went to the piano and his fingers began to explore thekeys. The others sat motionless. Elsie's eyes were fixed, not onClark but on Belding, and in them was an unanswered question. Themusic was not anything she knew but the chords were compelling and sheperceived in them that which this strange personality could not or didnot put into words--his hopes, his courage, his inflexible will and thedeep note of his power. Suddenly she recognized in him a lonely man.Her heart went out and her eyes filled with tears. Presently he lookedover his shoulder.
"The gods are good to me to-day."
"Yes?" Her voice was very uncertain.
"I've found something for which I've been looking for years past."
Belding's brows furrowed. There was that in Clark's manner whichbaffled him. Elsie seemed more than ever dainty and desirable in thisunusual setting. Had Clark seen this too?
"I'm so glad." The girl's eyes were very soft.
The two went home rather silently. Elsie seemed to be in a dream, andBelding had no words for that which now worked poisonously in hisbrain, but just so often as he yielded to the sharp pang of jealousyjust so often did his faith in his chief rise in protest.
The engineer had seen Clark in many moods and under many circumstances.There were times when only the driving force of the man had pulledthings through, and he was transformed into an agency that worked itsinvincible will. There was another thing. So far as Belding knew,Clark had no links, sentimental or otherwise, with the rest of theworld. No whisper had come from outside regarding his past, and it wasonly when he himself talked that any light was thrown upon his formeryears. He seemed, in consequence, to be enviably free and ready foranything. Unfettered by tradition or association, he was a pendulum,balanced to swing potently in either direction. And what darkenedBelding's horizon was the thought that Clark, at any moment, mightswing toward Elsie Worden.
Two miles away, Fisette was at home with his children. He was tiredbut in no way worn out, and
in his pocket was one single piece of orekept as a souvenir. Clark's check lay safely deposited in the bank andthe halfbreed's teeth gleamed when he thought of the mortgage. It wasonly a thousand dollars. Therese, four years and three days old, wason his knee. They were all very happy, though only Fisette knewexactly why. With eyes half closed, he contentedly examined the cracksin the big iron box stove and, since the night was cool, stuffed inmore wood. It was in the back of his head that he had done what somany men had failed to do, and soon, when Monsieur Clark gave the word,he would be known as the man who had found iron in Algoma.
At the big jail, halfway between Fisette and Clark, Manson sat at hisdesk in his little square office. He was very sore and very stiff, andhowever savage he might feel about his defeat he could not but admirethe fierce loyalty of the halfbreed. It was what he would have likedone of his own men to do. Now, however he might ache, he had a glow inevery strained joint. There was iron in Algoma and not far from St.Marys.
Deliberately he shut away all outside thoughts and put himself to this,perceiving what iron would mean to Clark, this new factor that mightupset every pessimistic opinion which he himself had voiced. He satbiting at his big black mustache, till suddenly his imagination leapedclear of St. Marys and took flight to Philadelphia. What would thediscovery of iron mean there? Instantly he saw a swift rise inConsolidated stock and neither Manson nor any man in St. Marys owned ashare of that stock.
In two days he was on the train for Toronto, and, in three, was theowner, on margin, of two hundred thousand dollars' worth ofConsolidated shares. The broker through whom he dealt looked curiouslyat this new customer, the only man from St. Marys who had evidenced anyfinancial interest in Clark's enterprise, and, concluding that therewas more in the transaction than met the eye, bought forthwith forhimself. Then the two shook hands very cheerfully, the brokerpromising to watch Consolidated like a hawk, while Manson bulged withsatisfaction. He would be known as the only man in St. Marys who hadmade a fortune out of Clark's undertakings and that was satisfying toManson.
On the journey back he sat for hours staring out of the windows. Hehad shaken free from the drowsiness of a former existence. His eyeswere open to the ease with which fortunes are made by those who do nothesitate but seize the opportunity. He thought rather compassionatelyof Worden, Dibbott and the rest, good natured but thick headed. What asurprise it would be for them. But not once did Manson imagine that hewas trading peace for anxiety, and the even tenor of his former waysfor the hectic restlessness of the speculator.
