At first Colonel Howell's camp appeared to be deserted, but as the boats made in toward the shore and the crew began shouting, two men appeared from the cabin. These were Ewen and Miller—Chandler was not in sight.
The new log cabin with its flat tar-paper roof, glistening with its many tin washers, and with a substantial looking chimney built against one end, had a satisfactory look. In addition, several large ricks of cordwood standing at the edge of the clearing gave sign that the men had not been idle during the spring. At the same time, there were many evidences of a lack of thrift to be seen in the debris left from the cabin building.
No arrangements had been made for a boat landing and Colonel Howell's canoe was lying carelessly against the steep bank. Both Norman and Roy felt somewhat disappointed. While neither was bothered with the romantic ideas usually attached to the woodland cabins of fiction, each had expected a smarter camp. Nor were they very favorably impressed with the two men who appeared on the bank. They were not exactly tidy in appearance and their figures and faces suggested that they had spent a winter of comparative ease among the colonel's stores.
"Where's the Englishman?" was Colonel Howell's salutation, as he and his friends sprang ashore.
"Over at the settlement," answered Ewen, as he jerked his thumb down the river. "There wasn't much doing here and he went over there a few days ago to visit some friends."
"A few days ago," exclaimed the colonel, as his eyes made a survey of the littered-up clearing. "He might have put in a little time clearin' out these stumps."
"We just got through cuttin' the wood," broke in Miller as he and Ewen shook hands with their boss, "and we just got the finishin' touches on the cabin. We didn't know when to expect you."
Colonel Howell, followed by his men and the new arrivals, scrambled up the bank and, with no great show of enthusiasm, began a close examination of the new cabin and its surroundings. Nor were the boys any more impressed with the structure, which, inside, showed very little ingenuity. It had been made for the use of four men—seven were going to crowd it. After Colonel Howell had inspected the derrick, he returned and seated himself on a stump.
"When's Chandler comin' back?" he asked abruptly. Without waiting for a reply, which neither of his men seemed able to give him, he added: "One of you fellows had better take the canoe and go and get him this afternoon—that is, if he wants to come back."
There was some irritation in his tone that showed everyone that things were not exactly to his liking.
"It's only two miles," remarked Ewen showing some alacrity, "and I'll go by the trail."
When he had gone, Colonel Howell turned to Miller, whose unshaven and somewhat bloated face told that he had not lost any flesh during his stay at the camp.
"Miller," he said, "go down and take hold of these scows. We've got to get this stuff up here on the bank and under some protection. I don't want these Indians on my hands any longer than necessary. Keep 'em at it until midnight, if necessary, and then make up an outfit for 'em to-morrow and let 'em hit the trail."
"What are you going to do with the boats?" asked Roy.
"We're going to use 'em to make a cabin big enough for our new family," answered the colonel, smiling perfunctorily. "This one's all right for our cooking and eating, but it doesn't appeal to me as a bunk house. I think we'll add another room. The season's getting away from us and we can't afford to lose any time."
The man Miller had already shown signs of great activity when Colonel Howell suddenly called him back.
"On second thought, Miller," he said, rising and throwing off his coat, "I think you'd better tackle the cabin first. There's a lot of truck in there that ought to be in a storehouse and it's got a kind o' musty smell. Open all the windows and clean out the place. We've got to sleep in there to-night. When you've done that, get that kitchen stuff and use some river water and sand on it. Looks like an Indian shack in the middle o' winter. Young men," he went on, again forcing a smile, "I reckon it's up to us to get this gang busy."
There was nothing in this that discouraged Norman and Roy and even Paul seemed interested in the unloading of the boats. Before this was begun, however, Moosetooth spoke in an undertone to Colonel Howell and, shrugging his shoulders, the prospector waved his hand.
"All right," he exclaimed, "they'll work the better for it. Feed 'em. Four meals a day—that's the least that any half-breed demands."
