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diff --git a/20155-h/20155-h.htm b/20155-h/20155-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d9c4c9b --- /dev/null +++ b/20155-h/20155-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12601 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The White Desert, by Courtney Ryley Cooper</title> +<style type="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 5%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: medium; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {font-size: small ; + margin-left: 15% ; + margin-right: 15% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.index {font-size: small ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.dedication {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 15%; + text-align: justify } + +P.published {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 15% } + +P.quote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.report {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.report2 {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { text-align: center } + + +H4.h4left { margin-left: 0%; + margin-right: 1%; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: left ; + clear: left ; + text-align: center } + +H4.h4right { margin-left: 1%; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: right ; + clear: right ; + text-align: center } + +H4.h4center { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-align: center } + +H5.h5left { margin-left: 0%; + margin-right: 1%; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: left ; + clear: left ; + text-align: center } + +H5.h5right { margin-left: 1%; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: right ; + clear: right ; + text-align: center } + +H5.h5center { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-align: center } + +IMG.imgleft { float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: 1%; + padding: 0; + text-align: center } + +IMG.imgright {float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1%; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center } + +IMG.imgcenter { margin-left: auto; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: auto; } + +.pagenum { position: absolute; + left: 1%; + font-size: 95%; + text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; } + + hr.full { width: 100%; + height: 5px; } + a:link {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none; } + link {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none; } + a:visited {color:#0000ff; + text-decoration:none; } + a:hover {color:#ff0000; + text-decoration: underline; } + pre {font-size: 75%; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 align="center">The Project Gutenberg eBook, The White Desert, by Courtney Ryley Cooper, +Illustrated by Anton Otto Fischer</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The White Desert</p> +<p>Author: Courtney Ryley Cooper</p> +<p>Release Date: December 21, 2006 [eBook #20155]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE DESERT***</p> +<br><br><center><h3>E-text prepared by Al Haines</h3></center><br><br> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<br> +<br> +<br> + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT="It was easier to accept the more precipitous journey, straight downward." BORDER="2" WIDTH="400" HEIGHT="623"> +<H3 STYLE="width: 400px"> +It was easier to accept the more precipitous journey, straight downward. +</H3> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE WHITE DESERT +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR OF +<BR> +THE CROSS-CUT, ETC. +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FRONTISPIECE BY +<BR> +ANTON OTTO FISCHER +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +GROSSET & DUNLAP +<BR> +PUBLISHERS ————— NEW YORK +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +Copyright, 1922, +<BR> +BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY +<BR><BR> +All Rights Reserved +<BR><BR><BR> +Published February, 1922 +<BR> +Reprinted March, 1922 +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +To a Certain Little Gray Lady +<BR> +who seems to like everything +<BR> +I write, the main reason being +<BR> +the fact that she is +<BR> +MY MOTHER +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H3> + +<BR> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">CHAPTER I</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap06">CHAPTER VI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap11">CHAPTER XI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">CHAPTER II</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap07">CHAPTER VII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap12">CHAPTER XII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">CHAPTER III</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">CHAPTER IV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap09">CHAPTER IX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap05">CHAPTER V</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap10">CHAPTER X</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap15">CHAPTER XV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap20">CHAPTER XX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE WHITE DESERT +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +It was early afternoon. Near by, the smaller hills shimmered in the +radiant warmth of late spring, the brownness of their foliage and +boulders merging gradually upward to the green of the spruces and pines +of the higher mountains, which in turn gave way before the somber +blacks and whites of the main range, where yet the snow lingered from +the clutch of winter, where the streams ran brown with the down-flow of +the continental divide, where every cluster of mountain foliage +sheltered a mound of white, in jealous conflict with the sun. The +mountains are tenacious of their vicious traits; they cling to the snow +and cold and ice long after the seasons have denoted a time of warmth +and summer's splendor; the columbine often blooms beside a ten-foot +drift. +</P> + +<P> +But down in the hollow which shielded the scrambling little town of +Dominion, the air was warm and lazy with the friendliness of May. Far +off, along the course of the tumbling stream, turbulently striving to +care for far more than its share of the melt-water of the hills, a +jaybird called raucously as though in an effort to drown the sweeter, +softer notes of a robin nesting in the new-green of a quaking aspen. +At the hitching post before the one tiny store, an old horse nodded and +blinked,—as did the sprawled figure beside the ramshackle +motor-filling station, just opened after the snow-bound months of +winter. Then five minutes of absolute peace ensued, except for the +buzzing of an investigative bottle-fly before the figure shuffled, +stretched, and raising his head, looked down the road. From the +distance had come the whirring sound of a motor, the forerunner of a +possible customer. In the hills, an automobile speaks before it is +seen. +</P> + +<P> +Long moments of throbbing echoes; then the car appeared, a mile or so +down the caņon, twisting along the rocky walls which rose sheer from +the road, threading the innumerable bridges which spanned the little +stream, at last to break forth into the open country and roar on toward +Dominion. The drowsy gasoline tender rose. A moment more and a long, +sleek, yellow racer had come to a stop beside the gas tank, chortled +with greater reverberation than ever as the throttle was thrown open, +then wheezed into silence with the cutting off of the ignition. A +young man rose from his almost flat position in the low-slung driver's +seat and crawling over the side, stretched himself, meanwhile staring +upward toward the glaring white of Mount Taluchen, the highest peak of +the continental backbone, frowning in the coldness of snows that never +departed. The villager moved closer. +</P> + +<P> +"Gas?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yep." The young man stretched again. "Fill up the tank—and better +give me half a gallon of oil." +</P> + +<P> +Then he turned away once more, to stare again at the great, tumbled +stretches of granite, the long spaces of green-black pines, showing in +the distance like so many upright fronds of some strange, mossy fern; +at the blank spaces, where cold stone and shifting shale had made +jagged marks of bareness in the masses of evergreen, then on to the +last gnarled bulwarks of foliage, struggling bravely, almost +desperately, to hold on to life where life was impossible, the dividing +line, as sharp as a knife-thrust, between the region where trees may +grow and snows may hide beneath their protecting boughs and the +desolate, barren, rocky, forbidding waste of "timber line." +</P> + +<P> +Young he was, almost boyish; yet counterbalancing this was a +seriousness of expression that almost approached somberness as he stood +waiting until his machine should be made ready for the continuance of +his journey. The eyes were dark and lustrous with something that +closely approached sorrow, the lips had a tightness about them which +gave evidence of the pressure of suffering, all forming an expression +which seemed to come upon him unaware, a hidden thing ever waiting for +the chance to rise uppermost and assume command. But in a flash it was +gone, and boyish again, he had turned, laughing, to survey the gas +tender. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you speak?" he asked, the dark eyes twinkling. The villager was +in front of the machine, staring at the plate of the radiator and +scratching his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I was just sayin' I never seed that kind o' car before. Barry +Houston, huh? Must be a new make. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Camouflage," laughed the young man again. "That's my name." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, is it?" and the villager chuckled with him. "It shore had me +guessin' fer a minute. You've got th' plate right where th' name o' a +car is plastered usually, and it plum fooled me. That's your name, +huh? Live hereabouts—?" +</P> + +<P> +The owner of the name did not answer. The thought suddenly had come to +him that once out of the village, that plate must be removed and tossed +to the bottom of the nearest stream. His mission, for a time at least, +would require secrecy. But the villager had repeated his question: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't belong around here?" +</P> + +<P> +"I? No, I'm—" then he hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"Thought maybe you did. Seein' you've got a Colorado license on." +</P> + +<P> +Houston parried, with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, this isn't all of Colorado, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Guess that's right. Only it seems in th' summer thet it's most o' it, +th' way th' machines pile through, goin' over th' Pass. Where you +headed for?" +</P> + +<P> +"The same place." +</P> + +<P> +"Over Hazard?" The villager squinted. "Over Hazard Pass? Ain't daft, +are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hope not. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ever made it before?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"And you're tacklin' it for the first time at this season o' th' year?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Why not? It's May, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +The villager moved closer, as though to gain a better sight of Barry +Houston's features. He surveyed him carefully, from the tight-drawn +reversed cap with the motor goggles resting above the young, smooth +forehead, to the quiet elegance of the outing clothing and well-shod +feet. He spat, reflectively, and drew the back of a hand across +tobacco-stained lips. +</P> + +<P> +"And you say you live in Colorado." +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't say—" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it don't make no difference whether you did or not. I know—you +don't. Nobody thet lives out here'd try to make Hazard Pass for th' +first time in th' middle o' May." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see—" +</P> + +<P> +"Look up there." The old man pointed to the splotches of white, +thousands of feet above, the swirling clouds which drifted from the icy +breast of Mount Taluchen, the mists and fogs which caressed the +precipices and rolled through the valleys created by the lesser peaks. +"It may be spring down here, boy, but it's January up there. They's +only been two cars over Hazard since November and they come through +last week. Both of 'em was old stagers; they've been crossin' th' +range for th' last ten year. Both of 'em came through here lookin' +like icicles 'an' swearing t' beat four o' a kind. They's mountains +an' mountains, kid. Them up there's th' professional kind." +</P> + +<P> +A slight, puzzled frown crossed the face of Barry Houston. +</P> + +<P> +"But how am I going to get to the other side of the range? I'm going +to Tabernacle." +</P> + +<P> +"They's a train runs from Denver, over Crestline. Look up there—jest +to the right of Mount Taluchen. See that there little puff o' smoke? +That's it." +</P> + +<P> +"But that'd mean—." +</P> + +<P> +"For you t' turn around, go back to Denver, leave that there chariot o' +your'n in some garage and take the train to-morrow mornin'. It'd get +you t' Tabernacle some time in the afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +"When would I get there—if I could make the Pass all right?" +</P> + +<P> +"In about five hours. It's only fourteen mile from th' top. But—" +</P> + +<P> +"And you say two other cars have gone through?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yep. But they knowed every crook an' turn!" +</P> + +<P> +For a long moment, the young man made no reply. His eyes were again on +the hills and gleaming with a sudden fascination. From far above, they +seemed to call to him, to taunt him with their imperiousness, to +challenge him and the low-slung high-powered car to the combat of +gravitation and the elements. The bleak walls of granite appeared to +glower at him, as though daring him to attempt their conquest; the +smooth stretches of pines were alluring things, promising peace and +quiet and contentment,—will-o-the-wisps, which spoke only their +beauty, and which said nothing of the long stretches of gravelly mire +and puddles, resultant from the slowly melting snows. The swirling +clouds, the mists, the drifting fogs all appeared to await him, like +the gathered hosts of some mighty army, suddenly peaceful until the +call of combat. A thrill shot through Barry Houston. His life had +been that of the smooth spaces, of the easy ascent of well-paved +grades, of streets and comforts and of luxuries. The very raggedness +of the thing before him lured him and drew him on. He turned, he +smiled, with a quiet, determined expression of anticipation, yet of +grimness. +</P> + +<P> +"They've got me," came quietly. "I'm—I'm going to make the try!" +</P> + +<P> +The villager grunted. His lips parted as though to issue a final +warning. Then, with a disgruntled shake of the head, he turned away. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't no use arguin' with you Easterners," came at last. "You come +out here an' take one look at these here hills an' think you can beat +Ole Lady Nature when she's sittin' pat with a royal flush. But go +on—I ain't tryin' t' stop you. 'Twouldn't be nothin' but a waste o' +breath. You've got this here conquerin' spirit in your blood—won't be +satisfied till you get it out. You're all th' same—I 've seen fellows +with flivvers loaded down till th' springs was flat, look up at them +hills an' figure t' get over an' back in time for supper. So go +on—only jis' remember this: once you get outside of Dominion an' start +up th' grade, there ain't no way stations, an' there ain't no +telephones, ner diner service, ner somebody t' bring y' th' evenin' +paper. You're buckin' a brace game when y' go against Hazard Pass at a +time when she ain't in a mood f'r comp'ny. She holds all th' cards, +jis' remember that—an' a few thet ain't in th' deck. But jis' th' +same," he backed away as Barry stepped into the racer and pressed a +foot on the starter, "I'm wishin' you luck. You'll need it." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks!" Houston laughed with a new exhilaration, a new spirit of +desire. "It can't do any more than kill me." +</P> + +<P> +"Nope." The villager was shouting now above the exhaust of the +powerful engine, "But it shore can take a delight in doin' that! S' +long!" +</P> + +<P> +"So long!" The gears meshed. A stream of smoke from the new oil spat +out for a second. Then, roaring and chortling with the beginning of +battle, the machine swept away toward the slight turn that indicated +the scraggly end of the little town of Dominion, and the beginning of +the first grade. +</P> + +<P> +The exhilaration still was upon Barry Houston. He whistled and sang, +turning now and then to view the bright greenness of the new-leafed +aspens, to watch the circling sallies of the jaybirds, or to stare +ahead to where the blues and greens and purples of the foliage and +rocks merged in the distance. The grade was yet easy and there was no +evidence of strain upon the engine; the tiny rivulets which ran along +the slight ruts at each side of the road betokened nothing to him save +the slight possibility of chains, should a muddy stretch of +straightaway road appear later on. But as yet, that had not occurred, +and Barry was living for the moment. +</P> + +<P> +The road began to twist slightly, with short raises and shorter level +stretches winding among the aspens and spruces, with sudden, jagged +turns about heavy, frowning boulders whose jutting noses seemed to +scrape the fenders of the car, only to miss them by the barest part of +an inch. Suddenly Barry found himself bending forward, eyes still on +the road in spite of his half-turned head, ears straining to catch the +slightest variation of the motor. It seemed to be straining,—yet the +long, suddenly straight stretch of road ahead of him seemed perfectly +level; downhill if anything. More and more labored became the engine. +Barry stopped, and lifting the hood, examined the carbureter. With the +motor idling, it seemed perfect. Once more he started,—only to stop +again and anxiously survey the ignition, test the spark plugs and again +inquire into the activities of the carbureter. At last, reassured, he +walked to the front of the machine, and with the screwdriver pried the +name plate from its position on the radiator and tossed it into the +tumbling, yellow stream beside the road. Then he turned back to the +machine,—only to stop suddenly and blink with surprise. The road was +not level! The illusion which comes to one at the first effort to +conquer a mountain grade had faded now. A few feet away was a deserted +cabin, built upon a level plot of ground and giving to Barry a chance +for comparison, and he could see that his motor had not been at fault. +Now the road, to his suddenly comprehending eyes, rose before him in a +long, steady sweep of difficult grades, upward, steadily upward, with +never a varying downfall, with never a rest for the motor which must +climb it. And this was just the beginning! For Barry could see beyond. +</P> + +<P> +Far in the distance he could make it out, a twisting, turning, almost +writhing thing, cutting into the side of the mountain, a jagged scar, +searing its way up the range in flights that seemed at times to run +almost perpendicular and which faded, only to reappear again, like the +trail of some gigantic cut-worm, mark above mark, as it circled the +smaller hills, cut into the higher ones, was lost at the edge of some +great beetling rock, only to reappear once more, hundreds of feet +overhead. The eyes of Barry Houston grew suddenly serious. He reached +into the toolbox, and bringing forth the jack, affixed the chains, +forgetting his usually cheery whistle, forgetting even to take notice +when an investigative jay scrambled out upon a dead aspen branch and +chattered at him. The true meaning of the villager's words had come at +last. The mountains were frowning now, instead of beckoning, glowering +instead of promising, threatening instead of luring. One by one he +locked the chains into place, and tossing the jack once more into the +tool-box, resumed his place at the wheel. +</P> + +<P> +"A six per cent. grade if it's an inch!" he murmured. "And this is +only the beginning. Wonder what I'm stepping into?" +</P> + +<P> +The answer came almost before the machine had warmed into action. Once +more the engine labored; nor was it until Barry had answered its +gasping plea by a shift to second gear that it strengthened again. The +grade was growing heavier; once Barry turned his head and stared with +the knowledge that far beneath him a few tiny buildings dotted what +seemed to be a space of ground as level as a floor. Dominion! And he +had barely passed outside its environs! +</P> + +<P> +He settled more firmly in his seat and gripped hard at the steering +wheel. The turns had become shorter; more, Barry found himself +righting the machine with sudden jerks as the car rounded the short +curves where the front wheels seemed to hang momentarily above +oblivion, as the chasms stretched away to seemingly bottomless depths +beneath. Gradually, the severity of the grade had increased to ten, to +twelve and in short pitches to even eighteen and twenty per cent! For +a time the machine sang along in second, bucking the raises with almost +human persistence, finally, however, to gasp and break in the smooth +monotony of the exhaust, to miss, to strain and struggle vainly, then +to thunder on once more, as Houston pressed the gears into low and +began to watch the motormeter with anxious eyes. The mercury was +rising; another half-hour and the swish of steam told of a boiling +radiator. +</P> + +<P> +A stop, while the red, hissing water splattered from the radiator cock, +and the lifted hood gave the machine a chance to cool before +replenishment came from the murky, discolored stream of melted snow +water which churned beneath a sapling bridge. Panting and light-headed +from the altitude, Barry leaned against the machine for a moment, then +suddenly straightened to draw his coat tighter about him and to raise +the collar about his neck. The wind, whistling down from above, was +cold: something touched his face and melted there,—snow! +</P> + +<P> +The engine was cool now. Barry leaped to the wheel and once more began +his struggle upward, a new seriousness upon him, a new grimness +apparent in the tightness of his lips. The tiny rivulets of the road +had given place to gushing streams; here and there a patch of snow +appeared in the highway; farther above, Barry could see that the white +was unbroken, save for the half-erased marks of the two cars which had +made the journey before him. The motor, like some refreshed animal, +roared with a new power and new energy, vibrant, confident, but the +spirit was not echoed by the man at the wheel. He was in the midst of +a fight that was new to him, a struggle against one of the mightiest +things