John N. Cobb - "The Lobster Fishery of Maine"

W. E. B. Du Bois - "The Suppression of the African Slave Trade to the United States of America"

G. W. Septimus Piesse - "The Art of Perfumery"

James Russell Lowell - "The Vision of Sir Launfal"

H. A. Cody - Glen of the High North

H >> H. A. Cody >> Glen of the High North



GLEN OF THE HIGH NORTH

by

H. A. CODY

Author of "The Frontiersman," "The Lost Patrol,"
"The Chief of the Ranges," "The Touch of Abner," etc.

McClelland and Stewart
Publishers : : : Toronto
George H. Doran Company

1920







To

ALL TRUE MEN AND WOMEN

Of the Outer Trails of the Yukon,

Where for Years the Author Lived and Travelled,

This Book is Affectionately Dedicated.




CONTENTS

I ONE FLEETING VISION
II WHEN THE FOG-BANK LIFTED
III A BIG BLAZIN' LAUGH
IV BEYOND THE GREAT WHITE PASS
V COMRADES OP THE TRAIL
VI A SHOT THAT TOLD
VII BOTTLES WILL DO
VIII LOVE VERSUS GOLD
IX THE OUTER TRAIL
X ADRIFT IN THE WILDERNESS
XI INTO THE GREAT UNKNOWN
XII THE GIRL OF GLEN WEST
XIII WHEN THE STORM BURST
XIV ANOTHER PRISONER
XV JIM WESTON
XVI THE ORDEAL
XVII MAN TO MAN
XVIII THE PREPARED ROOM
XIX THE TURN OF EVENTS
XX A SHOT FROM THE GOLDEN CREST
XXI THE PLOTTERS
XXII THE CABIN IN THE HILLS
XXIII AT THE REVOLVER'S POINT
XXIV WHEN THE RIFLES CRACKED
XXV BY THE INLAND LAKE
XXVI THROUGH THE STORM
XXVII IN THE TOILS
XXVIII HELP FROM THE HILLS
XXIX THE OLD TRUE STORY
XXX THE UNMASKING
XXXI OUTWARD BOUND




"Something lost beyond the Ranges,
Lost; and calling to you. Go."

KIPLING



"She had grown, in her unstained seclusion,
bright and pure as a first opening lilac,
when it spreads its clear leaves to the
sweetest dawn of May."

PERCIVAL




GLEN OF THE HIGH NORTH


CHAPTER I

ONE FLEETING VISION

It all happened in less than two minutes, and yet in that brief space
of time his entire outlook upon life was changed. He saw her across
the street standing upon the edge of the sidewalk facing the throng of
teams and motors that were surging by. She had evidently attempted to
cross, but had hurriedly retreated owing to the tremendous crush of
traffic. The gleam of the large electric light nearby brought into
clear relief a face of more than ordinary charm and beauty. But that
which appealed so strongly to the young man was the mingled expression
of surprise, fear and defiance depicted upon her countenance. It
strangely affected him, and he was on the point of springing forward to
offer his assistance when she suddenly disappeared, swallowed up in the
great tide of humanity.

For a few minutes the young man stood perfectly still, gazing intently
upon the spot where the girl had been standing, hoping to see her
reappear. He could not account for the feeling that had swept upon him
at the sight of that face. It was but one of the thousands he daily
beheld, yet it alone stirred him to his inmost depths. A few minutes
before he had been walking along the street without any definite aim in
life, listless and almost cynical. But now a desire possessed him to
be up and doing, to follow after the fair vision which had so
unexpectedly appeared. Who could she be, and where was she going?
Should he ever see her again, and if he did would he have the slightest
chance of meeting and talking with her?

