Then he glanced at his watch and got up with an impatient shrug.  He had forgotten his work while he thought about the girl, and there was much to be done.  For one thing, he had come up to see if the smith had tempered some boring tools; and then he must send the Metis river-jacks to float a raft of props down to the mine.  Pulling himself together, he set about the work with characteristic energy, but as he walked through the murmuring woods he unconsciously began to sing a romantic ballad he had learned when a boy.  Presently, however, he stopped and smiled.  It looked as if he were getting sentimental, and one must guard against that kind of thing.

CHAPTER XVII

DRUMMOND OFFERS HELP

It was a calm evening and Thirlwell and Scott sat outside the shack, watching the river while the sunset faded across the woods.  A few Metis freighters had gone to the settlements for supplies and mining tools, and although much depended on the condition of the portages, Scott expected them that night.

“Antoine will bring up our mail,” he said.  “It’s some time since Miss Strange has written to you about her plans.”

Thirlwell said it was nearly three months, and Scott resumed:  “Well, I think if I’d had a part in the business, I’d have tried to find if the Hudson’s Bay agent was alive.  It’s possible that he could tell you something about the location of the ore.”

“I don’t know that I have any part in the business,” Thirlwell replied.  “I promised to go with Miss Strange, but that’s all.”

“If she finds the lode, she’ll need a mining engineer.”

“She’ll have no trouble in engaging one if the pay is good.”

“But you wouldn’t think you had first claim to the post?  In fact, if you helped the girl to find the ore, you’d be satisfied to drop out and leave her alone?”

Thirlwell frowned.  He had made no plans for the future and certainly did not mean to trade upon Agatha’s gratitude, but he knew it would hurt him, so to speak, to drop out and let her look for other help.

“The lode isn’t found yet,” he rejoined.

“Anyhow, I feel that the girl or you ought to have got on the agent’s track,” Scott insisted.  “He knew where Strange went, and saw him when he returned.  It’s possible that Strange confused his memory by his subsequent trips, but the agent heard his story when the matter was fresh.”

Thirlwell did not answer, and Scott cut some tobacco.  When he had finished he looked up the river.

“The bateaux! Antoine has made good time.”