As he boarded the train he noticed that Clark's private car was at theend, and inside saw Riggs, Wimperley and the rest. They were talkingvery earnestly, oblivious to anything that went on outside. Manson,watching them from under the brim of his hat, felt a surge ofsatisfaction. He guessed the momentous news which brought them, and,late that night, as the train plunged through the wilderness, lay awakein his berth thinking of many things, while the occupants of theprivate car talked till they were weary and leaden-eyed of that whichthey must do at St. Marys. They were caught up, all of them, insomething greater than they. Forces had been set in motion by theamazing brain of Clark which they might modulate, but could not, in anyway, entirely control. The moving finger was writing, and they could,like him, only follow its mysterious command.
The private car swung along over the clicking rail joints and thedirectors glanced without interest at the country they traversed. Thelatter part of their journey was through a wilderness, wild andunpromising. At Sudbury they saw evidence of what science and energycould do in what was not long ago unbroken forest, and what wealth laybeneath the tangled roots of spruce and tamarac, but the scene did notimpress them. It was a single undertaking with a single object andvitally different from their own ramified efforts, and the desolationof the country in which it flourished only accentuated their ownmisgivings. They were tired before the train drew in to St. Marys anddecided to discuss nothing that evening. At the works station Clarkmet them. He was cheerful and debonair.
"Hullo, Wimperley, glad to see you. Had a good trip? You andStoughton are coming to the blockhouse with me. The others are at thehotel. Sorry I can't put you all up."
Birch put down his bag and held out a clammy hand. "What about it?"He shot a quick glance at Wimperley.
The president of the Consolidated shook his head. "No, no, we're notgoing to put you out, and besides I can't trust these fellows alone.We'll all go to the hotel. See you first thing in the morning. Matterof fact, Birch talked business all the time and we're dog tired."
Clark's lips pressed a shade tighter, then his eyes twinkled. Riggs,observing him closely, wondered whether he had interpreted theexpression which all four were stolidly endeavoring to mask. But socheerful was he and so apparently unconcerned with anything but theircomfort, that Riggs decided a difficult moment had been safely passed.Later at the hotel he asked the others.
"Knew," said Birch acidly, "of course he knew. The very fact that wehung together told him the whole thing. However, it might just as wellbegin that way."
Wimperley laughed, a foolish little laugh that drew the older man'spuzzled glance. "There's something ridiculous about all this," hetittered suddenly. "We're like a flock of sheep afraid of a dog. Weneed a ram. You'd better be the ram, Stoughton, you're the bulkiest."
Stoughton grinned, but there was no humor in it. "It's going to take acomposite ram. We've got to put down our heads and bunt together.Riggs, you can snap at his heels and distract him. Good night."
They met at the works after breakfast, and Clark, in a flood ofconfidence, announced the program.
"I want this to be a real visit," he said cheerfully; "it's some timesince you were all here together and there's a good deal to see. Whenyou get tired let me know. I've not forgotten the time I nearly frozeRiggs to death."
As he turned to lead the way, Wimperley sent a swift signal to hiscompanions, Clark was to have his head for the time being. Birchnodded approvingly. This was one method of finding out a good deal hewanted to know.
"Water lots," said Clark, waving a hand toward the bay that cut inbelow the rapids. On one side of it spread the works and on the otherthe town of St. Marys. "Channel dredged through, and docks, you see,are commenced."
"Why docks?" asked Stoughton patiently.
"We'll be shipping our own products in our own vessels before verylong, I hope," came back the clear voice. "Save a lot that way,--I'llshow you the figures. That's one thing I want to talk about later.Come on into the mill. Extensions are about completed."
They went through the great building whose floor seemed to palpitatedelicately with hidden forces, and began to feel the slow fascination.They saw dripping logs snatched from the water by mechanical fingersthat cut them to length and stripped the brown bark till the soft whitewood lay round, naked and shining. They saw the wood ground implacablyby giant stones and emerge from a milky bath in a thick wet sheet thatslid on a hot drum and coiled itself in massive rolls. Power,controlled and manipulated, was the universal servant. The whole thingwas punctuated by keen remarks from Clark, who shot out answers toevery imaginable question with extraordinary facility. They walked upthe swiftly flowing head race while the general manager pointed out itsproposed expansion, and explained the pressing need for diverting morewater from the rapids. As they progressed it seemed there was alwaysmore to discover. They inspected great rafts of logs, fresh from thewaters of Lake Superior, then came to timber mills and machine shops.And with all Clark was supremely familiar. In the middle of it Riggsvolunteered that he was tired, so they trailed back to the privateoffice in the administration building, where Clark unrolled maps andpointed out colored areas of pulp wood which were tributary to themills, and had been compiled from the reports of his explorers.
