# Drome/Chapter 2

Chapter 2
What He Told Us
A few moments, and Milton Rhodes and his visitor entered the room.
"My friend Mr. Carter," Rhodes remarked to Mr. James W. Scranton as he introduced us, "has assisted me in some of my problems; he is my colleague, so to say, and you may speak with the utmost confidence that your story, if you wish it so, will be held an utter secret."
"For the present, I wish it a secret," returned Scranton, seating himself in the chair which Rhodes had pushed forward, "and so always if no discovery follows. If, however, you discover things—and I have no doubt that you will do so—why, then, of course, you may make everything public where, when and in whatsoever manner you wish."
"And so," said Milton, "you bring us a mystery—a scientific mystery, I believe."
"Yes, Mr. Rhodes. And it is very probable that it will prove stranger than any mystery any man on this earth has ever known."
There was not the slightest change on Milton Rhodes' features, and yet I could have sworn that a slight fleeting smile had touched them. I turned my look back to our visitor and saw upon his face an expression so strange that I stared at him in astonishment. What horrible, mysterious thing was it that this man had to tell us?
Soon the look was gone, though its shadow still rested on his thin, pale features.
"The mystery," said he suddenly, "is an old, old one."
I glanced at Milton Rhodes.
"Then why," he asked, "bring it to me?"
An enigmatic smile flitted across Scranton's face.
"Because it is new as well. You will soon see what I mean, Mr. Rhodes—why, after all these years, I suddenly found myself so anxious to see you that I couldn't even wait until this storm and deluge ended."
From the inside pocket of his coat he drew a leather-covered note-book, much worn and evidently very old.
"This," said he, holding the book up between thumb and forefinger, "is the journal kept by my grandfather, Charles Scranton, during his journey to, and partial ascent of, Mount Rainier in the year 1858."
Milton glanced over at me and said: "Our little deduction, Bill, wasn't so bad, after all."
Scranton turned his eyes from one to the other of us with a questioning look.
"Mr. Carter," Rhodes explained, "was just telling me about that trip, and he wondered if you belonged to the old pioneer Scranton family."
"This," exclaimed the other, "is something of a surprize to me! Few people, I thought, even knew of the journey."
"Well, Mr. Carter happens to be one of the few."
"May I ask," said Scranton, addressing himself to me, "how you knew my grandfather had visited the mountain? And what you know?"
​"When I wag a boy, I heard a man—his name was Simpson—tell about it."
"Oh," said Scranton, and it was as though some fear or thing of dread had suddenly left him.
"His story, however," I added, "was vague, mysterious. Even at the time I couldn't understand what it was about."
"Of course. For, though Simpson knew of the journey, he knew but little of what had happened. And more than once I have heard my grandfather express regret that he had told Simpson even as much as he had. I suppose there was something of that I-could-tell-a-lot-if-I-wanted-to in Simpson's yarn."
"There was," I nodded.
"The man, however, knew virtually nothing—in fact, nothing at all about it. I have no doubt, though, that he did a lot of guessing. I don't believe that my grandfather, dead these many years now, ever told a single soul all. And, as for all that he told me—well, I can't tell everything even to you, Mr. Rhodes."
A strange look came into the eyes of Milton Rhodes, but he remained silent.
Scranton raised the note-book again.
"Nor is everything here. Nor do I propose to read everything that is here. Just now the details do not matter. It is the facts, the principal facts, with which we have to do now. This record, if you are interested—and I have no doubt you will be—I shall leave in your hands until such time as you care to return it to me. Now for my grandfather's journey.
"With three companions, he left the old homestead, near what is now Puyallup, on the 16th of August, 1858. At Steilacoom, they got an Indian guide, Sklokoyum by name. The journey was made on horseback to the Mishawl Prairie. There the animals were left, with one man to guard them, and my grandfather, his two companions and the Indian—this guide, however, had never been higher up the Nisqually than Copper Creek—set out on foot for the mountain."
"One moment," Milton Rhodes interrupted. "According to that Simpson, it was something that your grandfather heard from the soldier Dogue, and not from Kautz himself, that led to his making this journey to Rainier. Is that correct?"
"Yes; it is correct."
"May I ask, Mr. Scranton, what it was that he learned?"
Again that enigmatic smile on Scranton's face. He tapped the old journal.
"You will loam that, Mr. Rhodes, when you read this record."
"I see. Pray proceed."