"Anyhow, if father couldn't locate the vein he claimed to have struck, I reckon there's not much chance of your doing so."

"I mean to try," said Agatha, with ominous quietness.

George saw that she was resolute, and although he was obstinate knew he was beaten. Agatha could not be moved when she looked like that.

"I can't allow that you know best, but guess I may as well quit arguing," he remarked with a resigned shrug. "You'll come along and stop with Florence before you go back to Toronto?"

"I will come for a week," Agatha agreed, and George went away to look for Farnam.

CHAPTER VIII

THE BURGLAR

George went away next morning and a few days afterwards Farnam walked home with his wife and Agatha from a visit to a neighbor's homestead.

When they reached the edge of Farnam's orchard they stopped and looked about. An extensive clearing had been cut out of the forest, the evening was clear and cold, and the pines threw long blue shadows on the snow.

The young fruit trees ran back in orderly rows, and a frozen creek that crossed the orchard was picked out in delicate shades of gray. Farnam told Agatha that he found the creek useful for irrigation, because he had known the apples to shrivel on the trees in a dry summer.

At the edge of the bush a group of men were at work. The thud of their axes jarred on the quietness, and the rattle of a chain rang musically through the shadows as a teamster threw the links across a log. His horses stood close by, with a thin cloud of steam rising from their bodies.

"Lumber worth sawing is getting scarce, and we'll float the best logs down to the mill when the thaw comes," Farnam said to Agatha. "In the meantime, we want them off the ground before we clean up the pieces the boys have slashed. One gets at this kind of work in winter when nothing much can be done, and I must be ready to break new soil for planting in the spring."

"You are spending a good deal of money," Mrs. Farnam interrupted. "You haven't been paid for the last shipments to England yet."

"Mabel's cautious," Farnam remarked to Agatha. "She's a pretty good business woman, but doesn't understand that the more you spend on your job the more you get. Anyhow, you ought to get more, but I admit you're sometimes badly stung." Then he turned to his wife. "I must go up and see the shippers in Montreal; in fact, now you have Agatha with you, I think I'll start to-morrow."

"Very well," said Mrs. Farnam. "I hate to be left alone, particularly when the nights are long." She indicated the teamster. "I see you have hired another man; that's a fresh extravagance. How long have you had him?"

"A week or two; thought I told you when he came. He's a pretty good worker."

"You didn't tell me; I imagine you didn't want me to know! He's certainly not what the boys call a looker and his face doesn't inspire me with much confidence. Besides, he's lame."

Agatha glanced at the man, who came towards them, walking with a slight limp beside his horses as they hauled the log across the snow. He had a sullen air and did not look up as he pa.s.sed.

"He is not handsome," she agreed, and asked: "Where do the men live?"

"We have fixed up this lot in the packing shed; my regular hands leave me in winter," Farnam replied, indicating a wooden building at some distance from the house. "However, we'll go home. There are some accounts I must examine before I start for Montreal."

They went on, and when after supper Mrs. Farnam grumbled at being left without a man in the house, Farnam took out an automatic pistol and explained how it was used.

"I don't know why I bought the thing, unless it was to satisfy Mabel,"

he said to Agatha. "It's curious, but while she could handle mutinous pupils and bluff the managers, she quakes if a door rattles on a windy night. One's rather safer in our homestead than a Montreal hotel; but Mabel has lived in the cities and the Wild West tradition dies hard. As a matter of fact, there never was a Wild West in Canada." He opened the pistol. "You put the cartridge sh.e.l.ls in like this--"

"You can show Agatha how it works; I won't touch the thing," Mrs. Farnam declared. "She's something of a sport, but I'm a womanly woman, except when I teach school."

Farnam laughed. "On the whole, it might be better to leave the cartridges out. If somebody did break in, all you need do would be to pretend you were asleep. Everybody in the neighborhood knows where my office is and an intelligent burglar begins at the safe. There's no money in mine now."

After a little good-humored banter, Agatha took the pistol and Farnam went to his office at the other end of the house. Next day he started for Montreal, and at night Mrs. Farnam made Agatha come with her while she examined the fastenings of the doors and windows. The house was low and the roof of the veranda in front reached nearly to the second floor. Nothing disturbing happened, and on the next night Agatha sat up after Mrs. Farnam had gone to bed, reading the letters Strange had written her from the North.