Suddenly Birch put out a long forefinger. "What's that?"
"That," said Clark cheerfully, "is a railway."
Birch looked puzzled. "I didn't know a
road ran north from here."
"It doesn't--yet--but it's something we'll have to consider very soonto bring in pulp wood."
"Oh!" Wimperley's voice was a trifle indignant.
"It's another matter to discuss when you feel like it," went on Clarkimperturbably. "The road won't cost us anything."
"Won't it? Then it will be the first thing we have touched of itskind." Wimperley tried to speak lightly.
"The Federal Government bonus will pay for one-third, the provincialbonus for another, which leaves us about seven hundred thousand to takecare of. There should be no difficulty in getting that out of the saleof lands we will develop. However," he added evenly, "we needn't worryabout it just now. And, by the way, I had an inquiry yesterday forforty thousand horse power. Of course we haven't got it to spare, atleast not at the moment. Now will you excuse me for just a moment?"
He stepped into the general office and shut the door softly behind him.Wimperley glanced inquiringly at Stoughton.
"You haven't done much ramming this morning!"
"No, I'm not just in the mood. How about you?" Stoughton turned toBirch.
The latter did not reply. His cold eyes were taking in the severefittings of the private office, whose walls were covered with maps andblue prints. The truth was that the spell of Clark's extraordinaryintelligence was beginning to fall over them once more. It was soobvious that he was the center of the whole affair, and from him thereseemed to spread out into the wilderness long filaments over whichthere trickled an unending stream of information.
"I didn't hear 'blast furnaces' mentioned either," piped Riggs.
"Cut it out for the present. The time hasn't come, but it will."Stoughton got up and began to walk up and down. "We've got to hear allhe has to say. That's the wise thing. Let him talk himself out. Hecan't talk for ever."
Riggs shook his head. "Can't he?"
"No, nor any man, and be continuously to the point; and if you get abit shaky and converted just think of dividends on seven millions.That's what we came here for. I don't care how much bluffing it costsor how many days it takes. We're here now and the only thing to do isto wait till Clark's well runs dry and then give our ultimatum. But upto that time we must do whatever he wants us to do. It's going to hurthim--that's unavoidable--it will hurt us a lot more if we don't carryour job through." All of which was a long speech for Stoughton, so hesat down and was looking defiantly truculent when Clark came in smiling.
"You fellows have had enough for to-day so I've arranged a fishing tripfor this afternoon. It's a good river, only six miles out, and I ownit. It's an easy drive. You leave right after lunch and won't see meagain till to-morrow. Rods and things are ready, and there's a Frenchhalfbreed at the camp to cook for you. What do you say?"
The suggestion came like sudden balm in Gilead. Stoughton's facecleared. "What's your biggest fish--trout, aren't they?"
"Well," said Clark slowly, "I've never had time to fish myself, butpeople who come to see me like a day off. Four pounds and a half isthe record so far."
It was a magic touch. Riggs and Wimperley were, like Stoughton, keenfishermen, and while Birch fished for only one prize, all felt alikethat here was a surcease after a trying morning. They could pullthemselves together.
With this reflection moving in his brain, Stoughton felt a stab ofcompunction.
"I wish you could come, old man," he jerked out to Clark.
"Thanks," said Clark with a curious light in his gray eyes, "but Ithink I'd better not."