These thoughts occupied his mind as he continued on his way. He walked
erect now, with shoulders thrown back, and with a more buoyant step
than he had taken in many a day. His blood tingled and his eyes glowed
with a new-found light. He felt much of the old thrill that had
animated him at the beginning of the Great War, and had sent him
overseas to take his part in the titanic struggle. An overmastering
urge had then swept upon him, compelling him to abandon all on behalf
of the mighty cause. It was his nature, and the leopard could no more
change its spots than could Tom Reynolds overcome the influence of a
gripping desire. Ever since childhood thought and action had always
been welded in the strong clear heat of an overwhelming purpose. It
had caused him considerable trouble, but at the same time it had
carried him through many a difficult undertaking that had daunted other
men. It was only the afterwards that affected him, the depression,
when the objective had been attained. So for months after the war
ended his life had seemed of no avail, and he found it impossible to
settle comfortably back into the grooves of civilian life in a
bustling, thriving city. Everything seemed tame and insignificant
after what he had experienced overseas. Time instead of lessening had
only increased this feeling, until Reynolds believed that he could no
longer endure the prosaic life of the city. Such was the state of his
mind when he beheld the face across the street, which in some
mysterious manner gave him a sudden impulse and a new outlook upon the
world. After a short quick walk, he turned into a side street and
stopped at length before a building from which extended a large
electric sign, bearing the words _Telegram_ and _Evening News_. He
entered, and at once made his way through several rooms until he
reached the editorial office at the back of the building. The door was
open, and seated at the desk was an elderly man, busily writing. He
looked up as Reynolds appeared, and a smile illumined his face.

"You are back early, Tom. Found something special?"

"Yes," Reynolds replied as he sat down upon the only vacant chair the
office contained. "But nothing for publication."

The editor pushed back his papers, swung himself around in his chair
and faced the visitor.

"What is it, Tom?" he asked. "You look more animated than I have seen
you for many a day. What has come over you? What is the special
something you have found?"

"Myself."

"Yourself!"

"That's just it. I'm through with this job."

The editor eyed the young man curiously yet sympathetically. He was to
him as a son, and he had done everything in his power to help him since
his return from the war. But he was well aware that Reynolds was not
happy, and that newspaper work was proving most uncongenial.

"Where are you going, Tom, and what are you going to do?" he presently
asked.

"I have not the slightest idea, sir. But I must get away from this
hum-drum existence. It is killing me by inches. I need adventure,
life in the open, where a man can breathe freely and do as he likes."

"Haven't you done about as you like, Tom, since you came home? I
promised your father on his death-bed that I would look after you, and
I have tried to do so in every possible way. I sincerely hoped that
your present work would suit you better than in an office. You are
free to roam where you will, and whatever adventure has taken place in
this city during the past six months you were in the midst of it, and
wrote excellent reports, too."

"I know that, sir, and I feel deeply indebted to you for what you have
done. But what does it all amount to? What interest do I take in
trouble along the docks, a fight between a couple of toughs in some
dark alley, or a fashionable wedding in one of the big churches? Bah!
I am sick of them all, and the sooner I get away the better."

Reynolds produced a cigarette, lighted it and threw the match upon the
floor. From the corner of his eye he watched the editor as he toyed
thoughtfully with his pen. This man was nearer to him than anyone else
in the world, and he was afraid that he had annoyed him by his plain
outspoken words.

"And you say you have nothing in view?" the editor at length enquired.

"Nothing. Can you suggest anything? Something that will tax all my
energy of mind and body. That is what I want. I hope you do not
misunderstand me, sir. I do not wish to seem ungrateful for what you
have done."

"I do understand you, Tom, and were I in your position, and of your
age, I might feel the same. But what about your painting? Have you
lost all interest in that? When you were in France you often wrote
what impressions you were getting, and how much you intended to do when
you came home."

"I have done very little at that, and the sketches I made are still
uncompleted. Some day I may do something, but not now."

"You certainly have lost all interest, Tom, in the things that once
gave you so much pleasure."

"It is only too true, although I have honestly tried to return to the
old ways. But I must have a fling at something else to get this
restless feeling out of my system. What do you suggest! Perhaps it is
only a thrashing I need. That does children good sometimes."

The editor smiled as he pulled out a drawer in his desk, and brought
forth a fair-sized scrapbook. He slowly turned the pages and stopped
at length where a large newspaper clipping had been carefully pasted.

"I do not think you need a thrashing, Tom," he began. "But I believe I
can suggest something better than that. Here is an entry I made in
this book over fifteen years ago, and the story it contains appeals
strongly to me now. I read it at least once a year, and it has been
the cause of many a day-dream to me, and night-dream as well, for that
matter. Did you ever hear of the mysterious disappearance of Henry
Redmond, the wealthy merchant of this city? But I suppose not, as you
were young at the time."

"No, I never heard of him," Reynolds acknowledged. "Was he killed?"

"Oh, no. He merely disappeared, and left no trace at all. That was,
as I have just said, over fifteen years ago, and no word has been
received from him since."