that Nature can know, the backbone of the Rocky Mountains,—a +backbone which leered above him in threatening, vicious coldness, which +nowhere held surcease; it must be a battle to the end! +</P> + +<P> +Up—up—up—the grades growing steadily heavier, the shifting clouds +enveloping him and causing him to stop at intervals and wait in +shivering impatience until they should clear and allow him once more to +continue the struggle. Grayness and sunshine flitted about him; one +moment his head was bowed against the sweep of a snow flurry, driving +straight against him from the higher peaks, the next the brilliance of +mountain sunshine radiated about him, cheering him, exhilarating him, +only to give way to the dimness of damp, drifting mists, which closed +in upon him like some great, gray garment of distress and held him in +its gloomy clutch until the grade should carry him above it and into +the sun or snow again. +</P> + +<P> +Higher! The machine was roaring like a desperate, cornered thing now; +its crawling pace slackening with the steeper inclines, gaining with +the lesser raises, then settling once more to the lagging pace as +steepness followed steepness, or the abruptness of the curve caused the +great, slow-moving vehicle to lose the momentum gained after hundreds +of feet of struggle. Again the engine boiled, and Barry stood beside +it in shivering gratitude for its warmth. The hills about him were +white now; the pines had lost their greenness to become black +silhouettes against the blank, colorless background Barry Houston had +left May and warmth and springtime behind, to give way to the clutch of +winter and the white desert of altitude. +</P> + +<P> +But withal it was beautiful. Cold, harassed by dangers that he never +before knew could exist, disheartened by the even more precipitous +trail which lay ahead, fighting a battle for which he was unfitted by +experience, Houston could not help but feel repaid for it all as he +flattened his back against the hot radiator and, comforted by the +warmth, looked about him. The world was his—his to look upon, to +dissect, to survey with the all-seeing eyes of tremendous heights, to +view in the perspective of the eagle and the hawk, to look down upon +from the pinnacles and see, even as a god might see it. Far below lay +a tiny, discolored ribbon,—the road which he had traversed, but now +only a scratch upon the expanse of the great country which tumbled away +beneath him. Hills had become hummocks, towering pines but blades of +grass, streams only a variegated line in the vast display of Nature's +artistry. And above— +</P> + +<P> +Barry Houston looked upon it with dazzled eyes. The sun had broken +forth again, to stream upon the great, rounded head of Mount Taluchen, +and there to turn the serried snows to a mass of shell-pink pearl, to +smooth away the glaring whiteness and paint instead a down-like +coverlet of beauty. Here and there the great granite precipices stood +forth in old rose and royal purple; farther the shadows melted into +mantles, not of black, but of softest lavender; mound upon mound of +color swung before him as he glanced from peak to peak,—the colors +that only an artist knows, tintings instead of solid grounds, +suggestions rather than actualities. Even the gnarled pines of timber +line, where the world of vegetation was sliced off short to give way to +the barrenness of the white desert, seemed softened and freed from +their appearance of constant suffering in the pursuit of life. A lake +gleamed, set, it seemed, at an upright angle upon the very side of a +mountain; an ice gorge glistened with the scintillation of a million +jewels, a cloud rolled through a great crevice like the billowing of +some soft-colored crepe and then— +</P> + +<P> +Barry crouched and shivered, then turned with sudden activity. It all +had faded, faded in the blast of a shrilling wind, bringing upon its +breast the cutting assault of sleet and the softer, yet no less vicious +swirl of snow. Quickly the radiator was drained and refilled. Once +more, huddled in the driver's seat, Barry Houston gripped the wheel and +felt the crunching of the chain-clad wheels in the snow of the roadway. +The mountains had lured again, only that they might clutch him in a +tighter embrace of danger than ever. Now the snow was whirling about +him in almost blinding swiftness; the small windshield counted for +nothing; it was only by leaning far outside the car that he could see +to drive and then there were moments that seemed to presage the end. +</P> + +<P> +Chasms lurked at the corners, the car skidded and lurched from one side +of the narrow roadway to the other; once the embankment crumbled for an +instant as a rear wheel raced for a foothold and gained it just in +time. Thundering below, Barry could hear the descent of the dirt and +small boulders as they struck against protruding rocks and echoed forth +to a constantly growing sound that seemed to travel for miles that it +might return with the strength of thunder. Then for a moment the sun +came again and he stared toward it with set, anxious eyes. It no +longer was dazzling; it was large and yellow and free from glare. He +swerved his gaze swiftly to the dashboard clock, then back to the sun +again. Four o'clock! Yet the great yellow ball was hovering on the +brim of Mount Taluchen; dusk was coming. A frightened glance showed +him the black shadows of the valleys, the deeper tones of coloring, the +vagueness of the distance which comes with the end of day. +</P> + +<P> +Anxiously he studied his speedometer as the road stretched out for a +space of a few hundred feet for safety. Five miles—only five miles in +a space of time that on level country could have accounted for a +hundred. Five miles and the route book told plainly that there were +four more to go before the summit was reached. Anxiously—with a +sudden hope—he watched the instrument, with the thought that perhaps +it had broken, but the slow progress of the mile-tenths took away that +possibility. He veered his gaze along the dashboard, suddenly to +center it upon the oil gauge. His jaw sagged. He pressed harder upon +the accelerator in a vain effort. But the gauge showed no indication +that the change of speed had been felt. +</P> + +<P> +"The oil pump!" came with a half gasp. "It's broken—I'll have to—" +</P> + +<P> +The sentence was not finished. A sudden, clattering roar had come from +beneath the hood, a clanking jangle which told him that his eyes had +sought the oil gauge too late,—the shattering, agonizing cacophony of +a broken connecting rod, the inevitable result of a missing oil supply +and its consequent burnt bearing. Hopelessly, dejectedly Barry shut +off the engine and pulled to one side of the road,—through sheer force +of habit. In his heart he knew that there could be no remedy for the +clattering remonstrance of the broken rod, that the road was his +without question, that it was beyond hope to look for aid up here where +all the world was pines and precipices and driven snow, that he must go +on, fighting against heavier odds than ever. And as he realized the +inevitable, his dull, tired eyes saw from the distance another, a +greater enemy creeping toward him over the hills and ice gorges, +through the valleys and along the sheer walls of granite. The last, +ruddy rim of a dying sun was just disappearing over Mount Taluchen. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + + +<P> +Hazard Pass had held true to its name. There were yet nearly four +miles to go before the summit of nearly twelve thousand feet elevation +could be reached and the downward trip of fourteen miles to the nearest +settlement made. And that meant— +</P> + +<P> +Houston steadied himself and sought to figure just what it did mean. +The sun was gone now, leaving grayness and blackness behind, +accentuated by the single strip of gleaming scarlet which flashed +across the sky above the brim of Mount Taluchen, the last vestige of +daylight. The wind was growing shriller and sharper, as though it had +waited only for the sinking of the sun to loose the ferocity which too +long had been imprisoned. Darkness came, suddenly, seeming to sweep up +from the valleys toward the peaks, and with it more snow. Barry +accepted the inevitable. He must go on—and that as swiftly as his +crippled machine, the darkness and the twisting, snow-laden, +treacherous road would permit. +</P> + +<P> +Once more at the wheel, he snapped on the lights and huddled low, to +avail himself of every possible bit of warmth from the clanking, +discordant engine. Slowly the journey began, the machine laboring and +thundering with its added handicap of a broken rod and the consequent +lost power of one cylinder. Literally inch by inch it dragged itself +up the heavier grades, puffing and gasping and clanking, the rattling +rod threatening at every moment to tear out its very vitals. The heavy +smell of burnt oil drifted back to the nostrils of Barry Houston; but +there was nothing that he could do but grip the steering wheel a bit +tighter with his numbed hands,—and go on. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly, ever so slowly, the indicator of the speedometer measured off a +mile in dragging decimals. The engine boiled and Barry stopped, once +more to huddle against the radiator, and to avail himself of its +warmth, but not to renew the water. No stream was near; besides, the +cold blast of the wind, shrilling through the open hood, accomplished +the purpose more easily. Again a sally and again a stop. And Barry +was thankful, as, huddled and shivering in his light clothing, he once +more sought the radiator. Vaguely there came to him the thought that +he might spend the night somewhere on the Pass and go on with the flush +of morning. But the thought vanished as quickly as it came; there was +no shelter, no blankets, nothing but the meager warmth of what fire he +might be able to gather, and that would fade the minute he nodded. +Already the temperature had sunk far beneath the freezing point; the +crackling of the ice in the gulleys of the road fairly shouted the fact +as he edged back once more from the radiator to his seat. +</P> + +<P> +An hour—and three more after that—with the consequent stops and +pauses, the slow turns, the dragging process up the steeper inclines of +the road. A last final, clattering journey, and Barry leaped from the +seat with something akin to enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +Through the swirling snow which sifted past the glare of his +headlights, he could discern a sign which told him he had reached the +summit, that he now stood at the literal top of the world. +</P> + +<P> +But it was a silent world, a black world, in which the hills about him +were shapeless, dim hulks, where the wind whined, where the snow swept +against his face and drifted down the open space of his collar; a world +of coldness, of malice, of icy venom, where everything was a +threatening thing, and never a cheering aspect except the fact that the +grades had been accomplished, and that from now on he could progress +with the knowledge that his engine at least need labor no longer. But +the dangers! Barry knew that they had only begun. The descent would +be as steep as the climb he had just made. The progress must be +slower, if anything, and with the compression working as a brake. But +it was at least progress, and once more he started. +</P> + +<P> +The engine clanked less now, the air seemed a bit warmer with the down +grade, and Barry, in spite of his fatigue, in spite of the +disappointment of a disabled car, felt at least the joy of having +conquered the thing which had sought to hold him back, the happiness of +having fought against obstacles, of having beaten them, and of knowing +that he now was on the down trail. The grade lessened for a few +hundred feet, and the machine slowed. Houston pressed on the clutch +pedal, allowing the car to coast slowly until the hill became steeper +again. Then he sought once more to shift into gear,—and stopped short! +</P> + +<P> +Those few moments of coasting had been enough. Overheated, distended, +the bearings had cooled too suddenly about the crank shaft and frozen +there with a tightness that neither the grinding pull of the starter +nor the heavy tug of the down grade could loosen. Once more Barry +Houston felt his heart sink in the realization of a newer, a greater +foreboding than ever. A frozen crank shaft meant that from now on the +gears would be useless. Fourteen miles of down grade faced him. If he +were to make them, it must be done with the aid of brakes alone. That +was dangerous! +</P> + +<P> +He cupped his hands and called,—in the vain hope that the stories of +Hazard Pass and its loneliness might not be true, after all. But the +only answer was the churning of the bank-full stream a hundred yards +away, the thunder of the wind through the pines below, and the eerie +echo of his own voice coming back to him through the snows. +Laboriously he left the machine and climbed back to the summit, there +to seek out the little tent house he had seen far at one side and which +he instinctively knew to be the rest room and refreshment stand of the +summer season. But he found it, as he had feared he would find it, a +deserted, cold, napping thing, without a human, without a single +comfort, or the possibility of fire or warmth through the night. +Summer, for Hazard Pass, at least, still was a full month away. For a +moment he shivered within it, staring about its bleak interior by the +aid of a flickering match. Then he went outside again. It was only a +shell, only a hope that could not be realized. It would be less of a +hardship to make the fight to reach the bottom of the Pass than to +attempt to spend the night in this flimsy contraption. In travel there +would be at least action, and Barry clambered down the hill to his +machine. +</P> + +<P> +Again he started, the brake bands squeaking and protesting, the machine +sloughing dangerously as now and again its sheer weight forced it +forward at dangerous speeds until lesser levels could be reached and +the hold of the brake bands accomplish their purpose again. Down and +down, the miles slipping away with far greater speed than even Barry +realized, until at last— +</P> + +<P> +He grasped desperately for the emergency brake and gripped tight upon +it, steering with one hand. For five minutes there had come the strong +odor of burning rubber; the strain had been too great, the foot-brake +linings were gone; everything depended upon the emergency now! And +almost with the first strain— +</P> + +<P> +Careening, the car seemed to leap beneath him, a maddened, crazed +thing, tired of the hills, tired of the turmoil and strain of hours of +fighting, racing with all the speed that gravity could thrust upon it +for the bottom of the Pass. The brakes were gone, the emergency had +not even lasted through the first hill. Barry Houston was now a +prisoner of speed,—cramped in the seat of a runaway car, clutching +tight at the wheel, leaning, white, tense-faced, out into the snow, as +he struggled to negotiate the turns, to hold the great piece of runaway +machinery to the crusted road and check its speed from time to time in +the snowbanks. +</P> + +<P> +A mile more—halted at intervals by the very thing which an hour or so +before Barry Houston had come almost to hate, the tight-packed banks of +snow—then came a new emergency. One chance was left, and Barry took +it,—the "burring" of the gears in lieu of a brake. The snow was +fading now, the air was warmer; a mile or so more and he would be safe +from that threat which had driven him down from the mountain +peaks,—the possibility of death from exposure, had he, in his light +clothing, attempted to spend the night in the open. If the burred +gears could only hold the car for a mile or so more— +</P> + +<P> +But a sudden, snapping crackle ended his hope. The gears had meshed, +and meshing, had broken. Again a wild, careening thing, with no snow +banks to break the rush, the car was speeding down the steepest of the +grades like a human thing determined upon self-destruction. +</P> + +<P> +A skidding curve, then a straightaway, while Barry clung to the wheel +with fingers that were white with the tightness of their grip. A +second turn, while a wheel hung over the edge, a third and— +</P> + +<P> +The awful, suspended agony of space. A cry. A crash and a dull, +twisting moment of deadened Suffering. After that—blackness. Fifty +feet below the road lay a broken, crushed piece of mechanism, its +wheels still spinning, the odor of gasoline heavy about it from the +broken tank, one light still gleaming, like a blazing eye, one light +that centered upon the huddled, crumpled figure of a man who groaned +once and strove vaguely, dizzily, to rise, only to sink at last into +unconsciousness. Barry Houston had lost his fight. +</P> + +<P> +How long he remained there, Barry did not know. He remembered only the +falling, dizzy moment, the second or so of horrible, racking suspense, +when, breathless, unable to move, he watched the twisting rebound of +the machine from which he had been thrown and sought to evade it as it +settled, metal crunching against metal, for the last time. After that +had come agonized hours in which he knew neither wakefulness nor the +quiet of total unconsciousness. Then— +</P> + +<P> +Vaguely, as from far away, he heard a voice,—the sort of a voice that +spelled softness and gentleness. Something touched his forehead and +stroked it, with the caress that only a woman's hand can give. He +moved slightly, with the knowledge that he lay no longer upon the rocky +roughness of a mountain side, but upon the softness of a bed. A pillow +was beneath his head. Warm blankets covered him. The hand again +lingered on his forehead and was drawn away. A moment more and slowly, +wearily, Barry Houston opened his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +It was the room of a mountain cabin, with its skiis and snowshoes; with +its rough chinkings in the interstices of the logs which formed the +mainstay of the house, with its four-paned windows, with its +uncouthness, yet with its comfort. Barry noticed none of this. His +eyes had centered upon the form of a girl standing beside the little +window, where evidently she had gone from his bedside. +</P> + +<P> +Fair-haired she was, though Barry did not notice it. Small of build +and slight, yet vibrant with the health and vigor that is typical of +those who live in the open places. And there was a piquant something +about her too; just enough of an upturned little nose to denote the +fact that there was spirit and independence in her being; dark blue +eyes that snapped even as darker eyes snapped, as she stood, half +turned, looking out the window, watching with evident eagerness the +approach of some one Barry could not see. The lips carried a +half-smile of anticipation. Barry felt the instinctive urge to call to +her, to raise himself— +</P> + +<P> +He winced with a sudden pain, a sharp, yet aching throb of agony which +involuntarily closed his eyes and clenched tight his teeth until it +should pass. When he looked again, she was gone, and the opening of a +door in the next room told him where. Almost wondering, he turned his +eyes then toward the blankets and sought to move an arm,—only again to +desist in pain. He tried the other, and it responded. The covers were +lowered, and Barry's eyes stared down upon a bandaged, splinted left +arm. Broken. +</P> + +<P> +He grunted with surprise, then somewhat doggedly began an inspection of +the rest of his human machine. Gingerly he wiggled one toe beneath the +blankets. It seemed to be in working order. He tried the others, with +the same result. Then followed his legs—and the glorious knowledge +that they still were intact. His one free hand reached for his head +and felt it. It was there, plus a few bandages, which however, from +their size, gave Barry little concern. The inventory completed, he +turned his head at the sound of a voice—hers—calling from the doorway +to some one without. +</P> + +<P> +"He's getting along fine, Ba'tiste." Barry liked the tone and the +enthusiastic manner of speaking. "His fever's gone down. I should +think—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>!" had come the answer in booming bass. "And has he, what +you say, come to?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet. But I think he ought to, soon." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>! Heem no ver' bad. He be all right tomorrow." +</P> + +<P> +"That's good. It frightened me, for him to be unconscious so long. +It's been five or six hours now, hasn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Lemme see. I fin' heem six o'clock. Now—eet is the noon. Six hour." +</P> + +<P> +"That's long enough. Besides, I think he's sleeping now. Come inside +and see—" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait, <I>m' enfant</I>. M'sieu Thayer he come in the minute. He say he +think he know heem." +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of Barry Houston suddenly lost their curiosity. Thayer? That +could mean only one Thayer! Barry had taken particular pains to keep +from him the information that he was anywhere except the East. For it +had been Fred Thayer who had caused Barry to travel across country in +his yellow speedster, Thayer who had formed the reason for the +displacement of that name plate at the beginning of Hazard Pass, Thayer +who— +</P> + +<P> +"Know him? Is he a friend?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>. So Thayer say. He say he think eet is the M'sieu Houston, who +own the mill." +</P> + +<P> +"Probably coming out to look over things, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>. Thayer, he say the young man write heem about coming. That is +how he know when I tell heem about picking heem up from the machine. +He say he know M'sieu Houston is coming by the automobile." +</P> + +<P> +In the other room, Barry Houston blinked rapidly and frowned. He had +written Thayer nothing of the sort. He had— Suddenly he stared +toward the ceiling in swift-centered thought. Some one else must have +sent the information, some one who wanted Thayer to know that Barry was +on the way, so that there would be no surprise in his coming, some one +who realized that his mission was that of investigation! +</P> + +<P> +The names of two persons flashed across his mind, one to be dismissed +immediately, the other— +</P> + +<P> +"I'll fire Jenkins the minute I get back!" came vindictively. "I'll—." +</P> + +<P> +He choked his words. A query had come from the next room. +</P> + +<P> +"Was that heem talking?