Five hours later Wimperley sat under a spruce tree and gloated over hiscatch. Close by were the rest, each arranging a row of speckledbeauties on the cool green moss. They had caught some forty trout, thebiggest being a trifle over the record, and this was Wimperley's fish.He leaned back, feeling a long forgotten youth trickle into his veins.In front of him the stream dodged round great boulders and vanishedinto the woods, flecked with foam from the falls whose wash cametremulously through the wilderness. The sky overhead was translucentwith the half light of sunset and he felt a delicious languor stealingover him. For three hours Stoughton, Riggs and he had fished to theirhearts' content, while Birch climbed a ridge and speculated what such aforbidding country might reasonably be expected to bring forth. Closeby the stream, Fisette bent beside a small fire from which came odorsof fried bacon and fish that aroused in the Philadelphians a fierce andgnawing hunger. Presently they sat on a mattress of cedar and ate oneof those suppers the memory of which passes not with the years. It wasRiggs who spoke first, lying back on the boughs, his head on his arm, anew glow in his pale cheeks. He looked younger and rounder than he didsix hours previously, and, stretching luxuriously, he experienced thesympathetic impulses that detach themselves from a full stomach.
"I suppose there's no way out of it?"
"None whatever," grunted Stoughton, who was lining his basket with mossand objected to being thus recalled. "What the devil has this to dowith dividends?"
"Nothing, I admit, but why in thunder did we start this game anyway?Why couldn't we just take things easy and go fishing. We've all gotenough."
Wimperley stretched his arms above his head in delicious fatigue."Keep away from second causes; this is no place for them. Four yearsago you were meant to go fishing to-day in this very stream. Why worryabout it?"
"I'm thinking about one R.F.C.," came back Riggs reflectively, "justlike the rest of you."
"Well," sounded the dry voice of Birch, "so am I. And all this is veryapropos. It illustrates the general condition of affairs, especiallythat mess of trout you had on the moss a while ago. We're all trout,we and the shareholders. You, Wimperley, are that five pounder. Weall rose to the fly of one R.F.C., and we were all landed in the backwoods. There are more trout in that stream, and, if we stand for it,the fishing is still good, but I've got the sting of the fly still inmy gills. Also I'm thinking about one Henry Marsham."
Stoughton nodded sagely. "That's right, but if you liked fishing,Birch, you wouldn't drag in shareholders in that churlish fashion.What about blast furnaces, Riggs? We haven't heard a whisper yet.Wonder what Clark is thinking of?"
"Oh Lord!" murmured the little man, "if we only had iron!"
Fisette, who was dipping his dishes in a pot of hot water, turned hishead ever so slightly. The others had either forgotten about him orconcluded that their conversation was beyond a half-breed. But not aword had escaped the sharp ears of the man who moved so silently besidethe fire. 'Iron!' They had iron, but apparently did not know it.Fisette felt in his pocket for the small angular fragment he alwayscarried, and was about to hand it to Wimperley, when again heremembered Clark's command. He was to say nothing to any one. So thehalf-breed, with wonder in his soul, laid more wood on the fire and,squatting in the shadow of a rock, stared at the stream now shrouded inthe gloom, and waited for what might come.
"But there's none in this damned country," blurted Stoughton, "so getback to Birch's picture of the shareholders on the moss."
"Trouble is I can't get away from it." Riggs' small voice was soplaintive that the others laughed, then dropped into a reverie whilethere came the murmur of the hidden stream and the small unceasingvoices of the dusk that blend into the note which men call silence.Very softly and out of the south drifted a melodious sound.
"Six o'clock at the works," drawled Birch, snapping his watch. "Doesthat suggest anything?"
An hour later two buckboards drew up in front of the hotel and the fourstepped down, a little stiff, but utterly content. As Riggs took hisbasket from Fisette, he coughed a little awkwardly.
"Look here, you fellows, I'm going to send my fish to R.F.C. with ourcompliments. It's only decent."
"Well," remarked Birch reflectively, "you might as well. It's the onlycompliment we're paying this trip."
A profound sleep strengthened their resolution, and when next morningClark announced that he had arranged a trip up the lake, they accededat once. In half an hour the compa
ny's big tug steamed out into LakeSuperior, and the four, wrapped in big coats, for the water was likeice and the air chill, waited for the hour when Clark should run dry.
"You're going back this evening?" he said as the vessel rounded thelong pine covered point that screened the rapids from the open lake.
Birch nodded.
"We'll get through by this afternoon. There isn't any more to showyou." Clark spoke with a certain quick incisiveness and his eyesseemed unusually keen and bright.
"We've seen all we want to see."