"What was the trouble? Financial difficulties?"

"Not at all. He simply disappeared. It was due to his wife's death,
so I believe. They were greatly attached to each other, and when she
suddenly died Redmond was a broken-hearted man. I knew him well and it
was pathetic to watch him. He took no interest in his business, and
sold out as soon as possible. Then he vanished, and that was the last
we heard of him. He was an odd man in many ways, and although one of
the shrewdest men in business I ever knew, he was fond of the simple
life. He was a great reader, and at one time possessed a very fine
library. This article which I wish you to read tells the story of his
life, how he built up his business, and of his sudden disappearance."

"How do you know he wasn't killed?" Reynolds asked.

"Because of this," and the editor laid his forefinger upon a small
separate clipping at the bottom of the larger one. A short time after
Redmond disappeared, and when the excitement of all was intense, this
was received and published. Although it bore no name, yet we well know
that it was from Redmond, for it was just like something he would do.
This is what he wrote:


"'I go from the busy haunts of men, far from the bustle and worry of
business life. I may be found, but only he who is worthy will find me,
and whoever finds me, will, I trust, not lose his reward. From the
loopholes of retreat I shall watch the stress and fever of life, but
shall not mingle in the fray.'"


"Queer words, those," Reynolds remarked, when the editor had finished
reading. "What do you make of them?"

"I hardly know, although I have considered them very carefully. I
believe they contain a hidden meaning, and that the finding will
consist of more than the mere discovery of his person. It must refer
to something else, some quality of heart or mind, that is, the real
personality behind the mere outward form."

"A double quest, eh, for anyone who undertakes the venture?"

"It seems so, Tom, and that makes it all the more difficult. But what
an undertaking! How I wish I were young again, and I should be off
to-morrow. I was a fool not to make the try fifteen years ago. I
would not now be chained to this desk, I feel certain of that."

"And as you cannot go yourself, you want----?" Reynolds paused and
looked quizzically at the editor.

"I want you to go in my stead," was the emphatic reply. "You are
young, strong, and anxious for adventure."

"For what purpose, sir? Why do you wish me to undertake this
wild-goose chase? For such it seems to me."

"I wish you to go for three reasons. First, for your own good; as an
outlet to your abundant energy, and to give you some object in life.
Next, to satisfy a curiosity that has been consuming me for years. I
am more than anxious to know what has become of Henry Redmond. And
finally, for the sake of my paper. If you should prove successful,
what a write-up it will make, for you will have a wonderful story to
tell. Doesn't the thing appeal to you? Why, it makes my blood tingle
at the thought of such an undertaking."

"It does stir me a bit," Reynolds acknowledged. "But where am I to go?
Have you any idea where Redmond is? The world is big, remember, and
without any clue, the chase would be absolute folly."

"I am well aware of all that. I have no idea where Redmond is, and
that makes the venture all the more interesting. If I could tell you
where he is, and you merely went and found him, bah! that would not be
worth the trouble. But the uncertainty of it all is what appeals to
me. The whole world is before you, and somewhere in the world I
believe Henry Redmond is living. Your task is to find him. Can you do
it?"

For a few minutes Reynolds did not speak. He was interested, but the
undertaking seemed so utterly hopeless and ridiculous that he
hesitated. If he had the slightest clue as to the man's whereabouts it
would be different.

"How old a man was Redmond when he disappeared?" he at length asked.

"About fifty, I understand, although he appeared much older at times.
He was a fine looking man, over six feet in height, and a large head,
crowned with a wealth of hair streaked with gray, when last I saw him.
His commanding appearance attracted attention wherever he went, and
that should aid you somewhat in your search."

"Had he any family?" Reynolds questioned.

"One little girl only, for he married late in life. His friends
thought that he would remain a permanent bachelor, and they were
greatly surprised when he unexpectedly took to himself a wife much
younger than himself, and very beautiful. They lived most happily
together, and when his wife died Redmond was heartbroken."

"Perhaps her death affected his mind," Reynolds suggested.

"I have thought of that, and his sudden disappearance, as well as the
peculiar letter I read to you, lends color to the idea."

"What became of the child?"

"No one knows. He evidently took her with him, and that is another
reason why I believe no harm befell him as you suggested. The whole
affair is involved in the deepest mystery."

"And did no one attempt to solve it?" Reynolds asked. "Was no effort
made to find the missing man?"

