Under the stimulus of the potent liquid, Malkarski was able in a few minutes between his gasps to tell his story. Concealed by a lumber pile behind Rosenblatt's shack, with his ear close to a crack between the logs, he had heard the details of the plot. In the cross tunnel at the back of the cave bags of gunpowder and dynamite were to be hidden. To this mass a train was to be laid through the cross tunnel to a convenient distance. At a certain point during the conference Rosenblatt would leave the cave on the pretext of securing a paper left in his cabin. A pile of brushwood at some distance from the cave would be burning. On his way to his cabin Rosenblatt would fire the train and wait the explosion in his own shack, the accidental nature of which could easily be explained under the circumstances. In order to remove suspicion from him, Rosenblatt was to appear during the early evening in a railway camp some distance away. The plot was so conceived and the details so arranged that no suspicion could attach to the guilty parties.
"And now," said Malkarski, "rush to Wakota, where I know Mr. French and Kalman are to be today. I shall go back to the mine to warn them if by any chance you should miss them."
Old Portnoff was long past his best. Not for many years had he quickened his pace beyond a slow dog trot. The air was heavy with an impending storm, the blazed trail through the woods was rough, and at times difficult to find, so that it was late in the evening when the old man stumbled into the missionary's house and poured out his tale between his sobbing gasps to Brown and a Sergeant of the Mounted Police, who was present on the Queen's business.
Before the tale was done the Sergeant was on his feet.
"Where are French and Kalman?" he said sharply.
"Gone hours ago," cried Brown. "They must be at the mine by now."
"Can this man be relied upon?" enquired the Sergeant.
"Absolutely," said Brown. "Fly! I'll follow."
Without further word the Sergeant was out of the house and on his horse.
"What trail?" he shouted.
"It is best by the river," cried Brown. "The cross trail you might lose. Go! Go, in God's name!" he added, rushing toward his stable, followed by Portnoff and his wife. "Where is Paulina?" he cried.
"Paulina," said his wife, "is gone. She is acting strangely these days,--goes and comes, I don't know where."
"Get a boy, then," said her husband, "and send him to the ranch.
There is a bare chance we may stop them there. Portnoff, there is another pony here; saddle and follow me. We'll take the cross trail. And pray God," he added, "we may be in time!"
Great masses of liver-coloured clouds were piling up in the west, blotting out the light from the setting sun. Over all a heavy silence had settled down, so that in all the woods there was no sound of living thing. Lashing his pony into a gallop, heedless of the obstacles on the trail, or of the trees overhead, Brown crashed through scrub and sleugh, with old Portnoff following as best he could. Mile after mile they rode, now and then in the gathering darkness losing the trail, and with frantic furious haste searching it again, till at length, with their ponies foaming and trembling, and their own faces torn and bleeding with the brush, they emerged into the clearing above the ravine.
Meantime, the ghastly tragedy was being enacted. Impatiently at the cave mouth French and Kalman waited the coming of those they were to meet. At length, in the gathering gloom, Rosenblatt appeared, coming up the ravine. He was pale and distraught.
"I have ridden hard," he said, "and I am shaken with my ride. My papers are in my cabin. I shall get them."
In a few moments he returned, bringing with him a bottle and two cups.
"Drink!" he said. "No? Then I will." He poured out a cup full of raw whiskey and drank it off. "My partner is late," he said. "He will be here in a few moments. Meantime, we can look over the papers."
"It is too dark here," said French. "We can't see to read. You have in your cabin a light, let us go there."
"Oh," cried Rosenblatt hastily, "it is more comfortable here. I have a lantern."
He rummaged in the sides of the cave and produced a lantern.
"Here is a light," said French, striking a match.
Rosenblatt snatched the match from his hand, crushed it in his fingers and hurried out of the cave.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "I am shaking with my hurried ride."
With great care he lighted his lantern outside of the cave and set it upon a table that had been placed near the cave's mouth. French drew out his pipe, slowly filled it and proceeded to light it, when Rosenblatt in a horror-stricken voice arrested him.
"Don't smoke!" he cried. "I mean--it makes me very ill--when I am--in this--condition--the smell of tobacco smoke."
French looked at him with cool contempt.
"I am sorry for you," he said, lighting his pipe and throwing the match down.
Rosenblatt sprang to the cave mouth, came back again, furtively treading upon the match. The perspiration was standing out upon his forehead.
"It is a terrible night," he said. "Let us proceed. We can't wait for my partner. Read, read."
With fingers that trembled so that he could hardly hold the papers, he thrust the documents into Kalman's hand.
"Read," he cried, "I cannot see."
Opening the papers, Kalman proceeded to read them carefully, by the light of the lantern, French smoking calmly the while.
"Have you no better light than this, Rosenblatt?" said French at length. "Surely there are candles about here." He walked toward the back of the cave.
"Ah, my God!" cried Rosenblatt, seizing him and drawing him toward the table again. "Sit down, sit down. If you want candles, let me get them. I know where they are. But we need no candles here.
Yes," he cried with a laugh, "young eyes are better than old eyes.
The young man reads well. Read, read."
"There is another paper," said French after Kalman had finished.
"There is a further agreement."
"Yes, truly," said Rosenblatt. "Is it not there? It must be there. No, I must have left it at my cabin. I will bring it."
"Well, hurry then," said French. "Meantime, my pipe is out."