The other man glanced at him sharply and said nothing. Then, as thebig tug plowed on, the great expanse of Superior opened before them, agigantic sheet of burnished glass edged with shadowy shores, and a longisland whose soft outline seemed to float indistinctly on the unruffledwater. As they steamed, Clark told them of the giant bark canoes thatonce came down from the lake heavy with fur, to unload at the HudsonBay store at St. Marys, and disappear as silently as they came ladenwith colored cotton and Crimea muskets and lead and powder. He told oflonely voyageurs and the Jesuit priests who, traveling utterly alone,penetrated these wilds with sacrificial courage, carrying the blessedSacrament to the scattered lodges of Sioux and Huron. Then, shiftingabruptly, he talked of his own coming to St. Marys and the chance talkon a train that turned his attention to that Arcadia till, as themoments passed, he himself began to take on romantic proportions andappear in the imagination of his hearers as a sort of modern voyageur,who had discovered a new commercial kingdom.
"These logs," he said abruptly, "are from our limits."
The others glanced over the tug's high bows and saw nearing them agreat brown raft towed by a small puffing vessel.
"Pulp wood,--ten thousand cords there. It doesn't take long to chew itup at the rate we're going. I want to speak to Baudette."
He motioned to the bridge and the big tug drew in slowly beside itssmaller brother, while he talked to a brown-faced man who leaned overthe rail and answered in monosyllables, his sharp eyes taking in thegroup behind the general manager. The tug sheered off and put onspeed, while Wimperley and the rest held their breath as they skirtedthe straining boom that inclosed the raft. Presently the high, sharpbow turned shoreward, steam was cut off and the tug made fast to thesheer side of a little bluff that rose steeply out of deep water.
Clark stepped out on a narrow gang plank that just reached the land."You fellows haven't seen this north country yet, and I'd like you toget something of it on foot. This is part of our concession securedfrom the provincial government and I want you to walk over just alittle of it. As directors you ought to."
"Come on," said Wimperley under his breath. "It's the last chapter,he's nearly dry."
The trail was narrow and newly cut. Treading at first on smooth rock,the Philadelphians took it briskly, jumping over stones and logs andpausing now and then at vistas of the lake. They were a little shortof breath when the path dipped to low ground and struck straight acrossa tangled ravine. Here the bush was thicker, and the air warm andmoist. Gradually the four coats came off.
"Hold on a minute, Clark," panted Stoughton who was beginning to sweat.
"It's better over here, come along."
But if it was better they did not notice it. Wimperley stumbled over aroot and plunged one hand up to the wrist in slimy mud. Riggs wasbreathing hard and his nostrils dilated, but he plugged doggedly on.Birch, now very red in the face, stepped close behind Stoughton, hischeeks stinging from the swish of branches released by the man justahead. Stoughton, his heart pumping, was in the lead, and desperatelytrying to catch the steadily progressing figure of Clark. He feltalmost like murder. Ten minutes more and the Philadelphians had lostall traces of refinement. Wimperley's trousers were torn at the kneeand his white, scratched skin showed through. Riggs had dropped coatand waistcoat beside the trail, his collar was off, his small bodytired and twisted, and from his lips streamed language to which he hadlong been a stranger. Birch had lagged far behind but plowed on with acold determination. He was breathing audibly through his nose, hiswatch chain was dangling on a cedar branch a quarter of a mile back, asharp pain throbbed in a barked shin and his boots were full of water.Still in the lead was Stoughton, who, regardless of all else, had putdown his head and was crashing heavily through the underbrush like ayoung bull moose answering the call of his distant and amorous mate.Clark was quite invisible. Presently the four halted. Humanity hadgone its limit. Birch dragged himself up and they stared at each otherwith furious eyes.
"Lend me a handkerchief," panted Riggs.
Stoughton felt in his pocket, pulling one out with a cascade of pineneedles, when from three hundred feet ahead came a voice:
"I'm where we stop, you fellows, come on up."
"That's just where he is." Birch's difficult speech had something init that was almost deadly. "He's asked for it and he's going to get itright here. Come on."