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't think so. He groans every once in a while. Wait—I'll +look." +</P> + +<P> +The injured man closed his eyes quickly, as he heard the girl approach +the door, not to open them until she had departed. Barry was thinking +and thinking hard. A moment later— +</P> + +<P> +"How's the patient?" It was a new voice, one which Barry Houston +remembered from years agone, when he, a wide-eyed boy in his father's +care, first had viewed the intricacies of a mountain sawmill, had +wandered about the bunk houses, and ridden the great, skidding bobsleds +with the lumberjacks in the spruce forests, on a never-forgotten trip +of inspection. It was Thayer, the same Thayer that he once had looked +upon with all the enthusiasm and pride of boyhood, but whom he now +viewed with suspicion and distrust. Thayer had brought him out here, +without realizing it. Yet Thayer had known that he was on the way. +And Thayer must be combatted—but how? The voice went on, "Gained +consciousness yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." The girl had answered. "That is—" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, then, he hasn't been able to talk. Pretty sure it's +Houston, though. Went over and took a look at the machine. Colorado +license on it, but the plates look pretty new, and there are fresh +marks on the license holders where others have been taken off recently. +Evidently just bought a Colorado tag, figuring that he'd be out here +for some time. How'd you find him?" +</P> + +<P> +The bass voice of the man referred to as Ba'tiste gave the answer, and +Barry listened with interest. Evidently he had struggled to his feet +at some time during the night—though he could not remember it—and +striven to find his way down the mountain side in the darkness, for the +story of Ba'tiste told Barry that he had found him just at dawn, a full +five hundred yards from the machine. +</P> + +<P> +"I see heem move," the big voice was saying, "jus' as I go to look at +my trap. Then Golemar come beside me and raise his hair along his neck +and growl—r-r-r-r-r-u-u-f-f-f—like that. I look again—it is jus' at +the dawn. I cannot see clearly. I raise my gun to shoot, and Golemar, +he growl again. Then I think eet strange that the bear or whatever he +is do not move. I say to Golemar, 'We will closer go, <I>ne c'est pas</I>?' +A step or two—then three—but he do not move—then pretty soon I look +again, close. Eet is a man, I pick heem up, like this—and I bring +heem home. <I>Ne c'est pas</I>, Medaine?" +</P> + +<P> +Her name was Medaine then. Not bad, Barry thought. It rather matched +her hair and the tilt of her nose and the tone of her laugh as she +answered: +</P> + +<P> +"I would say you carried him more like a sack of meal, Ba'tiste. I'm +glad I happened along when I did; you might have thrown him over your +shoulder!" +</P> + +<P> +A booming laugh answered her and the sound of a light scuffle, as +though the man were striving to catch the girl in his big embrace. But +the cold voice of Thayer cut in: +</P> + +<P> +"And he hasn't regained consciousness?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet. That is, I think he's recovered his senses, all right, and +fallen immediately into a heavy sleep." +</P> + +<P> +"Guess I'll go in and stay with him until he wakes up. He's my boss, +you know—since the old man died. We've got a lot of important things +to discuss. So if you don't mind—" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not." It was the girl again. "We'll go in with you." +</P> + +<P> +"No, thanks. I want to see him alone." +</P> + +<P> +Within the bedroom, Barry Houston gritted his teeth. Then, with a +sudden resolve, he rested his head again on the pillow and closed his +eyes as the sound of steps approached. Closer they came to the bed, +and closer. Barry could feel that the man was bending over him, +studying him. There came a murmur, almost whispered: +</P> + +<P> +"Wonder what the damn fool came out here about? Wonder if he's wise?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + + +<P> +It was with an effort that Houston gave no indication that he had +heard. Before, there had been only suspicions, one flimsy clue leading +to another, a building-block process, which, in its culmination, had +determined Barry to take a trip into the West to see for himself. He +had believed that it would be a long process, the finding of a certain +telegram and the possibilities which might ensue if this bit of +evidence should turn out to be the thing he had suspected. He had not, +however, hoped to have from the lips of the man himself a confession +that conditions were not right at the lumber mill of which Barry +Houston now formed the executive head; to receive the certain statement +that somewhere, somehow, something was wrong, something which was +working against the best interests of himself and the stern necessities +of the future. But now— +</P> + +<P> +Thayer had turned away and evidently sought a chair at the other side +of the room. Barry remained perfectly still. Five minutes passed. +Ten. There came no sound from the chair; instinctively the man on the +bed knew that Thayer was watching him, waiting for the first flicker of +an eyelid, the first evidence of returning consciousness. Five minutes +more and Barry rewarded the vigil. He drew his breath in a shivering +sigh. He turned and groaned,—quite naturally with the pain from his +splintered arm. His eyes opened slowly, and he stared about him, as +though in non-understanding wonderment, finally to center upon the +window ahead and retain his gaze there, oblivious of the sudden tensity +of the thin-faced Thayer. Barry Houston was playing for time, playing +a game of identities. In the same room was a man he felt sure to be an +enemy, a man who had in his care everything Barry Houston possessed in +the world, every hope, every dream, every chance for the wiping out of +a thing that had formed a black blot in the life of the young man for +two grim years, and a man who, Barry Houston now felt certain, had not +held true to his trust. Still steadily staring, he pretended not to +notice the tall, angular form of Fred Thayer as that person crossed the +brightness of the window and turned toward the bed. And when at last +he did look up into the narrow, sunken face, it was with eyes which +carried in them no light of friendship, nor even the faintest air of +recognition. Thayer put forth a gnarled, frost-twisted hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, kid," he announced, his thin lips twisting into a cynical smile +that in days gone by had passed as an affectation. Barry looked +blankly at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello." +</P> + +<P> +"How'd you get hurt?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"Old Man Renaud here says you fell over the side of Two Mile Hill. He +picked you up about six o'clock this morning. Don't you remember?" +</P> + +<P> +"Remember what?" The blank look still remained. Thayer moved closer +to the bed and bending, stared at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, the accident. I'm Thayer, you know—Thayer, your manager at the +Empire Lake mill." +</P> + +<P> +"Have I a manager?" +</P> + +<P> +The thin man drew back at this and stood for a moment staring down at +Houston. Then he laughed and rubbed his gnarled hands. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you've got a manager. You—you haven't fired me, have you?" +</P> + +<P> +Barry turned his head wearily, as though the conversation were ended. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what you are talking about." +</P> + +<P> +"You—don't—say, you're Barry Houston, aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I? Am I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, who are you?" +</P> + +<P> +The man on the bed smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to have you tell me. I don't know myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you know your name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Have I one?" +</P> + +<P> +Thayer, wondering now, drew a hand across his forehead and stood for a +moment in disconcerted silence. Again he started to frame a question, +only to desist. Then, hesitatingly, he turned and walked to the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'tiste." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"Come in here, will you? I'm up against a funny proposition. Mr. +Houston doesn't seem to be able to remember who he is." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" Then came the sound of heavy steps, and Barry glanced toward the +door, to see framed there the gigantic form of a grinning, bearded man, +his long arms hanging with the looseness of tremendous strength, his +gray eyes gleaming with twinkling interest, his whole being and build +that of a great, good-humored, eccentric giant. His beard was +splotched with gray, as was the hair which hung in short, unbarbered +strands about his ears. But the hint of age was nullified by the cocky +angle of the blue-knit cap upon his head, the blazing red of his +double-breasted pearl-buttoned shirt, the flexible freedom of his +muscles as he strode within. Beside him trotted a great gray +cross-breed dog, which betokened collie and timber wolf, and which +progressed step by step at his master's knee. Close to the bed they +came, the great form bending, the twinkling, sharp eyes boring into +those of Houston, until the younger man gave up the contest and turned +his head,—to look once more upon the form of the girl, waiting +wonderingly in the doorway. Then the voice came, rumbling, yet +pleasant: +</P> + +<P> +"He no remember, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I know him all right. It's Barry Houston—I've been expecting +him to drop in most any day. Of course, I haven't seen him since he +was a kid out here with his father—but that doesn't make any +difference. The family resemblance is there—he's got his father's +eyes and mouth and nose, and his voice. But I can't get him to +remember it. He can't recall anything about his fall, or his name or +business. I guess the accident—" +</P> + +<P> +"Eet is the—" Ba'tiste was waving one hand vaguely, then placing a +finger to his forehead, in a vain struggle for a word. "Eet is +the—what-you-say—" +</P> + +<P> +"Amnesia." The answer had come quietly from the girl. Ba'tiste turned +excitedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>! Eet is the amnesia. Many time I have seen it—" he waved +a hand—"across the way, <I>ne c'est pas</I>? Eet is when the mind he will +no work—what you say—he will not stick on the job. See—" he +gesticulated now with both hands—"eet is like a wall. I see eet with +the shell shock. Eet is all the same. The wall is knock down—eet +will not hold together. Blooey—" he waved his hands—"the man he no +longer remember!" +</P> + +<P> +This time the stare in Barry Houston's eyes was genuine. To hear a +girl of the mountains name a particular form of mental ailment, and +then to further listen to that ailment described in its symptoms by a +grinning, bearded giant of the woods was a bit past the comprehension +of the injured man. He had half expected the girl to say "them" and +"that there", though the trimness of her dress, the smoothness of her +small, well-shod feet, the air of refinement which spoke even before +her lips had uttered a word should have told him differently. As for +the giant, Ba'tiste, with his outlandish clothing, his corduroy +trousers and high-laced, hob-nailed boots, his fawning, half-breed dog, +his blazing shirt and kippy little knit cap, the surprise was all the +greater. But that surprise, it seemed, did not extend to the other +listener. Thayer had bobbed his head as though in deference to an +authority. When he spoke, Barry thought that he discerned a tone of +enthusiasm, of hope: +</P> + +<P> +"Do they ever get over it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sometime, yes. Sometime—no. Eet all depend." +</P> + +<P> +"Then there isn't any time limit on a thing like this." +</P> + +<P> +"No. Sometime a year—sometime a week—sometime never. It all depend. +Sometime he get a shock—something happen quick, sudden—blooey—he +come back, he say 'where am I', and he be back again, same like he was +before!" Ba'tiste gesticulated vigorously. Thayer moved toward the +door. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I guess there's nothing more for me to do, except to drop in +every few days and see how he's getting along. You'll take good care +of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"Good. Want to walk a piece down the road—with me, Medaine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course. It's too bad, isn't it—" +</P> + +<P> +Then they faded through the doorway, and Barry could hear no more. But +he found himself looking after them, wondering about many +things,—about the girl and her interest in Fred Thayer, and whether +she too might be a part of the machinery which he felt had been set up +against him; about the big, grinning Ba'tiste, who still remained in +the room; who now was fumbling about with the bedclothes at the foot of +the bed and— +</P> + +<P> +"Ouch! Don't—don't do that!" +</P> + +<P> +Barry suddenly had ceased his thoughts to jerk his feet far up under +the covers, laughing and choking and striving to talk at the same time. +At the foot of the bed, Ba'tiste, his eyes twinkling more than ever, +had calmly rolled back the covering and just as calmly tickled the +injured man's feet. More, one long arm had outstretched again, as the +giant once more reached for the sole of a foot, to tickle it, then to +stand back and boom with laughter as Barry involuntarily sought to jerk +the point of attack out of the way. For a fourth time he repeated the +performance, followed by a fourth outburst of mirth at the recoil from +the injured man. Barry frowned. +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon me," he said rather caustically. "But I don't get the joke." +</P> + +<P> +"Ho, ho!" and Ba'tiste turned to talk to the shaggy dog at his side. +"<I>L'enfant</I> feels it! <I>L'enfant</I> feels it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Feel it," grunted Houston. "Of course I feel it! I'm ticklish." +</P> + +<P> +"You hear, Golemar?" Ba'tiste, contorted with merriment, pointed +vaguely in the direction of the bed, "M'sieu l' Nobody, heem is +ticklish!" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I'm ticklish. Who isn't, on the bottom of his feet?" +</P> + +<P> +The statement only brought a new outburst from the giant. It nettled +Houston; further, it caused him pain to be jerking constantly about the +bed in an effort to evade the tickling touch of the trapper's big +fingers. Once more Ba'tiste leaned forward and wiggled his fingers as +if in preparation for a new assault, and once more Barry withdrew his +pedal extremities to a place of safety. +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't," he begged. "I—I don't know what kind of a game you're +playing—and I'm perfectly willing to join in on it when I feel +better—but now it hurts my arm to be bouncing around this way. Maybe +this afternoon—if you've got to play these fool games—I'll feel +better—" +</P> + +<P> +The thunder of the other man's laugh cut him off. Ba'tiste was now, it +seemed, in a perfect orgy of merriment. As though weakened by his +laughter, he reeled to the wall and leaned there, his big arms hanging +loosely, the tears rolling down his cheeks and disappearing in the gray +beard, his face reddened, his whole form shaking with series after +series of chuckles. +</P> + +<P> +"You hear heem?" he gasped at the wolf-dog. "M'sieu l' Nobody, he will +play with us this afternoon! M'sieu l' Ticklefoot! That is heem, my +Golemar, M'sieu l' Ticklefoot! Oh, ho—M'sieu l' Ticklefoot!" +</P> + +<P> +"What in thunder is the big idea?" Barry Houston had lost his reserve +now. "I want to be a good fellow—but for the love of Mike let me in +on the joke. I can't get it. I don't see anything funny in lying here +with a broken arm and having my feet tickled. Of course, I'm grateful +to you for picking me up and all that sort of thing, but—" +</P> + +<P> +Choking back the laughter, Ba'tiste returned to the foot of the bed and +stood wiping the tears from his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon, <I>mon ami</I>," came seriously at last. "Old Ba'teese must have +his joke. Listen, Ba'teese tell you something. You see people here +today, <I>oui</I>, yes? You see, the petite Medaine? Ah, <I>oui</I>!" He +clustered his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss toward the ceiling. +"She is the, what-you-say, fine li'l keed. She is the—<I>bon bébé</I>! +You no nev' see her before?" +</P> + +<P> +Barry shook his head. Ba'tiste went on. +</P> + +<P> +"You see M'sieu Thayer? <I>Oui</I>? You know heem?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"You sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never saw him before." +</P> + +<P> +"So?" Batiste grinned and wagged a finger, "Ba'teese he like the +truth, yes, <I>oui</I>. Ba'teese he don't get the truth, he tickle M'sieu's +feet." +</P> + +<P> +"Now listen! Please—" +</P> + +<P> +"No—no!" The giant waved a hand in dismissal of threat. "Old +Ba'teese, he still joke. Ba'teese say he tell you something. Eet is +this. You see those people? All right. <I>Bon</I>—good. You don' know +one. You know the other. Yes? <I>Oui</I>? Ba'teese not know why you do +it. Ba'teese not care. Ba'teese is right—in here." He patted his +heart with a big hand. "But you—you not tell the truth. I know. I +tickle your feet." +</P> + +<P> +"You're crazy!" +</P> + +<P> +"So, mebbe. Ba'teese have his trouble. Sometime Ba'teese wish he go +crazy—like you say." +</P> + +<P> +The face suddenly aged. The twinkling light left the eyes. The big +hands knitted, and the man was silent for a long moment. Then, "But +Ba'-teese he know—see?" He pointed to his head, then twisting, ran +his finger down his spine. "When eet is the—what-you-say, +amnesia—the nerve eet no work in the foot. I could tickle, tickle, +tickle, and you would not know. But with you—blooey—right away, you +feel. So, for some reason, you are, what-you-say?—shamming. But you +are Ba'teese' gues'. You sleep in Ba'teese' bed. You eat Ba'teese' +food. So long as that, you are Ba'teese' friend. Ba'teese—" he +looked with quiet, fatherly eyes toward the young man on the +bed—"shall ask no question—and Ba'teese shall tell no tales!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + + +<P> +The simple statement of the gigantic trapper swept the confidence from +Houston and left him at a disadvantage. His decision had been a hasty +one,—a thing to gain time, a scheme by which he had felt he could, at +the proper time, take Thayer off his guard and cause him to come into +the open with his plans, whatever they might be. Fate had played a +strange game with Barry Houston. It had taken a care-free, +happy-go-lucky youth and turned him into a suspicious, distrustful +person with a constantly morbid strain which struggled everlastingly +for supremacy over his usually cheery grin and his naturally optimistic +outlook upon life. For Fate had allowed Houston to live the youth of +his life in ease and brightness and lack of worry, only that it might +descend upon him with the greatest cloud that man can know. And two +years of memories, two years of bitterness, two years of ugly +recollections had made its mark. In all his dealings with Thayer, +conducted though they might have been at a distance, Barry Houston +could not place his finger upon one tangible thing that would reveal +his crookedness. But he had suspected; had come to investigate, and to +learn, even before he was ready to receive the information, that his +suspicions had been, in some wise at least, correct. To follow those +suspicions to their stopping place Barry had feigned amnesia. And it +had lasted just long enough for this grinning man who stood at the foot +of the bed to tickle his feet! +</P> + +<P> +And how should that grotesque giant with his blazing red shirt and +queer little cap know of such things as amnesia and the tracing of a +deadened nerve? How should he,—then Barry suddenly tensed. Had it +been a ruse? Was this man a friend, a companion—even an accomplice of +the thin-faced, frost-gnarled Thayer—and had his simple statement been +an effort to take Barry off his guard? If so, it had not succeeded, +for Barry had made no admissions. But it all affected him curiously; +it nettled him and puzzled him. For a long time he was silent, merely +staring at the grinning features of Ba'tiste. At last: +</P> + +<P> +"I should think you would wait until you could consult a doctor before +you'd say a thing like that." +</P> + +<P> +"So? It has been done." +</P> + +<P> +"And he told you—" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing. He does not need to even speak to Ba'teese." A great +chuckle shook the big frame "Ba'teese know as soon as <I>l' M'sieu +Doctaire</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"On good terms, aren't you? When's he coming again?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Parbleu</I>!" The big man snapped his fingers. "Peuff! Like that. +Ba'teese call heem, and he is here." +</P> + +<P> +Houston blinked. Then, in spite of his aching head, and the pain of +the swollen, splint-laced arm he sat up in bed. +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of—" +</P> + +<P> +"Old Ba'teese, he mus' joke," came quickly and seriously from the other +man. "Ba'teese—he is heem." +</P> + +<P> +"A doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +Slowly the big man nodded. Barry went on "I—I—didn't know. I +thought you were just a trapper. I wondered—" +</P> + +<P> +"So! That is all—jus' a trapper." +</P> + +<P> +Quietly, slowly, the big man turned away from the bed and stood looking +out the window, the wolf-dog edging close to him as though in +companionship and some strange form of sympathy. There was silence for +a long time, then the voice of Ba'tiste came again, but now it was soft +and low, addressed, it seemed, not to the man on the bed, but to +vacancy. +</P> + +<P> +"So! Ba'teese, he is only a trapper now. Ba'teese, he had swear he +never again stand beside a sick bed. But you—" and he turned swiftly, +a broken smile playing about his lips—"you, <I>mon ami</I>, you, when I +foun' you this morning, with your head twisted under your arm, with the +blood on your face, and the dust and dirt upon you—then you—you look +like my Pierre! And I pick you up—so!" He fashioned his arms as +though he were holding a baby, "and I look at you and I say—'Pierre! +Pierre!' But you do not answer—just like he did not answer. Then I +start back with you, and the way was rough. I take you under one +arm—so. It was steep. I must have one arm free. Then I meet +Medaine, and she laugh at me for the way I carry you. And I was glad. +Eet made Ba'teese forget." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" Barry said it with the curiosity of a boy. The older man +stared hard at the crazy design of the covers. +</P> + +<P> +"My Pierre," came at last. "And my Julienne. Ba'teese, he is all +alone now. Are you all alone?" The question came quickly. Barry +answered before he thought. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you know—you know how eet feel. You know how Ba'teese think +when he look out the window. See?" He pointed, and Barry raised +himself slightly that he might follow the direction of the gesture. +Faintly, through the glass, he could see something white, rearing +itself in the shadows of the heavy pines which fringed the cabin,—a +cross. And it stood as the guardian of a mound of earth where pine +boughs had been placed in smooth precision, while a small vase, half +implanted in the earth, told of flowers in the summer season. Ba'tiste +stared at his palms. "Julienne," came at last. "My wife." Then, with +a sudden impulse, he swerved about the bed and sat down beside the sick +man. "Ba'teese—" he smiled plaintively—"like to talk about +Pierre—and Julienne. Even though eet hurt." +</P> + +<P> +Barry could think only in terms of triteness. +</P> + +<P> +"Have they been gone long?" +</P> + +<P> +The big man counted on his fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"One—two—t'ree year. Before that—<I>bon</I>!" He kissed his fingers +airily. "Old Ba'teese, he break the way—long time ago. He come down +from Montreal, with his Julienne and his Pierre—in his arm, so. He +like to feel big and strong—to help other people. So, down here where +there were few he came, and built his cabin, with his Pierre and his +Julienne. And, so happy! Then, by'm'by, Jacques Robinette come too, +with his petite Medaine—" +</P> + +<P> +"That's the girl who was here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>. I am <I>l' M'sieu Doctaire</I>. I look after the sick for +ten—twenty—thirty mile. Jacques he have more head. He buy land." A +great sweep of the arm seemed to indicate all outdoors. "Ev'where—the +pine and spruce, it was Jacques! By'm'by, he go on and leave Medaine +alone. Then she go 'way to school, but ev' summer she come back and +live in the big house. And Ba'teese glad—because he believe some day +she love Pierre and Pierre love her and—" +</P> + +<P> +Another silence. At last: +</P> + +<P> +"And then war came. My Pierre, he is but eighteen. But he go. +Ba'teese want him to go. Julienne, she say nothing—she cry at night. +But she want him to go too. Medaine, she tell funny stories about her +age and she go too. It was lonely. Ba'teese was big. Ba'teese was +strong. And Julienne say to him, 'You too—you go. You may save a +life.' And Ba'teese went." +</P> + +<P> +"To France?" +</P> + +<P> +Ba'tiste bowed his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Long time Ba'teese look for his Pierre. Long time he look for +Medaine. But no. Then—" his face suddenly contorted "—one night—in +the cathedral at St. Menehould, I find heem. But Pierre not know his +<I>pčre</I>. He not answer Ba'teese when he call 'Pierre! Pierre!' Here, +and here, and here—" the big man pointed to his breast and face and +arms—"was the shrapnel. He sigh in my arms—then he is gone. +Ba'teese ask that night for duty on the line. He swear never again to +be <I>l' M'sieu Doctaire</I>. All his life he help—help—help—but when +the time come, he cannot help his own. And by'm'by, Ba'teese come +home—and find that." +</P> + +<P> +He pointed out into the shadows beneath the pines. +</P> + +<P> +"She had died?" +</P> + +<P> +"Died!" The man's face had gone suddenly purple. His eyes were +glaring, his hands upraised and clutched. "No! Murder! Murder, mon +ami! Murder! Lost Wing—he Medaine's Indian—he find her—so! In a +heap on the floor—and a bullet through her brain. And the money we +save, the ten thousan' dollar—eet is gone! Murder!" +</P> + +<P> +A shudder went over the young man on the bed. His face blanched. His +lips lost their color. For a moment, as the big French-Canadian bent +over him, he stared with glazed, unseeing eyes, at last to turn dully +at the sharp, questioning voice of the trapper: +</P> + +<P> +"Murder—you know murder?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a long moment of silence. Then, as though with an effort +which took his every atom of strength, Houston shook himself, as if to +throw some hateful, vicious thing from him, and turned, with a parrying +question: +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever find who did it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. But sometime—Ba'teese not forget. Ba'teese always wait. +Ba'teese always look for certain things—that were in the deed-box. +There was jewelry—Ba'teese remember. Sometime—" Then he switched +again. "Why you look so funny? Huh? Why you get pale—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Please—" Barry Houston put forth a hand. "Please—" Then he +straightened. "Ba'tiste, I'm in your hands. You can help me, or you +can harm me. You know I was shamming when I acted as though I had lost +my identity. Now—now you know there's something else. Will you—" +</P> + +<P> +He ceased suddenly and sank back. From without there had come the +sound of steps. A moment later, the door opened, and shadows of a man +and a girl showed on the floor. Thayer and Medaine had returned. Soon +they were in the room, the girl once more standing in the doorway, +regarding Barry with a quizzical, half-wondering gaze, the man coming +forward and placing one gnarled hand on the Canadian's shoulder, +staring over his head down into the eyes of the injured man on the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't go back to the mill without making one more try," he +explained. "Has he shown any signs yet?" +</P> + +<P> +Barry watched Ba'teese closely. But the old man's face was a blank. +</P> + +<P> +"Signs? Of what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Coming to—remembering who he is." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh." Ba'tiste shrugged his shoulders. "I have give eet up." +</P> + +<P> +"Then—" +</P> + +<P> +"So far Ba'teese is concern'," and he looked down on the bed with a +glance which told Barry far more than words, "he is already name. He +is M'sieu Nobody. I can get no more." +</P> + +<P> +Thayer scratched his head. He turned. +</P> + +<P> +"Anyway, I'm going to make one more attempt at it. See what you can +do, Medaine." +</P> + +<P> +The girl came forward then, half smiling, and seated herself beside the +bed. She took Barry's hand in hers, then with a laugh turned to Thayer. +</P> + +<P> +"What shall I do? Make love to him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" It was old Ba'tiste edging forward, the twinkle once more +in his eyes. "Bon—good! Make love to him." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you suppose it would help?" The girl was truly serious now. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think—" Thayer had edged forward, nervously. Ba'tiste +pushed him gently. +</P> + +<P> +"Peuff! And when did M'sieu Thayer become <I>l' M'sieu Doctaire</I>? +Ba'teese say ask him if he like you." +</P> + +<P> +Medaine laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you like me?" +</P> + +<P> +Brown eyes met blue eyes. A smile passed between them. It was with an +effort that Houston remembered that he was only playing a part. +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly do!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ask him, 'Do you like me better than anybody you ever—'" +</P> + +<P> +"What sense is there to all this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Blooey! And why should you ask? Why should you stand with a frown on +your face? Peuff! It is ugly enough already!" To Barry, it was quite +evident that there was some purpose behind the actions of Old Ba'tiste, +and certainly more than mere pleasantry in his words. "You ask Medaine +to help Ba'teese, and then <I>facher vous</I>! Enough. Ask him, Medaine." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" the girl was laughing now, her eyes beaming, a slight flush +apparent in her cheeks—"maybe he doesn't want me to—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but I do!" There was something in the tone of Barry Houston which +made the color deepen. "I—I like it." +</P> + +<P> +"That's enough!" Thayer, black-featured, his gnarled hands clenched +into ugly knots, came abruptly forward. "I thought this was a serious +thing; I didn't know you were going to turn it into a burlesque!" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps M'sieu Thayer has studied the practice of medicine?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. But—" +</P> + +<P> +"Nor, pardon, the practice of politeness. Ba'teese will not need your +help." +</P> + +<P> +"Whether you need it or not, I'll come back when you're through with +this infernal horseplay. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese choose his guests." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese mean what he say." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, then. Come on, Medaine." +</P> + +<P> +The girl, apparently without a thought of the air of proprietorship in +the man's tone, rose, only to face Ba'tiste. The Canadian glowered at +her. +</P> + +<P> +"And are you chattel?" he stormed. "Do you stand in the cup of his +hand that he shall tell you when to rise and when to sit, when to walk +and where to go?" +</P> + +<P> +She turned. +</P> + +<P> +"You were abrupt, Fred. I'm glad Ba'tiste reminded me. Personally, I +don't see why I should have been drawn into this at all, or why I +should be made the butt of a quarrel over some one I never saw before." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry—terribly sorry." Barry was speaking earnestly and holding +forth his hand. "I shouldn't have answered you that way—I'm—" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll forget it all." A flashing smile had crossed the girl's lips. +"Fred never knows how to take Ba'tiste. They're always quarreling this +way. The only trouble is that Fred—" and she turned to face him +piquantly—"always takes in the whole world when he gets mad. And that +includes me. I think," and the little nose took a more upward turn +than ever, "that Ba'tiste is entirely right, Fred. You talked to me as +though I were a sack of potatoes. I won't go with you, and I won't see +you until you can apologize." +</P> + +<P> +"There's nothing to apologize for!" +</P> + +<P> +Thayer jammed on his hat and stamped angrily out the door. Medaine +watched him with laughing eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"He'll write me a letter to-night," came quietly. Then, "Lost Wing!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ugh!" It was a grunt from outside. +</P> + +<P> +"I just wanted to be sure you were there. Call me when Mr. Thayer has +passed the ridge." +</P> + +<P> +"Ugh!" +</P> + +<P> +Medaine turned again to Ba'tiste, a childish appearance of confidence +in her eyes, her hand lingering on the chair by the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you really fooling, Ba'tiste—or shall we continue?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps—" the twinkle still shone in the old man's eyes—"but not +now. Perhaps—sometime. So mebbe sometime you—" +</P> + +<P> +"Wah—hah—hai-i-e-e-e!" The Sioux had called from without. Medaine +turned. +</P> + +<P> +"When you need me, Ba'tiste," she answered, with a smile that took in +also the eager face on the bed, "I'll be glad to help you. Good-by." +</P> + +<P> +That too included Barry, and he answered it with alacrity. Then for a +moment after she had gone, he lay scowling at Ba'tiste, who once more, +in a weakened state of merriment, had reeled to the wall, followed as +usual by his dog, and leaned there, hugging his sides. Barry growled: +</P> + +<P> +"You're a fine doctor! Just when you had me cured, you quit! I'd +forgotten I even had a broken arm." +</P> + +<P> +"So?" Ba'tiste straightened. "You like her, eh? You like the petite +Medaine?" +</P> + +<P> +"How can I help it?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Bon</I>! Good! I like you to like Medaine. You no like Thayer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Less every minute." +</P> + +<P> +"Bon! I no like heem. He try to take Pierre's place with Medaine. +And Pierre, he was strong and tall and straight. Pierre, he could +smile—<I>bon</I>! Like you can smile. You look like my Pierre!" came +frankly. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks, Ba'tiste." Barry said it in wholehearted manner. "You don't +know how grateful I am for a little true friendliness." +</P> + +<P> +"Grateful? Peuff! You? Bah, you shall go back, and they will ask who +helped you when you were hurt, and you—you will not even remember what +is the name." +</P> + +<P> +"Hardly that." Barry pulled thoughtfully at the covers. "In the first +place, I'm not going back, and in the second, I haven't enough true +friends to forget so easily. I—I—" Then his jaw dropped and he lay +staring ahead, out to the shadows beneath the pines and the stalwart +cross which kept watch there. "I—" +</P> + +<P> +"You act funny again. You act like you act when I talk about my +Julienne. Why you do eet?" +</P> + +<P> +Barry Houston did not answer at once. Old scenes were flooding through +his brain, old agonies that reflected themselves upon his features, old +sorrows, old horrors. His eyes grew cold and lifeless, his hands white +and drawn, his features haggard. The chuckle left the lips of Ba'tiste +Renaud. He moved swiftly, almost sinuously to the bed, and gripped the +younger man by his uninjured arm. His eyes came close to Barry +Houston, his voice was sharp, tense, commanding: +</P> + +<P> +"You! Why you act like that when I talk about murder? Why you get +pale, huh? Why you get pale?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + + +<P> +The gaze of Ba'tiste Renaud was strained as he asked the question, his +manner tense, excited. Through sheer determination, Barry forced a +smile and pulled himself back to at least a semblance of composure. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe you know the reason already—through Thayer. But if you +don't—Ba'tiste, how much of it do you mean when you say you are a +man's friend?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese may joke," came quietly, "but Ba'teese no lie. You look like +my Pierre—you help where it has been lonesome. You are my frien'." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I know you are not going to ask me for something that hurts in +telling. And at least, I can give you my word of honor that it isn't +because of my conscience!" +</P> + +<P> +Ba'tiste was silent after that, walking slowly about the room, shaggy +head bent, hands clasped behind his back, studious, as though striving +to fathom what had been on the man's mind. As for Barry, he stared +disconsolately at vacancy, living again a thing which he had striven to +forget. It had been forced upon him, this partial admission of a cloud +in the past; the geniality, the utter honesty, the friendliness of the +old French-Canadian, the evident dislike for a man whom he, Barry, also +thoroughly distrusted, had lowered the younger man's guard. The tragic +story of Pierre and Julienne had furthered the merest chance +acquaintance into what seemed the beginning, at least, of closest +friendship. Houston had known Ba'tiste for only a matter of a few +hours,—yet it seemed months since he first had looked upon the funny +little blue cap and screaming red shirt of the Canadian; and it was +evident that Renaud had felt the same reaction. Barry Houston, to this +great, lonely man of the hills, looked like a son who was gone, a son +who had grown tall and straight and good to look upon a son upon whom +the old man had looked as a companion, and a chum for whom he had +searched in every battle-scarred area of a war-stricken nation, only to +find him,—too late. And with this viewpoint, there was no shamming +about the old man's expressions of friendship. More, he took Barry's +admission of a cloud in the past as a father would take it from a son; +he paced the floor minute after minute, head bowed, gray eyes half +closed, only to turn at last with an expression which told Barry +Houston that a friend was his for weal or woe, for fair weather or +foul, good or evil. +</P> + +<P> +"Eet is enough!" came abruptly. "There is something you do not want to +tell. I like you—I not ask. You look like my Pierre—who could do no +wrong. So! <I>Bon</I>—good! Ba'teese is your frien'. You have trouble? +Ba'teese help." +</P> + +<P> +"I've had plenty of that, in the last two years," came quietly. "I +think I've got plenty ahead of me. What do you know about Thayer?" +</P> + +<P> +"He no good." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese don' know. On'y he have narrow eyes too close together. He +have a quirk to his mouth Ba'teese no like. He have habit nev' talkin' +about himself—he ask you question an' tell you nothing. He have +hatchet-face; Ba'teese no like a man with a hatchet-face. Beside, he +make love to Medaine!" +</P> + +<P> +Barry laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Evidently that's a sore spot with you, Ba'tiste." +</P> + +<P> +"No. Ba'teese no care. But if my Pierre had live, he would have make +love to her. She would have marry him. And to have M'sieu Thayer take +his place? No! Mebbe—" he said it hopefully, "mebbe you like +Medaine, huh?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do! She's pretty, Ba'tiste." +</P> + +<P> +"Mebbe you make love?" +</P> + +<P> +But the man on the bed shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't make love to anybody, Ba'tiste. Not until I've—I've found +something I'm looking for. I'm afraid that's a long way off. I +haven't the privileges of most young fellows. I'm a little—what would +you call it—hampered by circumstance. I've—besides, if I ever do +marry, it won't be for love. There's a girl back East who says she +cares for me, and who simply has taken it for granted that I think the +same way about her. She stood by me—in some trouble. Out of every +one, she didn't believe what they said about me. That means a lot. +Some way, she isn't my kind; she just doesn't awaken affection on my +part, and I spend most of my time calling myself a cad over it. But +she stood by me—and—I guess that's all that's necessary, after all. +When I've fulfilled my contract with myself—if I ever do—I'll do the +square thing and ask her to marry me." +</P> + +<P> +Ba'tiste scowled. +</P> + +<P> +"You dam' fool," he said. "Buy 'em present. Thank 'em, <I>merci +beaucoup</I>. But don' marry 'em unless 'you love 'em. Ba'teese, he +know. Ba'teese, he been in too many home where there is no love." +</P> + +<P> +"True. But you don't know the story behind it all, Ba'tiste. And I +can't tell you except this: I got in some trouble. I'd rather not tell +you what it was. It broke my father's heart—and his confidence in me. +He—he died shortly afterward." +</P> + +<P> +"And you—was it your fault?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you never believe anything else about me, Ba'tiste, believe this: +that it wasn't. And in a way, it was proven to him, before he went. +But he had been embittered then. He left a will—with stipulations. I +was to have the land he owned out here at Empire Lake; and the flume +site leading down the right side of Hawk Creek to the mill. Some one +else owns the other side of the lake and the land on the opposite bank +of the stream." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>. Medaine Robinette." +</P> + +<P> +"Honestly? Is it hers?" +</P> + +<P> +"When she is twenty-one. But go on." +</P> + +<P> +"Father wouldn't leave me the mill. He seemed to have a notion that +I'd sell it all off—and he tied everything up in a way to keep me from +doing anything like that. The mill is rented to me. The land is mine, +and I can do everything but actually dispose of it. But on top of that +comes another twist: if I haven't developed the business within five +years into double what it was at the peak of its best development, back +goes everything into a trust fund, out of which I am to have a hundred +dollars a month, nothing more. That's what I'm out here for, Ba'tiste, +to find out why, in spite of the fact that I've worked day and night +now for a year and a half, in spite of the fact that I've gone out and +struggled and fought for contracts, and even beaten down the barriers +of dislike and distrust and suspicion to get business—why I can't get +it! Something or some one is blocking me, and I'm going to find out +what and who it is! I think I know one man—Thayer. But there may be +more. That's why I'm playing this game of lost identity. I thought I +could get out here and nose around without him knowing it. When he +found out at once who I was, and seemed to have had a previous tip that +I was coming out here, I had to think fast and take the first scheme +that popped into my head. Maybe if I can play the game long enough, it +will take him off his guard and cause him to work more in the open. +They may give me a chance to know where I stand. And I've got to know +that, Ba'tiste. Because—" and his voice was vibrant with +determination, "I don't care what happens to me personally. I don't +care whether five minutes after I have made it, I lose every cent of +what I have worked for. But I do care about this; I'm going to make +good to my father's memory. I'm going to be able to stand before a +mirror and look myself straight in the eye, knowing that I bucked up +against trouble, that it nearly whipped me, that it took the unfairest +advantage that Fate can take of a man in allowing my father to die +before I could fully right myself in his eyes, but that if there is a +Justice, if there is anything fair and decent in this universe, some +way he'll know, some way he'll rest in peace, with the understanding +that his son took up the gauntlet that death laid down for him, that he +made the fight, and that he won!" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Bon</I>—good!" Old Ba'tiste leaned over the foot of the bed. "My +Pierre—he would talk like that. <I>Bon</I>? Now—what is it you look for?" +</P> + +<P> +"In the first place, I want to know how so many accidents can happen in +a single plant, just at the wrong time. I want to know why it is that +I can go out and fight for a contract, and then lose it because a saw +has broken, or an off-bearer, lugging slabs away from the big wheel, +can allow one to strike at just the wrong moment and let the saw pick +it up and drive it through the boiler, laying up the whole plant for +three weeks. I want to know why it is that only about one out of three +contracts I land are ever filled. Thayer's got something to do with +it, I know. Why? That's another question. But there must be others. +I want to know who they are and weed them out. I've only got three and +a half years left, and things are going backward instead of forward." +</P> + +<P> +"How you intend to fin' this out?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. I've got one lead—as soon as I'm able to get into +town. That may give me a good deal of information; I came out here, at +least, in the hope that it would. After that, I'm hazy. How big a +telegraph office is there at Tabernacle?" +</P> + +<P> +"How big?" Ba'tiste laughed. "How <I>petite</I>! Eet is about the size of +the—what-you-say—the peanut." +</P> + +<P> +"Is there ever a time when the operator isn't there?" +</P> + +<P> +"At noon. He go out to dinner, and he leave open the door. If eet is +something you want, walk in." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks." A strange eagerness was in Houston's eyes. "I think I'll be +able to get up to-morrow. Maybe I can walk over there; it's only a +mile or two, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +But when to-morrow, came, it found a white, bandaged figure sitting +weakly in front of Ba'tiste's cabin, nothing more. Strength of purpose +and strength of being had proved two different things, and now he was +quite content to rest there in the May sunshine, to watch the +chattering magpies as they went about the work of spring +house-building, to study the colors of the hills, the mergings of the +tintings and deeper hues as the scale ran from brown to green to blue, +and finally to the stark red granite and snow whites of Mount Taluchen. +</P> + +<P> +Ba'tiste and his constant companion, Golemar, were making the round of +the traps and had been gone for hours. Barry was alone—alone with the +beauties of spring in the hills, with the soft call of the meadow lark +in the bit of greenery which fringed the still purling stream in the +little valley, the song of the breeze through the pines, the sunshine, +the warmth—and his problems. +</P> + +<P> +Of these, there were plenty. In the first place, how had Thayer known +that he was on the way from the East? He had spoken to only two +persons,—Jenkins, his bookkeeper, and one other. To these two persons +he merely had given the information that he was going West on a bit of +a vacation. He had deliberately chosen to come in his car, so that +there might be every indication, should there be such a thing as a spy +in his rather diminutive office, that he merely intended a jaunt +through a few States, certainly not a journey half across the country. +But just the same, the news had leaked; Thayer had been informed, and +his arrival had been no surprise. +</P> + +<P> +That there had been need for his coming, Barry felt sure. At the +least, there was mismanagement at the mill; contract after contract +lost just when it should have been gained told him this, if nothing +more. But—and he drew a sheet of yellow paper from his pocket and +stared hard at it—there was something else, something which had +aroused his curiosity to an extent of suspicion, something which might +mean an open book of information to him if only he could reach +Tabernacle at the right moment and gain access to the telegraph files +without the interference of the agent. +</P> + +<P> +Then suddenly he ceased his study of the message and returned it to his +pocket. Two persons were approaching the cabin from the opposite +hill,—a girl whom he was glad to see, and a man who walked, or rather +rolled, in the background: Medaine Robinette and a sort of rear guard +who, twenty or thirty feet behind her, followed her every step, trotted +when she ran down the steep side of an embankment, then slowed as she +came to a walk again. A bow-legged creature he was, with ill-fitting +clothing and a broad "two-gallon" hat which evidently had been +bequeathed to him by some cow-puncher, long hair which straggled over +his shoulders, and a beaded vest which shone out beneath the scraggly +outer coat like a candle on a dark night. Instinctively Barry knew him +to be the grunting individual who had waited outside the door the night +before,—Lost Wing, Medaine's Sioux servant: evidently a +self-constituted bodyguard who traveled more as a shadow than as a +human being. Certainly the girl in the foreground gave no indication +that she was aware of his presence; nor did she seem to care. +</P> + +<P> +Closer she came, and Barry watched her, taking a strange sort of +delight in the skipping grace with which she negotiated the stepping +stones of the swollen little stream which intervened between her and +the cabin of Ba'tiste Renaud, then clambered over the straggling pile +of massed logs and dead timber which strewed the small stretch of flat +before the rise began, leading to where he rested. More like some +graceful, agile boy was she than a girl. Her clothing was of that type +which has all too soon taken the place of the buckskin in the West,—a +riding habit, with stout little shoes and leather puttees; her hair was +drawn tight upon her head and encased in the shielding confines of a +cap, worn low over her forehead, the visor pulled aside by a jutting +twig and now slanting out at a rakish angle; her arms full of something +pink and soft and pretty. Barry wondered what it could be,—then +brightened with sudden hope. +</P> + +<P> +"Wonder if she's bringing them to me?" +</P> + +<P> +The answer came a moment later as she faced him, panting slightly from +the exertion of the climb, the natural flush of exercise heightened by +her evident embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you're up!" came in an almost disappointed manner. Then with a +glance toward the great cluster of wild roses in her arms, "I don't +know what to do with these things now." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" Barry's embarrassment was as great as hers. "If—if it'll do +any good, I'll climb back into bed again." +</P> + +<P> +"No—don't. Only I thought you were really, terribly ill and—" +</P> + +<P> +"I am—I was—I will be. That is—gosh, it's a shame for you to go out +and pick all those and then have me sitting up here as strong as an ox. +I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't worry about that." She smiled at him with that sweetness +which only a woman can know when she has the advantage. "I didn't pick +them. Lost Wing"—she pointed to the skulking, outlandishly dressed +Indian in the background—"attended to that. I was going to send them +over by him. But I didn't have anything to do, so I just thought I'd +bring them myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks for that, anyway. Can't I keep them just the same—to put on +the table or something?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, if you care to." Barry felt that she was truly disappointed that +he wasn't at the point of death, or at least somewhere near it. +"Where's Ba'tiste." +</P> + +<P> +"Out looking after his traps, picking them up I think, for the summer. +He'll be back soon. Is there—" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I usually come over every day to see him, you know." Then the +blue eyes lost their diffidence to become serious. "Do you remember +yet who you are?" +</P> + +<P> +"Less right at this minute than at any other time!" spoke Barry +truthfully. "I'm out of my head entirely!" He reached for the flowers. +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't joke that way. It's really serious. When I was +across—army nursing—I saw a lot of just such cases as yours. Shell +shock, you know. One has to be awfully careful with it." +</P> + +<P> +"I know. But I'm getting the best of care. I—ouch!" His interest +had exceeded his caution. The unbandaged hand had waved the flowers +for emphasis and absently gripped the stems. The wild roses fluttered +to the ground. "Gosh!" came dolefully, "I'm all full of thorns. Guess +I'll have to pick 'em out with my teeth." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" Then she picked up the roses and laid them gingerly aside. "You +can't use your other hand, can you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Arm's broken." +</P> + +<P> +"Then—" she looked back toward Lost Wing, hunched on a stump, and +Barry's heart sank. She debated a moment, at last to shake her head. +"No—he'd want to dig them out with a knife. If you don't mind." She +moved toward Houston and Barry thrust forth his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"If you don't mind," he countered and she sat beside him. A moment +later: +</P> + +<P> +"I must look like a fortune teller." +</P> + +<P> +"See anything in my palm besides thorns?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. A little dirt. Ba'tiste evidently isn't a very good nurse." +</P> + +<P> +"I did the best I could with one hand. But I was pretty grimy. I—I +didn't know," and Barry grinned cheerfully, "I was going to be this +lucky." +</P> + +<P> +She pretended not to hear the sally. And in some way Barry was glad. +He much rather would have her silent than making some flippant remark, +much rather would he prefer to lean comfortably back on the old bench +and watch the quiet, almost childish determination of her features as +she sought for a grip on the tiny protuberances of the thorns, the soft +brownness of the few strands of hair which strayed from beneath the +boyish cap, the healthy glow of her complexion, the smallness of the +clear-skinned hands, the daintiness of the trim little figure. Much +rather would he be silent with the picture than striving for answers to +questions that in their very naïveness were an accusation. Quite +suddenly Barry felt cheap and mean and dishonest. He felt that he +would like to talk about himself,—about home and his reasons for being +out here; his hopes for the mill which now was a shambling, +unprofitable thing; about the future and—a great many things. It was +with an effort, when she queried him again concerning his memory, that +he still remained Mr. Nobody. Then he shifted the conversation from +himself to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you live out here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Didn't Ba'tiste tell you? My house is just over the hill—you +can just see one edge of the roof through that bent aspen." +</P> + +<P> +Barry stared. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd noticed that. Thought it was a house, but couldn't be sure. I +thought I understood Ba'tiste to say you only came out here in the +summer." +</P> + +<P> +"I did that when I was going to school. Now I stay here all the year +'round." +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it lonely?" +</P> + +<P> +"Out here? With a hundred kinds of birds to keep things going? With +the trout leaping in the streams in the summer time, and a good gun in +the hollow of your arm in the winter? Besides, there's old Lost Wing +and his squaw, you know. I get a lot of enjoyment out of them when +we're snowed in—in the winter. He's told me fully fifty versions of +how the Battle of Wounded Knee was fought, and as for Custer's last +battle—it's wonderful!" +</P> + +<P> +"He knows all about it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd hardly say that." Medaine reached under her cap for a hairpin, +looked quickly at Barry as though to ask him whether he could stand +pain, then pressed a recalcitrant thorn into a position where it could +be extracted. "I think the best description of Lost Wing is that he's +an admirable fiction writer. Ba'tiste says he has more lies than a dog +has fleas." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it isn't history?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not. Just imagination. But it's well done, with plenty of +gestures. He stands in front of the fire and acts it all out while his +squaw sits on the floor and grunts and nods and wails at the right +time, and it's really entertaining. They're about a million years old, +both of them. My father got them when he first came down here from +Montreal. He wanted Lost Wing as a sort of bodyguard. It was a good +deal wilder in this region then than it is now, and father owned a good +deal of land." +</P> + +<P> +"So Ba'tiste tells me. He says that practically all of the forests +around here are yours." +</P> + +<P> +"They will be, next year," came simply, "when I'm—" +</P> + +<P> +She stopped and laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'tiste told me. Twenty-one." +</P> + +<P> +"He never could keep anything to himself." +</P> + +<P> +"What's wrong about that? I'm twenty-seven myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Honestly? You don't look it." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't I? I ought to. I've got a beard and everything. See?" He +pulled his hand away for a moment to rub the two-days' growth on his +face. "I tried to shave this morning. Couldn't make it. Ba'tiste +said he'd play barber for me this afternoon. Next time you come over +I'll be all slicked up." +</P> + +<P> +Again she laughed, and once more pursued the remaining thorns. +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know there'll be a next time?" +</P> + +<P> +"If there isn't, I'll drive nails in myself, so you'll have to pull 'em +out." Then seriously. "You do come over here often, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course—" then, the last thorn disposed of, she rose—"to see +Ba'tiste. I look on him as a sort of a guardian. He knew my father. +But let's talk about yourself. You seem remarkably clear in your mind +to be afflicted with amnesia. Are you sure you don't remember +anything—?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—not now. But," and Barry hedged painfully, "I think I will. It +acts to me like a momentary thing. Every once in a while I get a flash +as though it were all coming back; it was just the fall, I'm sure of +that. My head's all right." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean your brain?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I don't act crazy, or anything like that, do I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," and she smiled quizzically, "of course, I don't know you, so I +have nothing to go by. But I must admit that you say terribly foolish +things." +</P> + +<P> +Leaving him to think over that, she turned, laughed a good-by, and with +the rolling, bow-legged old Lost Wing in her wake, retraced the path to +the top of the hill, there to hesitate a moment, wave her hand quickly, +and then, as though hurrying away from her action, disappeared. Barry +Houston sat for a long time, visualizing her there on the brow of the +hill, her head with its long-visored cap tilted, her hand upraised, her +trimness and her beauty silhouetted against the opalesque sky, +dreaming,—and with a bit of heartache in it. For this sort of thing +had been his hope in younger, fairer days. This sort of a being had +been his make-believe companion of a Castle in Spain. This sort of a +joking, whimsical girl had been the one who had come to him in the +smoke wreaths and tantalized him and promised him— +</P> + +<P> +But now, his life was gray. His heart was not his own. His life was +at best only a grim, drab thing of ugly memories and angered +determinations. If a home should ever come to him, it must be in +company with some one to whom he owed the gratitude of friendship in +time of need; not love not affection, but the paying of a debt of +deepest honor. Which Barry would do, and faithfully and honestly and +truthfully. As for the other— +</P> + +<P> +He leaned against the bark slabs of the cabin. He closed his eyes. He +grinned cheerily. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," came at last, "there's no harm in thinking about it!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + + +<P> +It was thus that Ba'tiste found him, still dreaming. The big voice of +the Canadian boomed, and he reached forward to nudge Barry on his +injured shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"And who has been bringing you flowers?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Medaine. That is—Miss Robinette." +</P> + +<P> +"Medaine? Oh, ho! You hear, Golemar?" he turned to the fawning +wolf-dog. "He calls her Medaine! Oh, ho! And he say he will marry, +not for love. Peuff! We shall see, by gar, we shall see! Eh, +Golemar?" Then to Barry, "You have sit out here too long." +</P> + +<P> +"I? Nothing of the kind. Where's the axe? I'll do some fancy +one-handed woodchopping." +</P> + +<P> +And while Ba'tiste watched, grinning, Barry went about his task, +swinging the axe awkwardly, but whistling with the joy of work. Nor +did he pause to diagnose his light-heartedness. He only knew that he +was in the hills; that the streets and offices and people of the +cities, and the memories that they carried, had been left behind for +him that he was in a new world to make a new fight and that he was +strangely, inordinately happy Time after time the axe glinted, to +descend upon the chopping block, until at last the pile of stovewood +had reached its proper dimensions, and old Ba'tiste came from the +doorway to carry it in. Then, half an hour later, they sat down to +their meal of sizzling bacon and steaming coffee,—a great, bearded +giant and the younger man whom he, in a moment of impulsiveness, had +all but adopted. Ba'tiste was still joking about the visit of Medaine, +Houston parrying his thrusts. The meal finished, Ba'tiste went forth +once more, to the hunt of a bear trap and its deadfall, dragged away by +a mountain lion during the last snow. Barry sought again the bench +outside the cabin, to sit there waiting and hoping,—in vain. At last +came evening, and he undressed laboriously for a long rest. Something +awaited him in Tabernacle,—either the opening of a book of schemes, or +at least the explanation of a mystery, and that meant a walk of quite +two miles, the exercise of muscles which still ached, the straining of +tendons drawn by injury and pain. But when the time came, he was ready. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Bon</I>—good!" came from Ba'tiste, as they turned into the little +village of Tabernacle the next day, skirted the two clapboarded stores +forming the "main business district," and edged toward the converted +box car that passed as a station. "<I>Bon</I>—the agent he is leaving." +</P> + +<P> +Barry looked ahead, to see a man crossing an expanse of flat country +toward what was evidently a boarding house. Ba'tiste nudged him. +</P> + +<P> +"You will walk slowly, as though going into the station to loaf. +Ba'tiste will come behind—and keep watch." +</P> + +<P> +Barry obeyed. A moment more and he was within the converted box car, +to find it deserted and silent, except for the constant clackle of the +telegraph key, rattling off the business of a mountain railroad system, +like some garrulous old woman, to any one who would listen. There was +no private office, only a railing and a counter, which Barry crossed +easily. A slight crunching of gravel sounded without. It was +Ba'tiste, now lounging in the doorway, ready at a moment to give the +alarm. Houston turned hastily toward the file hook and began to turn +the pages of the original copy which hung there. +</P> + +<P> +A moment of searching and he leaned suddenly forward. Messages were +few from Tabernacle; it had been an easy matter for him to come upon +the originals of the telegrams he sought, in spite of the fact that +they had been sent more than two weeks before. Already he was reading +the first of the night letters: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Barry Houston,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Empire Lake Mill and Lumber Co.,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">212 Grand Building, Boston, Mass.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P> +Please order six-foot saw as before. Present one broken to-day through +crystallization. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +F. B. THAYER. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"That's one of 'em." Houston grunted the words, rather than spoke +them. "That was meant for me all right—humph!" +</P> + +<P> +The second one was before him now, longer and far more interesting to +the man who bent over the telegraph file, while Ba'tiste kept watch at +the door. Hastily he pulled a crumpled message from his pocket and +compared them,—and grunted again. +</P> + +<P> +"The same thing. Identically the same thing, except for the addresses! +Ba'tiste," he called softly, "what kind of an operator is this fellow?" +</P> + +<P> +"No good. A boy. Just out of school. Hasn't been here long." +</P> + +<P> +"That explains it." Houston was talking to himself again. "He got the +two messages and—" Suddenly he bent forward and examined a notation +in a strange hand: +</P> + +<P> +"Missent Houston. Resent Blackburn." +</P> + +<P> +It explained much to Barry Houston, that scribble of four words. It +told him why he had received a telegram which meant nothing to him, yet +caused suspicion enough for a two-thousand-mile trip. It explained +that the operator, in sending two messages, had, through +absent-mindedness, put them both on the wire to the same person, when +they were addressed separately, that he later had seen his mistake and +corrected it. Barry smiled grimly. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks very much, Operator," he murmured. "It isn't every mistake +that turns out this lucky." +</P> + +<P> +Then slowly, studiously, he compared the messages again, the one he had +received, and the one on the hook which read: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +J. C. Blackburn,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Deal Building, Chicago, Ill.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P> +Our friend reports Boston deal put over O. K. Everything safe. +Suggest start preparations for operations in time compete Boston for +the big thing. Have Boston where we want him and will keep him there. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THAYER. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was the same telegram that Barry Houston had received and puzzled +over in Boston, except for the address. He had been right then; the +message had not been for him; instead it had been intended decidedly +<I>not</I> for him and it meant—what? Hastily Houston crawled over the +railing, and motioning to Ba'tiste, led him away from the station. +Around the corner of the last store he brought forth his telegram and +placed it in the big man's hands. +</P> + +<P> +"That's addressed to me,—but it should have gone to some one else. +Who's J. C. Blackburn of Chicago?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese don't know. Try fin' out. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Have you read that message?" +</P> + +<P> +The giant traced out the words, almost indecipherable in places from +creasing and handling. He looked up sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Boston? You came from Boston?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. That must refer to me. It must mean what I've been suspecting +all along,—that Thayer's been running my mill down, to help along some +competitor. You'll notice that he says he has me where he wants me." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>—yes. But has he? What was the deal?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. I haven't been in any deal that I know of, yet he must +refer to me. I haven't any idea what he means by the reference to +starting operations, or that sentence about the 'big thing.' There +isn't another mill around here?" +</P> + +<P> +"None nearer than the Moscript place at Echo Lake." +</P> + +<P> +"Then what can it be?" Suddenly Houston frowned with presentiment. +"Thayer's been going with Medaine a good deal, hasn't he?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>—yes. When Ba'teese can think of no way to keep him from it." +</P> + +<P> +"It couldn't be that he's made some arrangement with her—about her +forest lands?" +</P> + +<P> +"They are not hers yet. She does not come into them until she is +twenty-one." +</P> + +<P> +"But they are available then?