While Colonel Howell and the crew began getting the two scows broadside along the bank, the Cree cooks unloaded the two cook outfits and the grub boxes. The laborious task of hoisting the crates and boxes of the rest of the cargo up the treacherous bank had hardly begun when the cooks, disdaining the fireplace within the cabin, had their fires going in the open clearing.
Within an hour the Indians were devoting themselves to a filling supper and a little later Colonel Howell and his assistants made a hasty meal of tinned roast mutton, pickles, Indian bannock, and tea. All about was confusion. The personal baggage of the newly arrived had been assembled just without the cabin door and Miller and a couple of the crew were beginning to carry in balsam boughs, on which, in their blankets, the colonel and his friends were to pass the night.
No attempt was made, further than Miller's crude efforts, to make the inside of the cabin more inviting. A big fire of rotten wood had been started near by, as a mosquito smudge, but all were too busy to give these pests much attention.
While the Indians were at supper, Ewen returned with Chandler.
The latter arrived with much effusiveness, but his greeting by Colonel Howell was rather curt.
"Of course you'll remember this," the colonel remarked, "when it comes to settling."
Chandler changed his attitude instantly. His expression and speech showed that he was not sober.
"I'm ready to settle now," he retorted, as his eyes swept over the growing heaps of the many boxes, barrels, bags and crates that littered the shore.
"I think I am too," remarked Colonel Howell, "when it suits me. Meanwhile, you're off the chuck roll. Get out of camp and when you're in a proper condition and can show me what you've earned, come back!"
The tall and emaciated Englishman drew himself up and glared at Colonel Howell.
"Get out!" exclaimed the latter in a tone that was wholly new to the three boys.
"I'll go when I get my money!" mumbled Chandler, half defiantly.
Without more words, Colonel Howell shot out his right arm and caught the man by his shoulder. He whirled Chandler and sent him sprawling on the trail.
The man's defiance was gone. "My pay's comin' to me," he whimpered, "and I've worked hard for it."
"We'll see about that," snapped the oil man, "when the time comes."
As if dismissing the incident from his mind, he turned toward the scows.
"Look out!" exclaimed the three boys, almost together, but their warning was hardly needed. As Colonel Howell turned, the sinewy form of old Moosetooth had thrown itself upon the crouching Englishman. The two men sank to the ground and there was a surge forward by those near by. Then the Indian tore himself from the partly helpless Chandler and struggled to his feet. In his hand he held Chandler's short double-edged knife. With indistinguishable imprecations and his arms waving in the air, the Englishman disappeared within the fringe of poplar trees.
Excited, but with no excuse for asking questions, the boys turned and, with Colonel Howell, resumed the task of getting their cargo ashore. Old Moosetooth looked at the knife, placed it inside his belt and began cutting a fresh pipe of tobacco.
"Life in the wilds!" remarked Colonel Howell, as he and the boys regained the scows. "A lazy man's bad enough, but a booze fighter doesn't belong in this camp."
"Where could he get anything to drink up here?" asked Norman, a little nervously.
"Tell me!" responded Colonel Howell. "That's what we all want to know. Anyway," he went on, "we've done our part towards cutting it out. There isn't a drop of it in this outfit."
When he could do so without attracting attention, Norman glanced at Paul. The latter as quickly averted his eyes and plunged with greater energy into his share of the work.
These events had taken place just before the "cabin passengers" had been called to supper. Efforts were being made to forget the Chandler episode and Colonel Howell especially was talkative and jolly. Paul was just the opposite. At last, when the cook had left them with their tea, the young Austrian seemed to become desperate. Norman and Roy were just about to leave the cabin when Paul stopped them, more and more embarrassed.
"I want to say something, boys," he began. Then he turned to his host and, the perspiration thick on his face, added suddenly: "Colonel Howell, I don't know how to say it, but I've got to tell you. I lied to you the other night in the hotel at Edmonton. You didn't ask me to stop drinking, but you talked to me pretty straight, and that's what I meant to do. Well I didn't stop—I just put it off, a little. I didn't do the right thing back at the Landing. I knew it then, but I knew I was going to stop when I came up here and I just put it off a little longer."