They trailed slowly up, a small, bedraggled, indecent procession, lostto everything except utter weariness and a spirit of cold revenge. InStoughton's heavy heart was the thought that Clark had unexpectedlymade their job vastly easier than they anticipated. The latter was ona little knoll that rose roundly from the encircling bush. He seemedcool and comfortable, and this stirred them to deeper anger. Hisfeatures were expressionless, save that his lips twitched ever soslightly. The Philadelphians dropped and lay limply, and there wassilence for perhaps five minutes when Birch lifted a haggard face andspoke.
"Look here, Clark, I don't know the reason for this fool expedition,none of us do, but it serves well enough to lead up to the point ofother fool expeditions on a larger scale."
"Yes?" said Clark with a lift in his voice.
"It does. Now I'd like to go back about four years when you said thatthree millions would do you. In between now and then is a long storyand I haven't got breath to tell it, but to-day you've had seven andwe're deeper in the woods than ever we were."
"Go ahead, I'm following you."
"The long and the short of it is that we've had enough."
"Of me?" The voice was very quiet.
"Yes, damn it, of you; that is, in your present position of generalmanager. You can have one or two of the subsidiary companies but notthe whole darn thing, and--"
"The point is," cut in Wimperley, "that we're afraid of you. We've notpaid a dividend and, as things go, there's not any likelihood that weever will. It's not easy to talk like this, and don't think weunder-estimate what you've done. No other man I know of could havedone it, but there's a limit to the money available in the State ofPennsylvania for this business--and we've reached it--that's all."
"And if you want to know what's upset the apple-cart," chirped Riggswith a little shiver--for they were all taking turns by now--"it's thatfool proposal to build a railway through this ungodly wilderness." Thelittle man glanced about him with visible abhorrence.
"And a blast furnace without any ore," concluded Stoughton heavily.
Clark's eyes wandered round the group while through his whole body rana divine thrill. He had very swiftly interpreted the purpose of thisofficial visit. The directors wanted to get rid of him but funked thejob, and now he experienced a certain contempt for their helplessness.He had a vivid sense of the dramatic and this tramp had been carefullythought out. The opportunity was made and it was for them to use it.He drew a long breath, conscious that here was the moment which comesbut seldom in the lives of men. It was only five years ago that,practically penniless, he had overheard a conversation in a train.
"Ore?" he said coolly without changing a muscle. "Why, you're sittingon five million tons of the best ore I ever saw."
A blue jay lit on a branch over his head and looked impudently down.No one spoke. Presently Wimperley scratched at the moss with his heel,bared a strip of rock and stared at it as though he had hurt it.Stoughton rolled over and shot side glances at Clark, whose eyes werefixed on the jagged horizon.
"What?" whispered Ri
ggs.
"The discovery was made some days ago by one of our own prospectors,but I could not speak definitely until the various analyses werecompleted. It is excellent ore and will smelt well. There islimestone within two miles of the works. The coke, of course, willhave to be brought up.'"
"I'll be damned!" murmured Stoughton in a voice husky with reverence.
The others spoke not at all, but peered blinkingly at Clark as thoughhis recumbent body were hiding more wonders from them. PresentlyWimperley, who knew something of ore, bent stiffly forward, picked up afragment of rock and, after a long scrutiny, nodded slowly.
"This exposure is about half a mile long," said the quiet voice. "Itcrops out there and there," he pointed to neighboring ridges, "andthere's more beyond that, if you'd care to walk over."
But no one cared. The Philadelphians were too lost in fatigue andastonishment. After a little Riggs commandeered the rest and the fourbegan to roll back great blankets of moss, just as Fisette had done theweek before, and everywhere beneath lay iron ore. Clark watched themwith a suggestive smile till, after a little, Birch sat down panting,his hands stained with soil.
"Well?" he demanded, "how about it?"
"It was something more than three years ago that the first prospectorwent in," commenced Clark thoughtfully, "and I reported at the timethat it was definitely stated by those who ought to know that there wasno iron in the country. Geological maps showed the same thing, but itstruck me there was too much guess work about them, so we began to makemaps of our own. A month ago we got into iron formation and soon aftercame the discovery. I felt all along that the stuff was there, butcould not say anything officially till the analyses were completed. Wecan lay this ore down at the workers for two dollars a ton. And now,"he added in a voice that suddenly changed into sharp and rising tones,"do I get my blast furnace?"
