The Yukon Trail: A Tale of the NorthRaine, William MacLeod
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The Yukon Trail: A Tale of the North
Raine, William MacLeod
Western stories; Yukon River Valley (Yukon and Alaska) -- Fiction
"What's he doing here at all? If he's investigating the Kamatlah claims,
why does he go hundreds of miles out of his way to come in to Kusiak?"
asked Selfridge.
Macdonald smiled sardonically. "He's doing this job right. Elliot as
good as told me that he's on the job to look up my record thoroughly. So
he comes to Kusiak first. In a few days he'll leave for Kamatlah. That's
where you come in, Wally."
"How do you mean?"
"You're going to start for Kamatlah to-morrow. You'll arrange the stage
before he gets there--see all the men and the foremen. Line them up so
they'll come through with the proper talk. If you have any doubts about
whether you can trust some one, don't take any chances. Fire him out of
the camp. Offer Elliot the company hospitality. Load him down with
favors. Take him everywhere. Show him everything. But don't let him get
any proofs that the claims are being worked under the same management."
"But he'll suspect it."
"You can't help his suspicions. Don't let him get proof. Cover all the
tracks that show company control."
"I can fix that," he said. "But what about Holt? The old man won't do a
thing but tell all he knows, and a lot more that he suspects. You know
how bitter he is--and crazy. He ought to be locked away with the
flitter-mice."
"You mustn't let Elliot meet Holt."
"How the deuce can I help it? No chance to keep them apart in that
little hole. It can't be done."
"Can't it?"
Something in the quiet voice rang a bell of alarm in the timid heart of
Selfridge.
"You mean--"
"A man who works for me as my lieutenant must have nerve, Wally. Have
you got it? Will you take orders and go through with them?"
His hard eyes searched the face of the plump little man. This was a job
he would have liked to do himself, but he could not get away just now.
Selfridge was the only man about him he could trust with it.
Wally nodded. His lips were dry and parched. "Go to it. What am I to do?"
"Get Holt out of the way while Elliot is at Kamatlah."
"But, Good Lord, I can't keep the man tied up a month," protested the
leading tenor of Kusiak.
"It isn't doing Holt any good to sit tight clamped to that claim of his!
He needs a change. Besides, I want him away so that we can contest his
claim. Run him up into the hills. Or send him across to Siberia on a
whaler. Or, better still, have him arrested for insanity and send him to
Nome. I'll get Judge Landor to hold him a while."
"That would give him an alibi for his absence and prevent a contest."
"That's right. It would."
"Leave it to me. The old man is going on a vacation, though he doesn't
know it yet."
"Good enough, Wally. I'll trust you. But remember, this fight has
reached an acute stage. No more mistakes. The devil of it is we never
seem to land the knockout punch. We've beaten this bunch of reform
idiots before Winton, before the Secretary of the Interior, before the
President, and before Congress. Now they're beginning all over again.
Where is it to end?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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