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>. And they are as good as yours." +</P> + +<P> +"Practically the same thing, aren't they? How much of the lake does +she own?" +</P> + +<P> +"The east quarter, and the forests that front on eet, and the east bank +of Hawk Creek." +</P> + +<P> +"Then there would be opportunity for everything, for skidways into the +lake, a flume on her side and a mill. That must be—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese would have hear of eet." +</P> + +<P> +"Surely. But Thayer might have—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese would have hear of eet," came the repetition. "No, eet is +something else. She would have ask Ba'teese and Ba'teese would have +said, 'No. Take nothing and give nothing. <I>M'sieu</I> Thayer, he is no +good.' So eet is not that. You know the way back? <I>Bon</I>—good. Go +to the cabin. Ba'teese will try to learn who eet is, this Blackburn." +</P> + +<P> +They parted, Ba'teese to lounge back into the tiny town, Houston to +take the winding road which led back to the cabin. A pretty road it +was, too, one which trailed along beside the stream, now clear with +that sharp brilliancy which is characteristic of the mountain creek, a +road fringed with whispering aspens, bright green in their new foliage, +with small spruce and pine. Here and there a few flowers showed; by +the side of the road the wild roses peeped up from the denser growths +of foliage, and a vagrant butterfly or so made the round of blossom +after blossom. It was spring-summer down here, sharp contrast indeed +to the winter which lurked above and which would not fade until June +had far progressed. But with it all, its beauty, its serenity, its +peace and soft moistness, Houston noticed it but slightly. His +thoughts were on other things: on Thayer and his duplicity, on the +possibilities of the future, and the methods of combating a business +enemy he felt sure was lurking in the background. +</P> + +<P> +It meant more to Houston than the mere monetary value of a +loss,—should a loss come. Back in the family burying ground in Boston +was a mound that was fresher than others, a mound which shielded the +form of a man who had died in disappointment, leaving behind an edict +which his son had sworn to carry through to its fulfillment. Now there +were obstacles, and ones which were shielded by the darkness of +connivance and scheming. The outlook was not promising. Yet even in +its foreboding, there was consolation. +</P> + +<P> +"I at least know Thayer's a crook. I can fire him and run the mill +myself," Barry was murmuring to himself, as he plodded along. "There +may be others; I can weed them out. At least saws won't be breaking +every two weeks and lumber won't warp for lack of proper handling. +Maybe I can get somebody back East to look after the office there and—" +</P> + +<P> +He ceased his soliloquy as he glanced ahead and noticed the trim figure +of Medaine Robinette swinging along the road, old Lost Wing, as usual, +trailing in her rear, astride a calico pony and leading the saddle +horse which she evidently had become tired of riding. A small switch +was in one hand, and she flipped it at the new leaves of the aspens and +the broad-leafed mullens beside the road. As yet, she had not seen +him, and Barry hurried toward her, jamming his cap into a pocket that +his hand might be free to greet her. He waved airily as they came +closer and called. But if she heard him, she gave no indication. +Instead, she turned—swiftly, Houston thought—and mounted her horse. +A moment later, she trotted past him, and again he greeted her, to be +answered by a nod and a slight movement of the lips. But the eyes had +been averted. Barry could see that the thinnest veneer of politeness +had shielded something else as she spoke to him,—an expression of +distaste, of dislike, almost loathing! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +Barry Houston could not answer the self-imposed question. He could +only stand and stare after her and the trotting, rolling Indian, as +they moved down the road and disappeared in the shadow of the aspens at +the next curve. She had seen him; there could be no doubt of that. +She had recognized him; more, Houston felt sure that she had mounted +her horse that she might better be able to pass him and greet him with +a formal nod instead of a more friendly acknowledgment. And this was +the girl who, an afternoon before, had sat beside him on the worn old +bench at the side of Ba'tiste's cabin and picked thorns from the palm +of his hand,—thorns from the stems of wild roses which she had brought +him! The enigma was too great for Houston. He could only gasp with +the suddenness of it and sink back into a dullness of outlook and +viewpoint which he had lost momentarily. It was thus that old friends +had passed him by in Boston; it was thus that men who had been glad to +borrow money from him in other days had looked the other way when the +clouds had come. A strange chill went over him. +</P> + +<P> +"Thayer's told her!" +</P> + +<P> +He spoke the sentence like a man repeating the words of an execution. +His features suddenly had grown haggard. He stumbled slightly as he +made the next rise in the road and went on slowly, silently, toward the +cabin. +</P> + +<P> +There Ba'tiste found him, slumped on the bench, staring out at the +white and rose pinks of Mount Taluchen, yet seeing none of it. The big +man boomed a greeting, and Barry, striving for a smile, answered him. +The Canadian turned to his wolf-dog. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Peuff</I>! Golemar! Loneliness sits badly upon our friend. He is +homesick. Trot over the hill and bring to him the petite Medaine! Ah +<I>oui</I>," he laughed in immense enjoyment at his raillery, "bring to him +the petite Medaine to make him laugh and be happy." Then, seeing that +the man was struggling vainly for a semblance of cheeriness, he slid +beside him on the bench and tousled his hair with one big hand. "Nev' +min' old Ba'teese," he said hurriedly; "he joke when eet is no time. +You worry, huh? So, mebbe, Ba'teese help. There are men at the +boarding house." +</P> + +<P> +"The Blackburn crowd?" +</P> + +<P> +"So. Seven carpenters, and others. They work for Blackburn, who is in +Chicago. They are here to build a mill." +</P> + +<P> +"A mill?" Barry looked up now with new interest. "Where?" +</P> + +<P> +"Near the lake. The mill, eet will be sawing in a month. The rest, +the big plant, eet will take time for that." +</P> + +<P> +"On Medaine's land then!" But Ba'tiste shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"No. Eet is on the five acres own' by Jerry Martin. He has been try' +to sell eet for five year. Eet is no good—rocks and rocks—and rocks. +They build eet there." +</P> + +<P> +"But what can they do on five acres? Where will they get their lumber?" +</P> + +<P> +The trapper shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese on'y know what they tell heem." +</P> + +<P> +"But surely, there must be some mistake about it. You say they are +going to start sawing in a month, and that a bigger plant is going up. +Do you mean a complete outfit,—planers and all that sort of thing?" +</P> + +<P> +"So!" +</P> + +<P> +Houston shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"For the life of me, I can't see it. In the first place, I have the +only timber around here with the exception of Medaine's land, and you +say that she doesn't come into that until next year. But they're going +to start sawing at this new mill within a month. My timber stretches +back from the lake for eight miles; they either will have to go beyond +that and truck in the logs for that distance, which would be ruinous as +far as profits are concerned, or content themselves with scrub pine and +sapling spruce. I don't see what they can make out of that. Isn't +that right? All I know about it is from what I've heard. I've never +made a cruise of the territory around here. But it's always been my +belief that with the exception of the land on the other quarter of the +lake—" +</P> + +<P> +"That is all." +</P> + +<P> +"Then where—" +</P> + +<P> +But again Ba'tiste shrugged his shoulders. Then he pulled long at his +grizzled beard, regarding the wolf-dog which sat between his legs, +staring up at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Golemar," came at last. "There is something strange. Peuff! We +shall fin' out, you and me and <I>mon ami</I>." Suddenly he turned. +"M'sieu Thayer, he gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Gone? You mean he's run away?" +</P> + +<P> +"By gar, no. But he leave hurried. He get a telephone from long +distance. Chicago." +</P> + +<P> +"Then—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese not know. M'sieu Shuler in the telephone office, he tell me. +Eet is a long call, M'sieu Shuler is curious, and he listen in while +they, what-you-say, chew up the rag. Eet is a woman. She say to meet +her in Denver. This morning M'sieu Thayer take the train. +<I>Bon</I>—good!" +</P> + +<P> +"Good? Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"What you know about lumber?" +</P> + +<P> +Houston shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"A lot less than I should. It wasn't my business, you know. My father +started this mill out here during boom times, when it looked as though +the railroad over Crestline would make the distance between Denver and +Salt Lake so short that the country would build up like wild fire. He +got them to put in a switch from above Tabernacle to the mill and +figured on making a lot of money out of it all. But it didn't pan out, +Ba'tiste. First of all, the railroad didn't go to Salt Lake and in the +second—" +</P> + +<P> +"The new road will," said the French-Canadian. "Peuff! When they +start to build eet, blooey! Eet will be no time." +</P> + +<P> +"The new road? I didn't know there was to be one." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Ah, oui, oui, oui</I>!" Ba'tiste became enthusiastic. "They shall make +eet a road! Eet will not wind over the range like this one. Eet shall +come through the mountains with a six-mile tunnel, at Carrow Peak where +they have work already one, two, t'ree year. Then eet will start out +straight, and peuff! Eet will cut off a hundred mile to Salt Lake. +Then we will see!" +</P> + +<P> +"When is all this going to happen?" +</P> + +<P> +The giant shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"When the railroad, eet is ready, and the tunnel, eet is done. When +that shall be? No one know. But the survey, eet is made. The land, +eet is condem'. So it must be soon. But you say you no know lumber?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not more than any office man could learn in a year and a half. It +wasn't my business, Ba'tiste. Father thought less and less of the mill +every year. Once or twice, he was all but ready to sell it to Thayer, +and would have done it, I guess, if Thayer could have raised the money. +He was sick of the thing and wanted to get rid of it. I had gone into +the real estate business, never dreaming but that some day the mill +would be sold and off our hands. Then—then my trouble came along, and +my father—left this will. Since then, I've been busy trying to stir +up business. Oh, I guess I could tell a weathered scantling from a +green one, and a long time ago, when I was out here, my father taught +me how to scale a log. That's about all." +</P> + +<P> +"Could you tell if a man cut a tree to get the greatest footage? If +you should say to a lumberjack to fell a tree at the spring of the +root, would you know whether he did it or not? Heh? Could you know if +the sawyer robbed you of fifty feet on ever' log? No? Then we shall +learn. To-morrow, we shall go to the mill. M'sieu Thayer shall not be +there. Perhaps Ba'tiste can tell you much. <I>Bien</I>! We shall take +Medaine, <I>oui</I>? Yes?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I don't think she'd go." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd rather—" Houston was thinking of a curt nod and averted eyes. +"Maybe we'd better just go alone, Ba'tiste." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Tres bien</I>. We shall go into the forest. We shall learn much." +</P> + +<P> +And the next morning the old French-Canadian lived true to his promise. +Behind a plodding pair of horses hitched to a jolting wagon, they made +the journey, far out across the hills and plateau flats from +Tabernacle, gradually winding into a shallow caņon which led to places +which Houston remembered from years long gone. Beside the road ran the +rickety track which served as a spur from the main line of the +railroad, five miles from camp,—the ties rotten, the plates loosened +and the rails but faintly free from rust; silent testimony of the fact +that cars traveled but seldom toward the market, that the hopes of +distant years had not been fulfilled. Ahead of them, a white-faced +peak reared itself against the sky, as though a sentinel against +further progress,—Bear Mountain, three miles beyond the farthest +stretch of Empire Lake. Nearer, a slight trail of smoke curled upward, +and Ba'tiste pointed. +</P> + +<P> +"The mill," he said. "Two mile yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I remember in a hazy sort of way." Then he laughed shortly. +"Things will have to happen and happen fast if I ever live up to my +contract, Ba'tiste." +</P> + +<P> +"So?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I put too much confidence in Thayer. I thought he was honest. +When my father died, he came back to Boston, of course, and we had a +long talk. I agreed that I was not to interfere out here any more than +was necessary, spending my time, instead, in rounding up business. He +had been my father's manager, and I naturally felt that he would give +every bit of his attention to my business. I didn't know that he had +other schemes, and I didn't begin to get on to the fact until I started +losing contracts. That wasn't so long ago. Now I'm out here, and if +necessary, I'll stay here and be everything from manager to lumberjack, +to pull through." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Bon</I>! My Pierre, he would talk like that." Then the old man was +silent for a moment. "Old Ba'tiste, he has notice some things. He +will show you. Golemar! Whee!" +</P> + +<P> +In answer to the whining call of the giant, the wolf-dog, trotting +beside the lazy team, swerved and nipped at the horses' heels. The +pace became a jogging trot. Soon they were in view of the long, smooth +mound of sawdust leading to the squat, rambling saw shed. A moment +more and the bunk house, its unpainted clapboards blackened by the rain +and sun and snows, showed ahead. A half-mile, then Ba'tiste left the +wagon and, Barry following him, walked toward the mill and its whining, +groaning saws. +</P> + +<P> +"Watch close!" he ordered. "See ever'thing they do. Then remember. +Ba'tiste tell you about it when we come out." +</P> + +<P> +Within they went, where hulking, strong-shouldered men were turning the +logs from the piles without, along the skidways and to the carriage of +the mill, their cant hooks working in smooth precision, their muscles +bulging as they rolled the great cylinders of wood into place, steadied +them, then stood aside until the carriages should shunt them toward the +sawyer and the tremendous, revolving wheel which was to convert them +into "board feet" of lumber. Hurrying "off-bearers", or slab-carriers, +white with sawdust, scampered away from the consuming saw, dragging the +bark and slab-sides to a smaller blade, there to be converted into +boiler fuel and to be fed to the crackling fire of the stationary +engine, far at one end of the mill. Leather belts whirred and slapped; +there was noise everywhere, except from the lips of men. For they, +these men of the forest, were silent, almost taciturn. +</P> + +<P> +To Barry, it all seemed a smooth-working, perfectly aligned thing: the +big sixteen-foot logs went forward, rough, uncouth things, to be +dragged into the consuming teeth of the saw; then, through the sheer +force of the blade, pulled on until brownness became whiteness, the +cylindrical shape a lopsided thing with one long, glaring, white mark; +to be shunted back upon the automatic carriage, notched over for a +second incision, and started forward again, while the newly sawn boards +traveled on to the trimmers and edgers, and thence to the drying racks. +</P> + +<P> +Log after log skidded upon the carriage and was brought forward, while +Houston, fascinated, watched the kerf mark of the blade as it tore away +a slab-side. Then a touch on the arm and he followed Ba'tiste without. +The Canadian wandered thoughtfully about a moment, at last to approach +a newly stacked pile of lumber and lean against it. A second more and +he drew something to his side and stared at it. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, ho!" came at last. "M'sieu Houston, he will, what-you-say, fix +the can on the sawyer." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"First," said Ba'tiste quietly, "he waste a six-inch board on each +slab-side he take off. Un'stand? The first cut—when the bark, eet is +sliced off. He take too much. Eet is so easy. And then—look." He +drew his hand from its place of concealment, displaying a big thumb +measuring upon a small ruler. "See? Eet is an inch and a quarter. +Too thick." +</P> + +<P> +"I know that much at least. Lumber should be cut at the mill an inch +and an eighth thick to allow for shrinkage to an inch—but not an inch +and a quarter." +</P> + +<P> +"Bon!" Ba'tiste grinned. "Eet make a difference on a big log. Eight +cuts of the saw and a good board, eet is gone." +</P> + +<P> +"No wonder I don't make money." +</P> + +<P> +"There is much more. The trimmer and the edger, they take off too +much. They make eight-inch boards where there should be ten, and ten +where there should be twelve. You shall have a new crew." +</P> + +<P> +"And a new manager," Houston said it quietly. The necessity for his +masquerade was fading swiftly now. +</P> + +<P> +"And new men on the kilns. See!" +</P> + +<P> +Far to one side, a great mass of lumber reared itself against the sky, +twisted and warped, the offal of the drying kilns. Ba'tiste shrugged +his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"So! When the heat, eet is made too quick, the lumber twist. Eet is +so easy—when one wants some one to be tired and quit!" +</P> + +<P> +To quit! It was all plain to Barry Houston now. Thayer had tried to +buy the mill when the elder Houston was alive. He had failed. Now, he +was striving for something else to make Houston the newcomer, Houston, +who was striving to succeed without the fundamentals of actual logging +experience, disgusted with the business and his contract with the dead. +The first year and a half of the fight had passed,—a losing +proposition; Barry could see why now, in warped lumber and thick-cut +boards, in broken machinery and unfulfilled contracts. Thayer wanted +him to quit; his father's death had tied up the mill proper to such an +extent that it could neither be leased nor sold for a long time. But +the timber could be bought on a stumpage basis, the lake and flume +leased, and with a new mill— +</P> + +<P> +"I understand the whole thing now!" There was excitement in the tone. +"They can't get this mill—on account of the way the will reads. I +can't dispose of it. But they know that with the mill out of the way, +and the whole thing a disappointment, that I should be willing to +contract my timber to them and lease the flume. Then they can go ahead +with their own plans and their own schemes. It's the lake and flume +and timber that counts, anyway; this mill's the cheapest part of it +all." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>!" The big man wagged his head in sage approval. "But it +shall not be, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Houston's lips went into a line, +</P> + +<P> +"Not until the last dog dies!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>!" Evidently Ba'tiste liked the expression. "Eet shall not +be until—what-you-say—the last dog, eet is dead. Come! We will go +into the forest. Ba'tiste will show you things you should know." +</P> + +<P> +And to the old wagon again they went, to trail their way up the narrow +road along the bubbling, wooden flume which led from the lake, to +swerve off at the dam and turn into the hills again. Below them, the +great expanse of water ruffled and shimmered in the May sun; away off +at the far end, a log slid down a skidway, and with a booming splash +struck the water, to bury itself for a hundred feet, only to rise at +last, and bobbing, go to join others of its kind, drifting toward the +dam with the current of the stream which formed the lake. In the +smoother spaces, trout splashed; the reflections of the hills showed in +the great expanse as the light wind lessened, allowing the surface to +become glass-like, revealing also the twisted roots and dead branches +of trees long inundated in forming the big basin of water. +</P> + +<P> +Evidently only a few men were working in the hills; the descent of the +logs was a thing spaced by many minutes, and the booming of the splash +struck forth into the hills to be echoed and re-echoed. Houston stared +gloomily at the skid, at the lake and the small parcel of logs drifting +there. +</P> + +<P> +"All for nothing," came at last. "It takes about three logs to make +one—the way they're working." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>! But M'sieu Houston shall learn." +</P> + +<P> +Barry did not answer. He had learned a great deal already. He knew +enough to realize that his new effort must be a clean sweep,—from the +manager down. Distrust had enveloped him completely; even to the last +lumberjack must the camp be cleaned, and the start made anew with a +crew upon whom he could depend for honesty, at least. How the rest of +the system was to work out, he did not know. How he was to sell the +lumber which he intended milling, how he was to look after both the +manufacturing and the disposing of his product was something beyond +him, just at this moment. But there would be a way; there must be. +Besides, there was Ba'tiste, heavy-shouldered, giant Ba'tiste, leaning +over the side of the wagon, whistling and chiding the faithful old +Golemar, and some way Houston felt that he would be an ally always. +</P> + +<P> +The wagon had turned into the deeper forest now redolent with the heavy +odor of the coniferous woods, and Ba'tiste straightened. Soon he was +talking and pointing,—now to describe the spruce and its short, +stubby, upturned needles; the lodgepole pines with their straighter, +longer leaves and more brownish, scaly bark; the Englemann spruce; the +red fir and limber pine; each had its characteristic, to be pointed out +in the simple words of the big Canadian, and to be catalogued by the +man at his side. A moment before, they had been only pines, only so +many trees. Now each was different, each had its place in the mind of +the man who studied them with a new interest and a new enthusiasm, even +though they might fall, one after another, into the maw of the saw for +the same purpose. +</P> + +<P> +"They are like people, <I>oui</I>!" Old Ba'tiste was gesticulating. "They +have their, what-you-say, make-ups. The lodgepole, he is like the man +who runs up and looks on when the crowd, eet gathers about some one who +has been hurt. He waits until there had been a fire, and then he comes +in and grows first, along with the aspens, so he can get all the room +he wants. The spruce, he is like a woman, yes, <I>oui</I>. He looks better +than the rest—but he is not. Sometime, he is not so good. Whoa!" +</P> + +<P> +The road had narrowed to a mere trail; Ba'tiste tugged on the reins, +and motioning to Barry, left the wagon, pulling forth an axe and heavy, +cross-cut saw as he did so. A half-hour later, Golemar preceding them, +they were deep in the forest. Ba'tiste stopped and motioned toward a +tall spruce. +</P> + +<P> +"See?" he ordered, as he nicked it with his axe, "you cut heem as far +above the ground as he is thick through. Now, first, the undercut." +</P> + +<P> +"Looks like an overcut to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, ho! Ah, <I>oui</I>, so eet is! But eet is called the undercut. Eet +makes the tree fall the way you want heem!" +</P> + +<P> +The axe gleamed in blow after blow. A deep incision appeared in the +trunk of the tree, and at the base of it Ba'tiste started the saw, +Barry working on the other end with his good arm. Ten minutes of work +and they switched to the other side. Here no "undercut" was made; the +saw bit into the bark and deep toward the heart of the tree in a +smooth, sharp line that progressed farther, farther— +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Look out</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +A crackling sound had come from above. Ba'tiste abandoned the saw, and +with one great leap caught Houston and pulled him far to one side, as +with a roar, the spruce seemed to veritably disintegrate, its trunk +spreading in great, splintered slabs, and the tree proper crashing to +the ground in the opposite direction to which it should have fallen, +breaking as it came. A moment Ba'tiste stood, with his arm still about +the younger man, waiting for the dead branches, severed from other +trees, to cease falling, and the disturbed needles and dust of the +forest to settle. Then, pulling his funny little knit cap far down +over his straggly hair, he came forth, to stand in meditation upon the +largest portion of the shattered tree. +</P> + +<P> +"Eet break up like an ice jam!" came at last. "That tree, he is not +made of wood. Peuff! He is of glass!" +</P> + +<P> +Barry joined him, studying the splintered fragments of the spruce, +suddenly to bend forward in wonderment. +</P> + +<P> +"That's queer. Here's a railroad spike driven clear into the heart." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh? What's that?" Ba'tiste bent beside him to examine the rusty +spike, then hurried to a minute examination of the rest of the tree. +"And another," came at last. "And more!" +</P> + +<P> +Four heavy spikes had revealed themselves now, each jutting forth at a +place where the tree had split. Ba'tiste straightened. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>! Eet is no wonder! See? The spike, they have been in the +tree for mebbe one, two, t'ree year. And the tree, he is not strong. +When the winter come, last year, he split inside, from the frost, where +the spike, he spread the grain. But the split, he does not show. When +we try to cut heem down and the strain come, blooey, he, what-you-say, +bust!" +</P> + +<P> +"But why the spikes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait!" Ba'tiste, suddenly serious, turned away into the woods, to go +slowly from tree to tree, to dig at them with his knife, to squint and +stare, to shin a few feet up a trunk now and then, examining every +protuberance, every round, bulbous scar. At last he shouted, and +Houston hurried to him, to find the giant digging excitedly at a +lodgepole. "I have foun' another!" +</P> + +<P> +The knife, deep in the tree, had scratched on metal. Five minutes more +and they had discovered a third one, farther away. Then a fourth, a +fifth; soon the number had run to a score, all within a small radius. +Ba'tiste, more excited than ever, ranged off into the woods, leaving +Barry to dig at the trees about him and to discover even more metal +buried in the hearts of the standing lumber. For an hour he was gone, +to return at last and stand staring about him. +</P> + +<P> +"The spike, they are all in this little section," he said finally. "I +have cruise' all about here—there are no more." +</P> + +<P> +"But why should trees grow spikes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, why? So that saws will break at the right time! Eet is easy for +the iron hunter at the mill to look the other way—eef he knows what +the boss want. Eet is easy for the sawyer to step out of the way while +the blade, he hit a spike!" +</P> + +<P> +A long whistle traveled over Houston's lips. This was the explanation +of broken saws, just at the crucial moment! +</P> + +<P> +"Simple, isn't it?" he asked caustically. "Whenever it's necessary for +an 'accident' to happen, merely send out into the woods for a load of +timber from a certain place." +</P> + +<P> +"Then the iron hunter—the man who look for metal in the wood—he look +some other place. Beside," and Ba'tiste looked almost admiringly at a +spike-filled tree. "Eet is a good job. The spike, they are driven +deep in the wood, they are punched away in, so the bark, eet will close +over them. If the iron hunter is not, what-you-say, full of pepper, +and if he is lazy, then he not find heem, whether he want to or not. +M'sieu Thayer, he have a head on him." +</P> + +<P> +"Then Thayer—" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"But why? He was the only man on the job out here. He didn't have to +fill a whole section of a forest full of spikes when he wanted to break +a saw or cause me trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, no. But M'sieu—that is, whoever did eet—maybe he figure on the +time when you yourself try to run the mill. Eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if he did," came sharply, "he's figured on this exact moment. +I've seen enough, Ba'tiste. I'm going to Denver and contract myself an +entirely new crew. Then I'm coming back to drop this masquerade I've +been carrying on—and if you'll help me—run this place myself. +Thayer's out—from the minute I can get a new outfit. I'm not going to +take any chances. When he goes, the whole bunch here goes with him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>!" Ba'tiste grinned with enthusiasm. "You said a +what-you-say—large bite! Now," he walked toward the saw, "we shall +fell a tree that shall not split." +</P> + +<P> +"If you don't mind, I'd rather go back and look around the place. I +want to get lined up on everything before I start to Denver." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>." Together, led by the wolf-dog, they made their way to the +wagon again, once more to skirt the lake and to start down the narrow +roadway leading beside the flume. A half-hour more and there came the +sound of hammers and of saws. They stopped, and staring through the +scraggly trees, made out the figures of half a dozen men busily at work +upon the erection of a low, rambling building. All about them were +vast piles of lumber, two-by-fours, scantlings, boardings, +shingles,—everything that possibly could be needed in the building of +not one, but many structures. Ba'tiste nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"The new mill." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Probably being built out of my lumber. It's a cinch they didn't +transport it all the way from Tabernacle." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor pay M'sieu Houston. Many things can happen when one is the +manager." +</P> + +<P> +Barry made no answer. For another mile they drove in silence, at last +to come into the clearing of Barry's mill, with its bunk house, its +cook house, its diminutive commissary, its mill and kilns and sheds. +Houston leaped from the wagon to start a census and to begin his +preparations for a cleaning-out of the whole establishment. But at the +door of the commissary he whirled, staring. A buggy was just coming +over the brow of the little hill which led to the mill property. Some +one had called to him,—-a woman whose voice had caused him to start, +then, a second later, to go running forward. +</P> + +<P> +She was beside Thayer in the buggy, leaning forth, one hand extended as +Barry hurried toward her, her black eyes flashing eagerness, her full, +yet cold lips parted, her olive-skinned cheeks enlivened by a flush of +excitement as Houston came to her, forgetful of the sneer of the man at +her side, forgetful of the staring Ba'tiste in the background, +forgetful of his masquerade, of everything. +</P> + +<P> +"Agnes!" he gasped. "Why did you—" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought—" and the drawling voice of Fred Thayer had a suddenly +sobering effect on Houston, "that you weren't hurt very bad. Your +memory came back awful quick, didn't it? I thought she'd bring you to +your senses!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + + +<P> +Houston pretended not to hear the remark. The woman in the buggy was +holding forth her hands to him and he assisted her to the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," she asked, in a sudden fawning manner, "aren't you glad to see +me, Barry? Aren't you going to kiss me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course." He took her in his arms. "I—I was so surprised, Agnes. +I never thought of you—" +</P> + +<P> +"Naturally you didn't." It was Thayer again. "That's why I sent for +her. Thought you'd get your memory back when—" +</P> + +<P> +"I've had my memory for long enough—" Houston had turned upon him +coldly—"to know that from now on I'll run this place. You're through!" +</P> + +<P> +"Barry!" The woman had grasped his arm. "Don't talk like that. You +don't know what you're saying!" +</P> + +<P> +"Please, Agnes—" +</P> + +<P> +"Let him rave, if that's the way he wants to repay faithfulness." +</P> + +<P> +"Wait until I've talked to you, Barry. You haven't had time to think. +You've jumped at conclusions. Fred just thought that I could—" +</P> + +<P> +"This hasn't anything to do with you, Agnes. There hasn't been +anything wrong with me. My brain's been all right; I've known every +minute what I've been doing. This man's crooked, and I know he's +crooked. I needed time, and I shammed forgetfulness. I've gotten the +information I need now—and I'm repeating that he's through! And every +one else in this camp goes with him!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not in the habit of taking insults! I—" +</P> + +<P> +Thayer moved forward belligerently, one hand reaching toward a cant +hook near by. But suddenly he ceased. Ba'tiste, quite naturally, had +strolled between them. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu Houston have a broke' arm," had come very quietly. Thayer +grunted. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe that's the reason he thinks he can insult every one around here." +</P> + +<P> +Ba'tiste looked down upon him, as a Newfoundland would look upon a +snapping terrier. +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu Houston insult nobody." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +The voice of the big man rose to a roar. +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese say, M'sieu Houston insult nobody. Un'stan'? Ba'teese say +that! Ba'teese got no broke' arm!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who is this man?" The woman had turned angrily toward Barry; "What +right has he to talk this way? The whole thing's silly, as far as I +can see, Barry. This man, whoever he is, has been stuffing you full of +stories. There—" +</P> + +<P> +"This man, Agnes," and Barry Houston's voice carried a quality he never +before had used with Agnes Jierdon, "is the best friend I ever had. +You'll realize it before long. He not only has saved my life, but he's +going to help me save my business. I want you to know him and to like +him." +</P> + +<P> +A quick smile flashed over the full lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know, Barry. Pardon me." +</P> + +<P> +Houston turned to the introduction, while Agnes Jierdon held forth a +rather limp hand and while Ba'tiste, knit cap suddenly pulled from +straggly gray hair, bent low in acknowledgment. Thayer, grumbling +under his breath, started away. Houston went quickly toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"You understood me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly. I'm fired. I was good enough for your father, but you +know more than he did. I was—" +</P> + +<P> +"We won't go into that." +</P> + +<P> +"There's nothing about it that I'm ashamed of." +</P> + +<P> +Still the sneer was there, causing Barry's bandaged arm to ache for +freedom and strength. "I don't have to go around hiding my past." +</P> + +<P> +Houston bit down a retort and forced himself to the question: +</P> + +<P> +"How long will it take you to get out of here?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be out to-night. I don't stay where I'm not wanted. Needn't +think I'll hang around begging you for a job. There are plenty of 'em, +for men like me." +</P> + +<P> +"One that I know of, in particular. I asked you when you could get +out." +</P> + +<P> +"An hour, if you're so impatient about it. But I want my check first." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll get it, and everybody else connected with you. So you might as +well give the word." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment, Thayer stared at him in malignant hate, his gnarled hands +twisting and knotting. Then, with a sudden impulse, he turned away +toward the mill. A moment later the whistle blew and the saws ceased +to snarl. Barry turned back to Agnes and Ba'tiste. The woman caught +impulsively at his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Where on earth am I going to live, Barry?" she questioned. "I don't +want to go back to town. And I can't stay in this deserted place, if +every one is leaving it." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll keep the cook. She can fix you a room in one of the cottages and +stay there with you. However, it would be best to go back." +</P> + +<P> +"But I won't." She shook her head with an attempt at levity. "I've +come all this distance, worried to death every moment over you, and now +I'm going to stay until I'm sure that everything's all right. Besides, +Barry," she moved close to him, "you'll need me. Won't you? Haven't I +always been near you when you've needed me? And aren't you taking on +the biggest sort of job now?" +</P> + +<P> +Houston smiled at her. True, she had always been near in time of +trouble and it was only natural that now— +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," came his answer. "Come, I'll have you made comfortable in +the cottage." Then, as he started away, "May I see you, Ba'tiste, +sometime to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>." The Canadian was moving toward his wagon and the waiting +dog. "In the cabin." +</P> + +<P> +Three hours later, the last of the men paid off, Agnes installed in the +best of three little cottages in care of the motherly old cook, Barry +Houston approached the door of Ba'tiste's cabin, the wolf-dog, who had +picked him up a hundred yards away, trotting beside him. There was a +light within; in the shadows by the grave, a form moved,—old Lost +Wing. Medaine was there, then. Barry raised his hand to knock,—and +halted. His name had been mentioned angrily; then again,—followed by +the voice of the girl: +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what it is, Ba'tiste. Fred wouldn't tell me, except that +it was something too horrible for me to know. And I simply can't do +what you say. I can't be pleasant to him when I feel this way." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I know. I want to be fair, and I try to be. I speak to him when +I meet him; isn't that enough? We're not old friends; we're hardly +even acquaintances. And if there is something in his past to be +ashamed of, isn't it best that we simply remain that way? I—" +</P> + +<P> +Then she ceased. Houston had knocked on the door. A second later, he +entered the cabin, to return Medaine Robinette's cool but polite +greeting in kind, and to look apprehensively toward Ba'tiste Renaud. +But the old man's smile was genuine. +</P> + +<P> +"We have been talk' about you, <I>oui</I>, yes!" he said. "Eh, Medaine?" +</P> + +<P> +It was one of his thrusts. The girl colored, then turned toward the +door. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid I've stayed longer than I intended," she apologized. "It's +late. Good night." +</P> + +<P> +Then she was gone. Houston looked at Ba'tiste, but the old +French-Canadian merely waved a big hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Woman," he said airily, "peuff! She is strange. Eet is nothing. Eet +will pass. Now," as though the subject had been dismissed, "what mus' +Ba'teese do?" +</P> + +<P> +"At the mill? I wish, if you don't mind, that you'd guard it for me. +I'm going to Denver on the morning train to hire a new crew. I don't +want Thayer to do anything to the mill in my absence." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>. It shall be. You will sleep here?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you don't mind? It's nearer Tabernacle." +</P> + +<P> +"Bon—good! Golemar!" And the dog scratched at the door. "Come, we +shall go to the mill. We are the watchmen, yes?" +</P> + +<P> +"But I didn't mean for you to start to-night. I just thought—" +</P> + +<P> +"There is no time like the minute," answered the Canadian quietly. +"To-night, you shall be Ba'teese, <I>oui</I>, yes. Ba'teese shall be you." +</P> + +<P> +Pulling his knit cap on his head, he went out into the darkness and to +the guardianship of the mill that belonged—to a man who looked like +his Pierre. As for Houston, the next morning found him on the +uncomfortable red cushions of the smoking car as the puffing train +pulled its weary, way through the snowsheds of Crestline Mountain, on +the way over the range. Evening brought him to Denver, and the three +days which followed carried with them the sweaty smell of the +employment offices and the gathering of a new crew. Then, tired, +anxious with an eagerness that he never before had known, he turned +back to the hills. +</P> + +<P> +Before, in the days agone, they had been only mountains, reminders of +an eruptive time in the cooling of the earth,—so many bumpy places +upon a topographical railroad map. But now,—now they were different. +They seemed like home. They were the future. They were the housing +place of the wide spaces where the streams ran through green valleys, +where the sagebrush dotted the plateau plains, and where the world was +a thing with a rim about it; hills soft blue and brown and gray and +burning red in the sunlight, black, crumpled velvet beneath the moon +and stars; hills where the pines grew, where his life awaited him, a +new thing to be remolded nearer to his own desires, and where lived +Ba'tiste, Agnes—and Medaine. +</P> + +<P> +Houston thought of her with a sudden cringing. +</P> + +<P> +In that moment as he stood outside the door of Ba'tiste's cabin, he had +heard himself sealed and delivered to oblivion as far as she was +concerned. He was only an acquaintance—one with a grisly shadow in +his past—and it was best that he remain such. Grudgingly, Barry +admitted the fact to himself, as he sat once more in the red-plush +smoking car, surrounded by heavy-shouldered, sodden-faced men, his new +crew, en route to Empire Lake. It was best. There was Agnes, with her +debt of gratitude to be paid and with her affection for him, which in +its blindness could not discern the fact that it was repaid only as a +sense of duty. There was the fight to be made,—and the past. Houston +shuddered with the thought of it. Things were only as they should be; +grimly he told himself that he had erred in even thinking of happiness +such as comes to other men. His life had been drab and gray; it must +remain so. +</P> + +<P> +Past the gleaming lakes and eternal banks of snow the train crawled to +the top of the world at Crestline, puffed and clattered through the +snowsheds, then clambered down the mountain side to Tabernacle. With +his dough-faced men about him, Houston sought transportation, at last +to obtain it, then started the journey to the mill. +</P> + +<P> +Into the caņon and to the last rise. Then a figure showed before him, +a gigantic form, running and tumbling through the underbrush at one +side of the road, a dog bounding beside him. It was Ba'tiste, excited, +red-faced, his arms waving like windmills, his voice booming even from +a distance: +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu Houston! M'sieu Houston! Ba'teese have fail! Ba'teese no +good! He watch for you—he is glad you come! Ba'teese ashame'! +Ashame'!" +</P> + +<P> +He had reached the wagon now, panting, still striving to talk and +failing for lack of breath, his big hands seeking to fill in the spaces +where words had departed. Houston leaned toward him, gripping him by a +massive shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"What's happened? What's—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese ashame'!" came again between puffs of the big lungs. +"Ba'teese watch one, two, t'ree night. Nothin' happen. Ba'teese think +about his lost trap. He think mebbe there is one place where he have +not look'. He say to Golemar he will go for jus' one, two hour. +Nobody see, he think. So he go. And he come back. Blooey! Eet is +done! Ba'teese have fail!" +</P> + +<P> +"But what, Ba'tiste? It wasn't your fault. Don't feel that way about +it? Has anything happened to Agnes?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. The mill." +</P> + +<P> +"They've—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Look!" +</P> + +<P> +They had reached the top of the rise. Below them lay something which +caused Barry Houston to leap to his feet unmindful of the jolting +wagon, to stand weaving with white-gripped hands, to stare with +suddenly deadened eyes— +</P> + +<P> +Upon a blackened, smoldering mass of charred timbers and twisted +machinery. The remainder of all that once had been his mill! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + + +<P> +Words would not come for a moment. Houston could only stare and +realize that his burden had become greater than ever. In the wagons +behind him were twenty men, guaranteed at least a month of labor, and +now there was nothing to provide it. The mill was gone; the blade was +still hanging in its sockets, a useless, distempered thing; the boiler +was bent and blackened, the belting burned; the carriages and muley +saws and edgers and trimmers were only so much junk. He turned at last +to Ba'tiste, to ask tritely what he knew could not be answered: +</P> + +<P> +"But how did it happen, Ba'tiste? Didn't any one see?" +</P> + +<P> +The Canadian shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese come back. Eet is done." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's see Agnes. Maybe she can tell us something." +</P> + +<P> +But the woman, her arms about Houston's neck, could only announce +hysterically that she had seen the mill burning, that she had sought +help and had failed to find it. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you noticed no one around the place?