The effect on the group was extraordinary. They had sat motionless,oblivious to fatigue and mosquitoes, while Clark spoke. Their brainswere flooded with the knowledge that this meant ultimate permanence tothe works. It meant rails and plates and all iron and steel products,and these were made doubly possible by the enormous reserve of powerstill available in the rapids at St. Marys. They glanced into thewoods as though there were still mysterious treasures waiting to berevealed at a wave of the hand of this magician.
Presently Wimperley straightened up. He had been going through astrange searching of soul while his gaze wandered from the glisteningrock at his feet to Clark's keen face. He began to perceive clearlyfor the first time the prodigious potentiality of this man who wasequally masterful in Philadelphia and the back woods. He saw to whatwide scope this enterprise could expand if only this restless andprophetic spirit might be wisely steered by men of colder brains andmore deliberate resolution. But Clark, after all, was the creator.
"Yes," he said half aloud, "you get your blast furnace."
The Philadelphians took to the homeward trail with backward glances andsomething of regret lest the archaean foundations of that mountain ofore might shift over night. There was no sense of fatigue now. Birchskipped over logs in wayward abandon and laughed like a schoolboy whenClark picked a heavy gold watch chain that dangled from an overhangingbush. Riggs' thin legs were being scratched by the sharp samples withwhich he had stuffed his trouser pockets, but he felt them not, andStoughton's choler had given way to a profound contemplation out ofwhich he periodically breathed the conviction that he would be damned.Wimperley was already organizing a new company--an ironcorporation--and hazarding shrewd guesses as to the effect thisdiscovery would have on the outstanding stock. The result, heconcluded, would be most inspiring.
They lunched on the tug, an admirable meal, while the vessel vibratedgently and through the open portholes came the swish of bubbling waterand a flood of sunlight. Then Riggs made a little speech and they alldrank Clark's health, promising him continued support and such money ashe needed to make steel rails. The threatening specter of Marsham hadvanished utterly.
The answer was characteristic. There was no mention of anything thespeaker had contributed, but just the voicing of his unalterable faithin a country which so far had never failed to produce whatever theindustry required. It was a pleasure for him to work for directors andshareholders who had so practically demonstrated their confidence. Hesaid this with a smile which was absolutely undecipherable, then dranktheir health in water which was his only drink---declined one ofWimperley's cigars, for he did not smoke--and inquired quietly if hewas to get his railway as well. Whereupon he was immediately assuredthat he would get anything he asked for.
That evening the Philadelphians left in the private car. They wererather quiet, being caught up in contemplation of a new vision. As thetrain pulled out Clark waved a hand to the group on the rear platformand returned thoughtfully to the blockhouse where he began to write.The letter was to his mother. He told her that he had been too busyfor correspondence of late, and had just concluded a very satisfactoryand official visit from his directors. In consequence, he would now bebusier than ever. He stared at his own signature for a moment, thenopened a window and stood peering out toward the river. The moon wasup, and he caught the snowy gleam of foam at the foot of the rapids.Their voice seemed very clear and very triumphant that night. Theysang of providence--or was it destiny?
His mind turned reflectively to Elsie Worden, experiencing as yet nothrill but just a growing and satisfying attraction. All things seemedpossible tonight. He had never given much thought to women, beingimpatient with what seemed to him their artifice and slight power ofinsight. So often the women who were esteemed most praiseworthy, werealso the least intelligent, and lacked that spark which to himsignified vision. In past years he had had a rooted belief that thestandard wife was a burden who not only robbed one of mobility, butalso demanded her portion of all moments, however individual, absorbedor tense they might be. In such circumstances there was nothing aroundwhich he could build a mental fence and call it his own.
It is possible that in such periods as these, when Clark gave himselfup to taking soundings, as it were, in the sea of his destiny, hedistinguished in his own nature that curious duality of sex which makesit possible for certain rare individuals to self satisfy theiremotional appetites, and that it was this which had kept him single andunfettered. If he had a craving he could forthwith produce that whichappeased it. He luxuriated in the revelations of his own perception.To him the inarticulate thing became vocal with possibilities. He wasconscious of no unsatisfied need. And yet, for all of this, the visionof the girl, Elsie, began to blend with his thoughts.