"There was at the time, and the newspapers far and near made mention of
his disappearance. It was the talk of the city for several weeks, and
I understand that several men thought seriously of searching for him.
But the interest gradually waned, and he was forgotten except by a few,
of whom I am one."

Reynolds rose to his feet and picked up his hat.

"Suppose I think this over for a few days?" he suggested. "If I get
the fever I shall let you know. In the meantime I shall plug away at
my present job. I can't afford to be idle, for 'idleness is the
holiday of fools,' as someone has said."

"That's fine, Tom," and the editor's face brightened with pleasure.
"And, remember, you shall be supplied with all the money you need, so
do not worry about that."

"Thank you, but I have a little of my own that will last me for a
while. When I run through with it I may call upon you."

"Very well, do as you like, Tom. But think it over and let me know of
your decision as soon as possible."




CHAPTER II

WHEN THE FOG-BANK LIFTED

The _Northern Light_ was lying at her wharf preparing for her long run
to the far Northern Pacific, through the numerous islands studding the
coastal waters of British Columbia, and the United States Territory of
Alaska. All day long she had been taking on board great quantities of
freight, and now on the eve of her departure passengers were arriving.
The latter were mostly men, for new gold diggings had been discovered
back in the hills bordering the Yukon River, and old-timers were
flocking northward, anticipating another Klondyke, and all that it
might mean.

Tom Reynolds stood on the wharf noting the excitement that was taking
place around him. Apart from the article he would prepare for the next
day's issue of _The Telegram_; he was more than usually interested in
what he beheld. As he watched several bronzed and grizzly veterans of
many a long trail and wild stampede, a desire entered into his heart to
join them in their new adventure. He would thus find excitement enough
to satisfy his restless nature, and perhaps at the same time share in
the golden harvest.

This longing, however, was held in check by the thought of the story he
had heard the evening before, and also by the hope of seeing again the
face he had beheld for a few fleeting seconds at the street crossing.
In fact, he had thought more of it than of the mysterious disappearance
of Henry Redmond. For the greater part of the night and all the next
day the girl had been in his mind. He tried to recall something more
about her, the color of her hair, how she was dressed, and whether she
was tall or short. But he could remember nothing except the face which
alone stood out clear and distinct. Several times during the day he
had been on the point of transferring his impressions to paper, but he
always deferred action, preferring to muse upon the beautiful vision he
had seen and to dream of meeting her again. She must still be in the
city, he reasoned, and should he go away now his chance of finding her
would be lost forever. That he would find her he had not the slightest
doubt, for among the crowds that passed daily along the streets he
would surely see her, and when he did--well, he was not certain what
would happen. Anyway, he would know more about her than at present.
He was standing watching an old man with a long gray beard and wavy
hair falling below a broad-brimmed slouch hat. He was evidently a
prospector, for he bore a good-sized pack across his right shoulder,
and was dressed as if for the trail, with a pair of coarse boots upon
his feet. His figure was commanding, almost patriarchal, and Reynolds
watched him with much interest as he walked stately and deliberately up
the gangway.

As Reynolds turned from his observation of the old man, he gave a great
start, and his heart beat wildly, for there but a few feet from him was
the very girl he had seen at the street crossing. She had just
alighted from an hotel auto, and was pointing out her baggage to one of
the cabin boys when Reynolds noticed her. He leaned eagerly forward to
catch the sound of her voice, but the noise around him made this
impossible. But he had a chance to feast his eyes upon her face, and
to note her neat dark-brown travelling suit which fitted so perfectly
her well-built erect figure. She was of medium height, and carried
herself with complete assurance as one well accustomed to travel. She
was apparently alone, for no one accompanied her as she presently went
on board the steamer.

Reynolds was all alert now, and his old-time enthusiasm returned. She
was going north, and why should not he go too? Once more thought and
action became welded, and finding that it would be three-quarters of an
hour before the steamer's departure, he hurried back to his boarding
house, gathered together his few belongings, including his artist's
outfit, thrust them into a grip, settled his board bill, and almost
raced to the _Telegram_ and _Evening News_ building, where he found the
editor who had just arrived for his nightly duties.

"I am off at once," he announced. "How will that suit you?"

"Good for you!" was the pleased reply. "Decided upon the Great Quest,
eh?"

"Yes, all settled, and away in twenty minutes."

"Where to?"

