“I got him with the cutter, anyhow,” Drummond rejoined, and when he went off Thirlwell entered the smithy.

He imagined what he said to Driscoll would prevent the quarrel beginning again, and presently went back to the mine, feeling satisfied.  There was now not much risk of Drummond and Driscoll making friends and finding that both knew something about the lode.  Thirlwell was persuaded that Driscoll did know something, more in fact than anybody else; he knew where Strange had expected to find the ore.  Thirlwell had not admitted this to Scott, because he shrank from stating his suspicions, which were dark but vague.  Now, however, he thought he would try to formulate them and see how they looked, since he might, after all, take Scott into his confidence.

To begin with, nobody knew why Strange’s canoe capsized.  Strange was clever with the paddle, and Driscoll’s narrative, while plausible, left something to be accounted for.  It was improbable that he had quarreled with his partner while they shot the rapid, because their minds would be occupied by the dangerous navigation.  Then supposing that Driscoll had intentionally let the canoe swerve when they were threatened by a breaking wave, it was hard to see what he would gain.  If he thought Strange had found the ore, it would obviously be impossible to learn anything about it after the man was drowned.  The theory that Strange had already told him where the lode was, and Driscoll meant to get rid of a partner who would demand the largest share, must be rejected, since if Strange had told him, Driscoll would have gone away to register the claim.  But he had not done so.

The thing was mysterious, and Thirlwell could see no light.  He must wait and watch for a hint, and in the meantime resolved to talk to Scott about it.  So far, he had rather avoided the subject of Strange’s death, but it might be better to abandon his reserve.  He did not think he could expect much help from Scott, but he was clever and Thirlwell had known him to solve some awkward puzzles.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE HAND IN THE WATER

Scott lying among the pine-needles after work had stopped, lighted his pipe and glanced at Thirlwell, who had been talking for some minutes.

“On the whole, it was lucky the smith had an iron hot,” he said.  “Black Steve’s a dangerous man and we know something about the Metis temper.  Drummond, of course, is hardly a Metis, but he has a drop of Indian blood that must be reckoned on.  It’s a remarkably virile strain.”

“I was rather glad they quarreled.  I’d been afraid Driscoll might learn he knew something about the lode and persuade him to join the gang.  I wouldn’t trust him far.”