There were not many, and some were marked by a careless style that obscured the meaning. This puzzled Agatha, who remembered that her father had generally talked with lucid clearness. Still they helped her to picture the life he had led in the wilds, and she read them often, trying to follow on a map his wanderings in search of the lode. They told her more about the country than the books she read, and she had read a number, because the subject had a fascination. All she could learn would be of use when she came to carry out her plans.

When she tied up the letters and looked at the clock it was later than she thought. The room felt cold and she shivered, but sat still for a few moments, musing. The house was quiet and she imagined Mrs. Farnam was asleep; but it was snowing, for she heard the flakes beat upon the window. Looking round the comfortable room, she thought of the men who braved the rigors of winter in the frozen wilds. Thirlwell, for example, was bearing such cold as was never felt in South Ontario.

She started, for there was a noise overhead, as if a door had been gently opened, but next moment pulled herself together. Mabel had not gone to sleep as she had thought, and picking up an electric torch, she put out the lamp. When she was half way up the stairs she heard somebody moving about, but it was not like Mabel's step. The movements seemed cautious, and there was something awkward about them. Agatha, who wore felt-soled slippers, stopped and listened, while her heart beat fast.

She heard nothing now, but felt alarmed, and wondered what she ought to do. A call would probably bring an answer that would banish her fears; but suppose it was not Mabel she had heard? There was, however, another way of finding out, and with something of an effort she went upstairs.

Mrs. Farnam's room was on the landing, and Agatha turned the handle cautiously. The door would not open, and it was obvious that Mabel had locked herself in. Then the latch slipped back with a jar that sounded horribly loud, and she waited, trembling and trying to keep calm. Since Mabel had not heard the noise, it was plain that she was asleep and somebody else was in the house. Still Mabel, if awakened, would not be of much help, and remembering that the pistol was in her room, Agatha went down the pa.s.sage.

The pa.s.sage was very cold, a curtain swayed in an icy draught, and she found the door of her room open. Stopping for a moment, she thought there was somebody inside. This, however, might be a trick of her imagination, and although she wanted to steal away, she knew that if she did so she would lose her self-respect and the confidence she would need for her journey to the North. She must brave real dangers in the wilds and live among rude men. Besides, the pistol was on a table near the door.

Somebody moved as she went in, for there was a rustle and a board cracked, but her hand touched the pistol and she turned on the powerful electric torch. As the beam of light swept across the room she saw that the drawer of a small writing-table had been pulled out. Then the beam pa.s.sed on and touched a man kneeling beside her open trunk. The clothes she had not unpacked were scattered on the floor, as if the man had been looking for something, and a lantern stood near his hand. She thought he had just put it out, since she noted a smell of oil.

Now she had found the intruder, she was less afraid than angry that he had pulled about her clothes with his coa.r.s.e, dirty hands. She knew him, for he was the teamster she had seen in the orchard. The beam that picked him out, however, left the rest of the room in gloom, and it was hard to hold the torch steady.

"Light your lantern, but don't move from where you are," she said. "I have a pistol."

He did as he was told, using an old-fashioned sulphur match that smelt disagreeably but made no noise. The light spread and showed her standing with the pistol in her hand, but when she risked a glance about, nothing seemed to have been disturbed except the writing-table and her trunk.

"Now you may get up, but don't be rash," she said quietly and was glad to feel she could control her voice.

He got up and waited, watching her sullenly.

"What have you taken?" she asked.

"Nothing! There was nothing worth taking!"

Agatha forced a mocking smile. "Worn clothes won't sell for much and I have no jewelry." Then she raised the pistol. "Don't move! I mean you to keep still."

He stood motionless, with a kind of dull resignation, although she thought she had noted a curious shrinking when she spoke, as if something in her voice had disturbed him.

"I don't know what to do with you," she resumed. "No doubt you knew Mr.

Farnam is away, but the pistol magazine is full. To begin with, you had better empty your pockets. Pull them inside out!"

He obeyed and dropped a pipe, a tobacco tin, and two or three silver coins.

"Those are mine; I've corralled nothing of yours."

"So it seems!" Agatha rejoined. "For all that, you can leave the things there. How did you get in?"

"Over the veranda roof. You hadn't fixed the shutter in the middle."

Agatha pondered for a few moments. The fellow did not look afraid, but seemed to recognize that the advantage was with her. This was lucky, because she could not keep it up long and wanted to get rid of him.

"Well," she said, "I think you had better go out by the window you opened. Walk down the pa.s.sage in front of me and don't try to turn round."