The colonel made a half deprecating motion, as if it embarrassed him to listen to the young man's confession.
"I thought it was all right," he said, as if to somewhat relieve Paul's embarrassment, "and I knew you meant to stop. Of course we knew what you were doing, but you're pretty young," concluded the colonel with a laugh.
Norman and Roy each gave signs of an inclination to relieve Paul's embarrassment and Norman especially showed concern. But he and his friend remained silent.
"We'll let that all be bygones," suggested Colonel Howell, "and here's to the future—we'll drink to what is to come in Canada's national beverage—black tea reeking with the smoke of the camp fire."
A laugh of relief started round, as Paul's three companions hit the table with their heavy tin cups, but in this the young Count did not join.
"That ain't it," he blurted suddenly. "That was bad enough, but I've done worse than that."
The colonel's face sobered and Norman's eyes turned toward the heap of personal belongings just outside the cabin door. Paul's trembling arm motioned toward these boxes and bags.
"I've got a case of brandy out there and I've got to tell you how I've lied to you."
"Hardly that!" protested Colonel Howell. "You hadn't spoken to me of it."
"No, I didn't," confessed Paul, his voice trembling, "but I just heard you say we hadn't anything like that with us and I might as well have lied, because I had it."
"Did that sergeant of police know this?" broke in Roy. "I thought he examined everything. He certainly said we were all right."
"Yes, he knew it," answered Paul, "but he isn't to blame. Don't think I'm making that an excuse."
Colonel Howell sat with downcast eyes and an expression of pain on his face.
"Why did you do it?" he asked in a low tone at last. "Did you mean to hide it from me?"
"No, no," exclaimed his young guest. "I don't know why I did it. I don't want it. I'm going to quit all that. That's why I came up here. You know that, Colonel Howell—don't you believe me?"
But Colonel Howell's face now bore a different expression.
"My friend," he remarked after a few moment's thought, "I may have done wrong to ask your father to let you come with us. I thought you knew all the conditions. If this is a life that is not going to interest you, you'd better go back. The Indians will be returning to-morrow or the next day and you won't find it such a hard trip."
Paul gulped as if choking and then sprang from the table. From the baggage outside he extracted a canvas-bound box, his own name on the side. While his companions sat in silence he hurled it on the floor at their feet and then, with a sweep of his knife, cut the canvas from the package. With a single crush by his heavy boot, he loosened one of the boards of the cover. Carefully packed within were a dozen bottles of expensive brandy. Paul caught one of them and appeared to be about to smash it on the edge of the table. The colonel raised his hand.
"Stop!" ordered his host. "Are you going back or do you want to stay with us?"
"Colonel Howell," almost sobbed the young man, "I'd give anything I have or can do for you if you'll let me stay."
"There's only one condition," answered Colonel Howell, and he no longer attempted to conceal his irritation. "If you're not strong enough to do without that kind of stuff, you're not welcome here. If you are, you are very welcome."
"I'll throw it all in the river," exclaimed Paul, chokingly.
"Which would prove nothing," announced Colonel Howell. "Put that bottle back in the box and nail it up. When you want it again, come and tell me and I'll give you the case and an escort back to the Landing."
The episode had become more than embarrassing for Norman and Roy and they arose and left the room. Paul's face was buried in his hands and his head was low on the table. Fifteen minutes later, the young Count and the oil man made their appearance, both very sober of face.
At midnight when the last of the cargo had been unshipped, when the Indians had been fed again and when the white men had had a late supper of bannock and Nova Scotia butter and fresh tea, and when Colonel Howell and the boys had spread their heavy blankets on the fresh balsam, in Paul's corner of the cabin lay the box that had brought him so much chagrin. Not once during the evening had the humiliating incident been referred to by those who participated in it.