Part 14

"Where do they come from?" he said shortly.

The breed made a little noise in his throat, and his dark eyes rested luminously on the keen face. After a little he gathered the samples and disposed them on the map, laying each in that corner of the wilderness from which it had been broken. He did this with the deliberation of one who knew beyond all question. He had brought months of hardship and exposure in his pocket. By swamp and hill, valley and lake and rapid he had journeyed alone in search of the gray, heavy, shiny rock of which Clark had, months before, given him a fragment, with curt orders to seek the like. The small, angular pieces were all arranged, and his chief stared at them with profound geological interest. Fisette did not move. He had looked forward to this moment.

"They're no good," came the level voice, after a pause, "but you're in the right country. Go back for another two months. You'll get it yet. It should be near this," he picked up a sample. "Take what men you want, or no, don't take any. I want you to do this yourself, and don't talk. Good morning."

Fisette nodded dumbly. The moment had come and gone and he felt a little paralyzed.

"Here, have a cigar."

He took one, such a cigar as he had never seen, large, dark and fat with a golden band around its plump middle. He glanced at Clark, who apparently had forgotten him, and went silently out. On the doorstep he paused, slid off the golden band and put it in his pocketbook, cupped a lighted match between his polished palms, took one long luxurious breath and started thoughtfully to town with worship and determination in his breast.

Clark, from the office window, was looking down at his broad back in a moment of abstraction. At Fisette's departure he had suddenly plunged into one of those moods so peculiar to his temperament. Beside the halfbreed he seemed to perceive Stoughton, and with Baudette he discerned the figure of Riggs, and so on till there were marshalled before him the whole battalion of those who were caught up in the onward march. He realized, without any hesitation, that should Baudette fail in his work, the magnificent bulk of the great pulp mill would be but a futile shell. And should the prospecting pick of the half-breed not uncover that which he sought, the entire enterprise would lack its basic security. But it was characteristic of the man that this vision brought with it no depression, but seemed rather to point to ultimate success in the very blending of diverse elements that strove together towards the same end.

Two weeks later, Baudette returned and looked questioningly at his chief. In very few words he explained that the fortnight had been spent in the woods and that what he had said was correct.

Clark listened silently. Here was a man to his liking. When the lumberman finished he again unrolled the big map, but this time instead of the wavering red pencil line, there was the bold demarcation of a much greater area, which Belding's draughtsman had plotted in professional style. In the middle of it was the territory Baudette had previously indicated.

"I thought we'd better be safe, and got this--from the Government. Go to the chief accountant in the outside office. Give him an estimate of what money you need for the next six months--and get to work--Good morning."

Baudette merely nodded and disappeared. There was too much in his mind to admit of expressing it, but, even had he felt conversational, there was a finality about his dismissal that left no opening. He went away charged with a grim determination. Here was the chance he had been waiting for all his life.

And Clark had, by this time, labelled Baudette as a valuable and dependable man. He forthwith forgot all about him, and went back to the memory of Baudette's forefinger as it pushed its way up to the Magwa River. It flashed upon him that, in the course of a vehemently active life, he had built practically all things save one. At that he fell into a reverie which ended with the pressing of a button that flashed a small red light on Belding's desk. A moment later he glanced keenly at his chief engineer.

"Belding, you have done railway work. What does a standard gauge road cost in this country?"

"Where is the road to be built?" Belding displayed no surprise. The time for that had long passed, and, he silently concluded, the presidency of a railroad would suit Clark admirably.

"Up the Magwa River."

"And the maximum grades?"

"Suitable for freight haulage to this point. We run with the water," added Clark with one of his rare smiles, "you ought to know that."

"About thirty thousand a mile," answered Belding steadily, the trouble being that when his chief's imagination took strong hold of him he was apt to diverge from the point.

"Then you will send out survey parties and get detailed estimates when the surveys are in."

"How far is the road to run? The head waters of the Magwa are one hundred and fifty miles from its mouth."

Clark's lips tightened a little. "As far as the pulp wood is good. I don't care how far that is--and, Belding--"

"Yes, sir."

"I have decided to double the size of the mill. Let me have plans and estimates for that too."

Belding went on, his head swimming, and walked slowly toward the head gates through which Lake Superior flowed obediently to do Clark's will. It seemed now that his chief had reached the point where the god in the machine must make some grievous error. He was insatiable. Presently two figures approached. One was Judge Worden, the other a girl. The former waved his stick.

"We're going to see Mr. Clark. Elsie, this is Mr. Belding."

The girl smiled and put out a slim hand. "I've heard all about you--did you make all this?" Her brown eyes roved, taking in the great sweep of rising structures.

"In a way, yes," he laughed, "that is I did what I was told."

"Mr. Belding is chief engineer," put in the judge assuringly.