THE GREAT INTERROGATION
To say the least, Mrs. Sayther's career in Dawson was meteoric.
She arrived in the spring, with dog sleds and French-Canadian
voyageurs, blazed gloriously for a brief month, and departed up
the river as soon as it was free of ice. Now womanless Dawson
never quite understood this hurried departure, and the local Four
Hundred felt aggrieved and lonely till the Nome strike was made
and old sensations gave way to new. For it had delighted in Mrs.
Sayther, and received her wide-armed. She was pretty, charming,
and, moreover, a widow. And because of this she at once had at
heel any number of Eldorado Kings, officials, and adventuring
younger sons, whose ears were yearning for the frou-frou of a
woman's skirts.
The mining engineers revered the memory of her husband, the late
Colonel Sayther, while the syndicate and promoter representatives
spoke awesomely of his deals and manipulations; for he was known
down in the States as a great mining man, and as even a greater
one in London. Why his widow, of all women, should have come into
the country, was the great interrogation. But they were a
practical breed, the men of the Northland, with a wholesome
disregard for theories and a firm grip on facts. And to not a few
of them Karen Sayther was a most essential fact. That she did not
regard the matter in this light, is evidenced by the neatness and
celerity with which refusal and proposal tallied off during her
four weeks' stay. And with her vanished the fact, and only the
interrogation remained.
To the solution, Chance vouchsafed one clew. Her last victim,
Jack Coughran, having fruitlessly laid at her feet both his heart
and a five-hundred-foot creek claim on Bonanza, celebrated the
misfortune by walking all of a night with the gods. In the
midwatch of this night he happened to rub shoulders with Pierre
Fontaine, none other than head man of Karen Sayther's voyageurs.
This rubbing of shoulders led to recognition and drinks, and
ultimately involved both men in a common muddle of inebriety.
"Heh?" Pierre Fontaine later on gurgled thickly. "Vot for Madame
Sayther mak visitation to thees country? More better you spik wit
her. I know no t'ing 'tall, only all de tam her ask one man's
name. 'Pierre,' her spik wit me; 'Pierre, you moos' find thees
mans, and I gif you mooch--one thousand dollar you find thees
mans.' Thees mans? Ah, oui. Thees man's name--vot you call--
Daveed Payne. Oui, m'sieu, Daveed Payne. All de tam her spik das
name. And all de tam I look rount vaire mooch, work lak hell, but
no can find das dam mans, and no get one thousand dollar 'tall.
By dam!
"Heh? Ah, oui. One tam dose mens vot come from Circle City, dose
mens know thees mans. Him Birch Creek, dey spik. And madame?
Her say 'Bon!' and look happy lak anyt'ing. And her spik wit me.
'Pierre,' her spik, 'harness de dogs. We go queek. We find thees
mans I gif you one thousand dollar more.' And I say, 'Oui, queek!
Allons, madame!'
"For sure, I t'ink, das two thousand dollar mine. Bully boy! Den
more mens come from Circle City, and dey say no, das thees mans,
Daveed Payne, come Dawson leel tam back. So madame and I go not
'tall.
"Oui, m'sieu. Thees day madame spik. 'Pierre,' her spik, and gif
me five hundred dollar, 'go buy poling-boat. To-morrow we go up
de river.' Ah, oui, to-morrow, up de river, and das dam Sitka
Charley mak me pay for de poling-boat five hundred dollar. Dam!"
Thus it was, when Jack Coughran unburdened himself next day, that
Dawson fell to wondering who was this David Payne, and in what way
his existence bore upon Karen Sayther's. But that very day, as
Pierre Fontaine had said, Mrs. Sayther and her barbaric crew of
voyageurs towed up the east bank to Klondike City, shot across to
the west bank to escape the bluffs, and disappeared amid the maze
of islands to the south.
