Manson stared at his desk
with a queer sense of discomfort. Consolidated stock had moved up
buoyantly on the news of the discovery of iron, and he had established
for himself with his Toronto brokers the reputation of a shrewd
operator who worked on the strength of inside information. In front of
him were Toronto letters asking that his agent be kept informed of
developments at St. Marys. It pleased him that this had been achieved
outside his own town and without its knowledge, and he saw himself a
man who was vastly underestimated by his fellow citizens. But in spite
of it all he was daily more conscious of a worm of uncertainty that
gnawed in his brain. The thing was safe, obviously and demonstrably
safe. Against his thousands others had invested millions with which to
buttress the whole gigantic concern. And yet--!

XIV.--AN ANCIENT ARISTOCRAT VISITS THE WORKS

On a sunshiny day twelve miles down the river at the Indian settlement,
old Chief Shingwauk, known in English as the Pine Tree, put on his best
beaded caribou-skin moccasins and, motioning to his wife, moved slowly
toward the shore where a small bark canoe nestled in the long reeds. A
few moments later they slid silently up stream, the aged crone kneeling
in the bow, a red shawl enveloping head and shoulders, her thin and
bony arms wielding a narrow paddle with smooth agility. In the stern
squatted Shingwauk, his dark eyes deep in thought.

Slowly they pushed up current, pausing now and again to peer unspeaking
into the woods, every ancient instinct still alive, though ninety years
had passed since the old man and his wife were unstrapped from the
stiff board cradles in which they once swung mummy-like in long
forgotten camps. Shingwauk, his broad blade winnowing the clear water,
reflected that this journey had been contemplated for many months,
since first he heard that strange things were being done at the big
white water, and now it was well to see for himself, for the time was
approaching when he would not see anything any more.

It was years since he had been at St. Marys and he was very old, so he
worked up stream carefully, skirting close to the shore in the back
water, hugging every point and sheering not at all into the strong
current of midstream. Thus for hours the canoe floated like a dry leaf
in the unruffled corner of a hidden pool, and in it the ancient pair,
dry themselves with the searching seasons of nearly a hundred year