"Up north, to the edge of nowhere. How will that do?"

"Found a clue?" The editor was quite excited now.

"All the clue I need," was the evasive reply. "I shall write as soon
as possible, telling of my wanderings. So, good-by; I must be away."

"Have you enough money?" The editor was on his feet now, grasping the
young man's hand in a firm grip.

"Yes, all that's necessary for the present. If I need more I shall let
you know."

An hour later the _Northern Light_ was steaming steadily on her way.
Reynolds had been fortunate enough to obtain an upper berth, his
roommate being a young clerk destined for a branch bank in a northern
mining town. Reynolds strolled about the boat hoping to catch a
glimpse of her who was much in his mind, but all in vain. It rained
hard most of the next day, and the outside decks were uncomfortable.
It was toward evening that he saw her, walking slowly up and down the
hurricane deck abaft the funnel. She was with the captain, a fine
looking, middle-aged man, and they seemed to be on very friendly terms,
for the girl was smiling at something her companion was saying.

Reynolds lighted a cigar and began to pace up and down on the opposite
side of the deck. Others were doing the same, so no one paid any heed
to his presence. A casual observer might have thought that the silent
young man took no interest in anything around him. But Reynolds missed
hardly a movement of the girl but a few feet away. He always kept a
short distance behind and was thus able to study her closely without
attracting attention. She wore a raincoat, of a soft light material,
and her head was bare. The wind played with her dark-brown hair, and
occasionally she lifted her hand and brushed back a wayward tress that
had drifted over her forehead. At times he caught a glimpse of her
face as she swung around at the end of the beat, and it was always a
happy, animated face he beheld.

For about fifteen minutes this walk was continued, and Reynolds had
been unable to distinguish any of the conversation between the two.
But as they ended their promenade, and started to go below, they almost
brushed him in passing, and he heard the captain say, "Jack will be
home soon, and he will----" That was all Reynolds was able to
overhear, and yet it was sufficient to cause him to stop so abruptly
that he nearly collided with a man a few steps behind. Was all that
talk about Jack? he asked himself, and was that why the girl seemed so
happy in listening to her companion? Was Jack the captain's son, and
did he have the first claim upon the girl? Perhaps he was overseas,
and was expected home shortly. No doubt the girl had been visiting his
people.

Such an idea had not occurred to Reynolds before, but as he thought it
all over that night as he sat silent in the smoking-room, it did indeed
seem most reasonable. Why should he think any more about the girl? he
mused. He had been a fool for allowing his heart to run away with his
head. How could he for one instant imagine that such a girl would be
left until now without many admiring suitors, with one successful over
all the others? And no doubt that one was Jack, whose name had fallen
from the captain's lips.

Although Reynolds felt that the girl was not for him, yet he could not
banish her from his mind. She had aroused him from the paralysis of
indifference, for which he was most grateful. He would make a
desperate effort not to be again enmeshed in such a feeling. He would
throw himself ardently into the search for gold, and then turn his
attention to Henry Redmond, and strive to solve the mystery surrounding
the man.

After breakfast the next morning he went out on deck, and found the
girl already there comfortably seated in a large steamer chair. She
had evidently been reading, but the book was now lying open upon her
lap, and her hands were clasped behind her head. Reynolds caught the
gleam of a jewel on one of her fingers, and he wondered if it was an
engagement ring she was wearing. Her eyes were looking dreamily out
across the water, away to a great fog-bank hanging and drifting over
the face of the deep. Reynolds, too, looked, and the sight held him
spellbound. The mass of fog slowly rose and rolled across the
newly-bathed sun. Then it began to dissolve, and dim forms of trees
and islands made their appearance, growing more distinct moment by
moment. The scene fascinated him. It was truly a fairy world upon
which he was looking.

And as he looked, his eyes rested upon a dark speck just beneath the
overhanging fog. For a few minutes it made no impression upon his
wandering mind. But slowly he began to realize that the object was in
motion, and moving toward the steamer. Then he saw something dark
being waved as if to attract attention. He was all alert now, feeling
sure that someone was hailing the steamer. In a few minutes she would
be past, when it would be too late to be of any assistance.

Turning almost instinctively toward the pilot-house, Reynolds' eyes
fell upon the captain, who was again talking to the girl. Only for an
instant did he hesitate, and then walking rapidly along the deck, he
reached the captain's side and touched him lightly upon the arm.

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