James Beardley Hendryx - Beyond the Outposts

“Have you seen Gaudet?”

“No, didn’t go down to the post. Camped here last evening and just laid around this morning takin’ it easy.”

Downey smiled: “Within half a mile of a post with several white men to talk to, an’ haven’t been down to see ’em!”

“What’s the use. Gaudet’s like all the rest of ’em. You know Dad was a factor, and all the old-timers knew him, and liked him. They all either hint around that I ought to be doin’ something, or else come right out and say so. What business is it of theirs what I do. If I wanted to work for the Company, I could get a post easy enough. Why can’t they let me alone?”

“Don’t think hard of ’em, boy. They’re doin’ what they think is fer you’re own good—ain’t I just be’n raggin’ you myself about the same thing? So, you’re hittin’ out for the Bay. What you goin’ to do over there?”

Janier shrugged: “Haven’t the least idea in the world—may be I won’t get to the Bay. Might get a fresh hunch, an’ hit up onto the coast, or down to the settlements.”

“S’pose, though, you do keep on to the Bay,” speculated Downey, his eyes on the high-flung skyline of Bear Rock. “You’ve got your canoe along, so you couldn’t hardly swing up along the coast. The way you’ll prob’ly go is up the Coppermine an’ across to Fish River, an’ then drop down onto the Thelon.”

Janier laughed. “What’s on your mind Old Timer? Want to deputize me to bring in Amos Nixon?”

“No. No, Nixon’s due to show up for supplies somewhere, soon, an’ someone will pick him up. An’ yet I was thinkin’ of Nixon, too—partly. When you come through the Fish River country in the spring, you didn’t see no one else up there, did you?”

“No,” answered Janier, with a trace of interest in his tone. “I didn’t travel far on the Fish River. Why, is someone supposed to be up there?”

Downey nodded: “Yes, somewheres over in there. On Fish River, or the Thelon, or some feeder. Fellow name of John Boyne. Sort of an oldish fellow, I guess—be’n all over hell. Cleaned up about a million in the Klondike, an’ now he’s putterin’ around up in that God-forsaken country. Be’n up there about a year, an’ ain’t be’n heard from.”

Janier nodded: “Yes, heard about him last year at Baker Lake. He’d started out from detachment headquarters a couple of months before I got there. Expected to pick up an Eskimo guide somewhere around Beverly Lake. Prospector, he was—huntin’ Hearne’s lost mines.”

“That’s the fellow. An’ when you mentioned seein’ Nixon up on Fish River, it kind of started me to thinkin’.”

“By Gosh!” cried Janier, suddenly, “I believe you’re right! It’s a wonder I didn’t think of that. Fact is, I’d forgotten all about this Boyne. I couldn’t figure what Nixon would be doin’ on Fish River. Guess I’ll just slip around that way, an’ look around a bit. Better go along. It’s really your job, you know—not mine.”

The Corporal shook his head: “Can’t do it, Gus. Like to the best way in the world, but I’ve got my work cut out for me, up-river. You can do more in that country than anyone else, if you’ll do it. No one knows the country like you do, an’ the fact that you ain’t in the Service will help you.”

“Anyway, it will give me something to do. I might as well be knockin’ around up there as anywhere. I’ll find this John Boyne for you, Downey. Or, maybe, I’ll find Hearne’s lost mines, who knows?”

Downey shook his head, sombrely: “Damn Hearne’s lost mines!” The vehemence of the imprecation surprised Janier, but before he could make any comment the officer continued, “I’ll see that you get paid for your time and supplies.”

“Never mind the pay. And, as for the supplies,” he pointed with a grin to his rifle and fishing-rod case. “We’ll just let the country furnish the grub.”

The officer rose and stepped to his canoe. “Well, I must be gettin’ along. So long, Gus.”

“So long, Downey. You’ll prob’ly hear from me sometime along in the fall, or maybe not till winter.”

Downey nodded: “Take your time, boy.” He stood, resting on his paddle. “You know, I get hunches once in a while, myself. I got one now. It’s about you—this hunch is. It says that you’re goin’ to find somethin’ over yonder—at the foot of the rainbow.”

Janier laughed: “Gold?”

Downey shook his head as he took his place in the canoe: “Well—mebbe gold. This hunch of mine though—it don’t say nothin’ about gold.” And the next moment the canoe shot out into the current of the river.

With little wrinkles of perplexity gathering upon his forehead, Janier watched until the canoe disappeared from sight—but Corporal Downey did not look back.

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