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only Ba'tiste." +</P> + +<P> +"But that was an hour or so before." +</P> + +<P> +The big French-Canadian had moved away, to stand in doleful +contemplation of the charred mass. The voice of Agnes Jierdon sank low: +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, Barry. I don't want to accuse—" +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mean—" +</P> + +<P> +"All I know is that I saw him leave the place and go over the hill. +Fifteen minutes later, I saw the mill burning and ran down there. All +about the place rags were burning and I could smell kerosene. That's +all I saw. But in the absence of any one else, what should a person +think?" +</P> + +<P> +Houston's lips pressed tight. He turned angrily, the old grip of +suspicion upon him,—suspicion that would point in time of stress to +every one about him, suspicion engendered by black days of +hopelessness, of despair. But in an instant, it all was gone; the +picture of Ba'tiste Renaud, standing there by the embers, the honesty +of his expression of sorrow, the slump of his shoulders, while the dog, +unnoticed, nuzzled its cold nose in a limp hand, was enough to wipe it +all out forever. Houston's eyes went straight to those of Agnes +Jierdon and centered there. +</P> + +<P> +"Agnes," came slowly, "I want to ask a favor. No matter what may +happen, no matter what you may think personally, there is one man who +trusts me as much as you have trusted me, and whom I shall trust in +return. That man is Ba'tiste Renaud, my friend. I hope you can find a +friend in him too; but if you can't, please, for me, never mention it." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, of course not, Barry." She laughed in an embarrassed manner and +drew away from him. "I just thought I'd tell you what I knew. I +didn't have any idea you were such warm comrades. We'll forget the +whole incident." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you." Then to Ba'tiste he went, to bang him on the shoulder, +and with an effort to whirl him about. "Well!" he demanded, in an echo +of Ba'tiste's own thundering manner, "shall we stand here and weep? +Or—" +</P> + +<P> +"Eet was my fault!" The French-Canadian still stared at the ruins. +"Eet is all Ba'teese' fault—" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you were my friend, Ba'tiste." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Sacre</I>! I am." +</P> + +<P> +"Then show it! We'll not be able to make a case against the +firebugs—even though you and I may be fairly sure who did it. Anyway, +it isn't going to break us. I've got about fifteen thousand in the +bank. There's enough lumber around here to build a new saw-shed of a +sort, and money to buy a few saws, even if we can't have as good a +place as we had before. We can manage. And I need help—I won't be +able to move without you. But—" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"But," and Barry smiled at him, "if you ever mention any responsibility +for this thing again—you're fired. Do we understand each other?" +</P> + +<P> +Very slowly the big trapper turned and looked down into the frank, +friendly eyes of the younger man. He blinked slightly, and then one +tremendous arm encircled Houston's shoulder for just a moment. At last +a smile came, to grow stronger. The grip about the shoulders +tightened, suddenly to give way to a whanging blow, as Batiste, jovial +now, drew away, pulled back his shoulders and squared himself as though +for some physical encounter. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>!" He bellowed. "<I>Oui, oui, oui</I>! <I>Bon</I>—good! Ba'teese, +he un'stan'. Now what you want me to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Take this bunch of men and turn to at clearing away this wreckage. +Then," and he smiled his confidence at Renaud, "make your plans for the +building of a saw-shed. That is—if you really want to go through with +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui—oui</I>!" The Canadian waved his arms excitedly and summoned +his men. For a moment, Barry stood watching, then returning to Agnes, +escorted her toward her cottage. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think," he asked, as they walked along, "that you'd better +be going back? This isn't just the place for a woman, Agnes." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because—well for one thing, this is a man's life out here, not a +woman's. There's no place for you—nothing to interest you or hold +you. I can't guarantee you any company except that of a cook—or some +one like that." +</P> + +<P> +"But Mr. Thayer—" and Houston detected a strange tone in the +voice—"spoke of a very dear friend of yours, in whom I might be +greatly interested." +</P> + +<P> +"A friend of mine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—a Miss Robinette. Fred said that she was quite interested in +you." +</P> + +<P> +Houston laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"She is—by the inverse ratio. So much, in fact, that she doesn't care +to be anywhere near me. She knows—" and he sobered, "that there's +something—back there." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed?" They had reached the cottage and the subject was +discontinued. Agnes lingered a moment on the veranda. "I suppose I'm +never to see anything of you?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's just it, Agnes. It makes me feel like a cad to have you out +here—and then not to be able to provide any entertainment for you. +And, really, there's no need to worry about me. I'm all right—with +the exception of this broken arm. And it'll be all right in a couple +of weeks. Besides, there's no telling what may happen. You can see +from the burning of this mill that there isn't any love lost between +Thayer and myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Barry! You don't think he had anything to do with it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know he did. Directly or indirectly, he was back of it. I haven't +had much of a chance to talk to you, Agnes, but this much is a +certainty: Thayer is my enemy, for business reasons. I know of no +other. He believes that if he can make the going rough enough for me +that I'll quit, lease him my stumpage, and let him go into business for +himself. So far, he hasn't had much luck—except to tie me up. He may +beat me; I don't know. Then again, he may not. But in the meanwhile, +you can see, Agnes, that the battlefield is going to be no place for a +woman." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Barry, you're wrong. I think you've done an injustice to—" +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't tell me that, Agnes. I put so much faith in your +beliefs. But in this case, I've heard it from his own lips—I've seen +his telegrams. I know!" +</P> + +<P> +The woman turned quickly. For a moment she examined, in an absent sort +of way, the blossoms of a climbing rose, growing, quite uninvited, up +the porch pillar of the cottage. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe you're right, Barry. Probably I will go away. But I want to be +sure that you're all right first." +</P> + +<P> +"Would you care to go to the village to-night? There's a picture show +there—and we could at least get a dish of ice cream and some candy." +</P> + +<P> +"I think not," came the answer in a tired voice. "It's so far; +besides, all this excitement has given me a headache. Go back to your +work and forget about me. I think that I'll go to bed immediately I've +had something to eat." +</P> + +<P> +"You're not ill?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only a headache—and with me, bed is always the best place for that. +I suppose you'll go to Denver in the morning for new saws?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll wait until you return before I make up my mind. Good-by." +She bent forward to be kissed, and Barry obeyed the command of her lips +with less of alacrity than ever before. Nor could he tell the reason. +Five minutes more and he was back at the mill, giving what aid he could +with his uninjured arm. +</P> + +<P> +Night, and he traveled with Ba'tiste to his cabin, only to fret +nervously about the place and at last to strike out once more, on foot, +for the lumber camp. He was worried, nervous; in a vague way he +realized that he had been curt, almost brusque, with a woman for whom +he felt every possible gratitude and consideration. Nor had he +inquired about her when work had ended for the day. Had the excuse of +a headache been made only to cover feelings that had been deeply +injured? Or had it meant a blind to veil real, serious illness? For +three years, Barry Houston had known Agnes Jierdon in day-to-day +association. But never had he remembered her in exactly the light that +he had seen her to-day. There had been a strangeness about her, a +sharpness that he could not understand. +</P> + +<P> +He stopped just at the entrance to the mill clearing and looked toward +the cottage. It was darkened. Barry felt that without at least the +beckoning of a light to denote the wakefulness of the cook, he could +not in propriety go there, even for an inquiry regarding the condition +of the woman whom he felt that some day he would marry. Aimlessly he +wandered about, staring in the moonlight at the piled-up remains of his +mill, then at last he seated himself on a stack of lumber, to rest a +moment before the return journey to Ba'tiste's cabin. But suddenly he +tensed. A low whistle had come from the edge of the woods, a hundred +yards away, and Barry listened attentively for its repetition, but it +did not come. Fifteen minutes he waited, then rose, the better to +watch two figures that had appeared for just a moment silhouetted in +the moonlight at the bald top of a small hill. A man and a woman were +walking close together,—the woman, it seemed, with her head against +the man's shoulder; the man evidently with his arm about her. +</P> + +<P> +There was no time for identities. A second more and they had faded +into the shadows. Barry rose and started toward the darkened cottage, +only to turn again into the road. +</P> + +<P> +"Foolishness!" he chided himself as he plodded along. "She doesn't +know any one but Thayer—and what if she does? It's none of my +business. She's the one who has the claim on me; I have none on her!" +</P> + +<P> +And with this decision he walked on. A mile—two. Then a figure came +out of the woods just ahead of him, cut across the road and detoured +into the scraggly hills on the other side, without noticing the +approaching Houston in the shadows. But Barry had been more fortunate. +The moonlight had shown full on the man's lean face and gangling form; +it was undoubtedly Fred Thayer. He was still in the neighborhood, then. +</P> + +<P> +Had he been the man in the woods,—the one who had stood silhouetted on +the hill top? Barry could only guess. Again he chided himself for his +inquisitiveness and walked on. Almost to Ba'tiste's cabin he went; at +last to turn from the road at the sound of hoofbeats, then to stare as +Medaine Robinette, on horseback, passed him at a trot, headed toward +her home, the shadowy Lost Wing, on his calico pony, straggling along +in the rear. The next morning he went to Denver, still wondering, as +he sought to make himself comfortable on the old red plush seats, +wondering whether the girl he had seen in the forest with the man he +now felt sure was Fred Thayer had been Agnes Jierdon or Medaine +Robinette, whom, in spite of her coldness to him, in spite of her +evident distaste and revulsion that was so apparent in their meetings, +had awakened within him a thing he had believed, in the drabness of his +gray, harassed life, could never exist,—the thrill and the yearnings +of love. +</P> + +<P> +It was a question which haunted him during the days in which he cut +into his bank account with the purchase of the bare necessities of a +sawmill. It was a question which followed him back to Tabernacle, +thence across country to camp. But it was one that was not to be +answered. Things had happened again. +</P> + +<P> +Ba'tiste was not at the mill, where new foundations had appeared in +Houston's absence. A workman pointed vaguely upward, and Barry hurried +on toward the lake, clambering up the hill nearest the clearing, that +he might take the higher and shorter road. +</P> + +<P> +He found no Ba'tiste but there was something else which held Houston's +interest for a moment and which stopped him, staring wonderingly into +the distance. A new skidway had made its appearance on the side of the +jutting mountain nearest the dam. Logs were tumbling downward in slow, +but steady succession, to disappear, then to show themselves, bobbing +jerkily outward toward the center of the lake. That skidway had not +been there before. Certainly, work at the mill had not progressed to +such an extent that Ba'tiste could afford to start cutting timber +already. Houston turned back toward the lower camp road, wondering +vaguely what it all could mean, striving to figure why Ba'tiste should +have turned to logging operations instead of continuing to stress every +workman's ability on the rebuilding of the burned structure. A mile he +went—two—then halted. +</P> + +<P> +A thunderous voice was booming belligerently from the distance: +</P> + +<P> +"You lie—un'stan'? Ba'teese say you lie—if you no like eet, +jus'—what-you-say—climb up me! Un'stan'? Climb up me!" +</P> + +<P> +Houston broke into a run, racing along the flume with constantly +increasing speed as he heard outburst after outburst from the giant +trapper, interjected by the lesser sounds of argumentative voices in +reply. Faintly he heard a woman's voice, then Ba'tiste's in sudden +command: +</P> + +<P> +"Go on—you no belong here. Ba'tiste, he handle this. Go 'long!" +</P> + +<P> +Faster than ever went Barry Houston, at last to make the turn of the +road as it followed the flume, and to stop, breathless, just in time to +escape colliding with the broad back of the gigantic Canadian, squared +as he was, half across the road. Facing him were five men with shovels +and hammers, workmen of the Blackburn camp, interrupted evidently in +the building of some sort of contraption which led away into the woods. +Houston looked more closely, then gasped. It was another flume; they +were making a connection with his own; already water had been diverted +from the main flume and was flowing down the newly boarded conduit +which led to the Blackburn mill. A lunge and he had taken his place +beside Renaud. +</P> + +<P> +"What's this mean?" he demanded angrily, to hear his words echoed by +the booming voice of his big companion: +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>! Yes—what this mean? Huh?" +</P> + +<P> +The foreman looked up caustically. +</P> + +<P> +"I've told you about ten times," he answered, addressing himself to +Ba'tiste. "We're building a connection on our flume." +</P> + +<P> +"Our flume?" Houston gasped the words. "Where do you get that 'our' +idea? I own this flume and this lake and this flume site—" +</P> + +<P> +"If your name's Houston, I guess you do," came the answer. "But if you +can read and write, you ought to know that while you may own it, you +don't use it. That's our privilege from now on, in cold black and +white. As far as the law is concerned, this is our flume, and our +water, and our lake, and our woods back there. And we're going to use +all of 'em, as much as we please—and it's your business to stay out of +our way!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + + +<P> +The statement took Houston off his feet for a moment; but recovery came +just as quickly, a recoil with the red splotches of anger blazing +before his eyes, the surge of hot blood sweeping through his veins, the +heat of conflict in his brain. His good hand clenched. A leap and he +had struck the foreman on the point of the chin, sending him reeling +backward, while the other men rushed to his assistance. +</P> + +<P> +"That's my answer to you!" shouted Houston. "This is my flume and—" +</P> + +<P> +"Run tell Thayer!" shouted the foreman, and then with recovering +strength, he turned for a cant hook. But Ba'tiste seized it first, and +with a great wrench, threw it far out of the way. Then, like some +great, human trip hammer, he swung into action, spinning Houston out of +the way as he went forward, his big fists churning, his voice bellowing +his call of battle: +</P> + +<P> +"Climb up me! Climb up me!" +</P> + +<P> +The foreman stooped for a club,—and rose just in time to be lifted +even higher, at the point of Ba'tiste's right fist then to drop in a +lump. Then they were all about him, seeking for an opening, fists +pounding, heavy shoes kicking at shins, while in the rear, Houston, +scrambling around with his one arm, almost happy with the enthusiasm of +battle, swung hard and often at every opportunity, then swerved and +covered until he could bring his fist into action again. +</P> + +<P> +The fight grew more intense with a last spurt, then died out, as +Ba'tiste, seizing the smallest of the men, lifted him bodily and +swinging him much after the fashion of a sack of meal, literally used +him as a battering ram against the rest of the attacking forces. For a +last time, Houston hit a skirmisher and was hit in return. Then +Ba'tiste threw his human weapon from him, straight into the mass of men +whom he had driven back for a second, tumbling them all in a +scrambling, writhing heap at the edge of the flume. +</P> + +<P> +"Climb up me!" he bellowed, as they struggled to their feet. "Ah, +<I>oui</I>?" And the big arms moved threateningly. "Climb up me!" +</P> + +<P> +But the invitation was not accepted. Bloody, eyes discolored, mouth +and nose steadily swelling, the foreman moved away with his battered +crew, finally to disappear in the forest. Ba'tiste reached for the +cant hook, and balancing it lightly in one hand, sought a resting place +on the edge of the flume. Houston sat beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"What on earth can it all mean?" he asked, after a moment of thought. +</P> + +<P> +"They go back—get more men. Mebbe they think they whip us, <I>oui</I>? +Yes? Ba'teese use this, nex' time." He balanced the cant hook, +examining it carefully as though for flaws which might cause it to +break in contact with a human target. Barry went on: +</P> + +<P> +"I was talking about the flume. You heard what that fellow said—that +they had the woods, the lake and the flume to use as they pleased? +How—" +</P> + +<P> +"Mebbe they think they jus' take it." +</P> + +<P> +"Which they can't. I'm going back to the camp and get more men." +</P> + +<P> +"No." Ba'tiste grinned. "We got enough—you an' Ba'teese. I catch +'em with this. You take that club. If they get 'round me, you, +what-you-say, pickle 'em off." +</P> + +<P> +But the expected attack did not come. An hour they waited, and a hour +after that. Still no crowd of burly men came surging toward them from +the Blackburn camp, still no attempt was made to wrest from their +possession the waterway which they had taken over as their rightful +property. +</P> + +<P> +Houston studied the flume. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll have to get some men up here and rip out this connection," came +at last. "They've broken off our end entirely." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>! But we will stay here. By'm'by, Medaine come. We will +send her for men." +</P> + +<P> +"Medaine? That was she I heard talking?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>. She had come to ask me if she should bring me food. She was +riding. Ba'teese sen' her away. But she say she come back to see if +Ba'teese is all right." +</P> + +<P> +Houston shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"That's good. But I'm afraid that you won't find her doing anything to +help me out." +</P> + +<P> +"She will help Ba'teese," came simply from the big man, as the +iron-bound cant hook was examined for the fiftieth time. "Why they no +come, huh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Search me. Do you suppose they've given it up? It's a bluff on their +part, you know, Ba'tiste. They haven't any legal right to this land or +flume or anything else; they just figured that my mill was burned and +that I wouldn't be in a position to fight them. So they decided to +take over the flume and try to force us into letting them have it." +</P> + +<P> +"Here comes somebody!" Ba'tiste's grip tightened about the cant hook +and he rose, squaring himself. Houston seized the club and stood +waiting a few feet in the rear, in readiness for any one who might +evade the bulwark of blows which Ba'tiste evidently intended to set up. +Far in the woods showed the shadowy forms of three men, approaching +steadily and apparently without any desire for battle. Ba'tiste turned +sharply. "Your eye, keep heem open. Eet may be a blind." +</P> + +<P> +But Houston searched the woods in vain. There were no supporters +following the three men, no deploying groups seeking to flank them. A +moment more, and Ba'tiste, with a sudden exclamation, allowed his cant +hook to drop to the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"Wade!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" Houston came closer. +</P> + +<P> +"Eet is Thayer and Wade, the sheriff from Montview, and his deputy. +Peuff! Have he fool heem too?" +</P> + +<P> +Closer they came, and the sheriff waved a hand in friendly greeting. +Ba'tiste returned the gesture. Thayer, scowling, black-faced, dropped +slightly to the rear, allowing the two officials to take the lead—and +evidently do the talking. The sheriff grinned as he noticed the cant +hook on the ground. Then he looked up at Ba'tiste Renaud. +</P> + +<P> +"What's been going on here?" +</P> + +<P> +"This man," Ba'tiste nodded grudgingly toward the angular form of Fred +Thayer, "heem a what-you-say a big bomb. This my frien', M'sieu +Houston. He own this flume. This Thayer's men, they try to jump it." +</P> + +<P> +"From the looks of them," chuckled the sheriff, "you jumped them. +They've got a young hospital over at camp. But seriously, Ba'tiste, I +think you're on the wrong track. Thayer and Blackburn have a perfect +right to this flume and to the use of the lake and what stumpage they +want from the Houston woods." +</P> + +<P> +"A right?" Barry went forward. "What right? I haven't given them—" +</P> + +<P> +"You're the owner of the land, aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, in a way. It was left to me conditionally." +</P> + +<P> +"You can let it out and sell the stumpage if you want to?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, what are you kicking about?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—simply on account of the fact that these men have no right to be on +the land, or to use it in any way. I haven't given them permission." +</P> + +<P> +"That's funny," the sheriff scratched his head; "they've just proved in +court that you have." +</P> + +<P> +"In court? I—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh. I've got an injunction in my pocket to prevent you from +interfering with them. Judge Bardley gave it in Montview about an hour +ago, and we came over by automobile." +</P> + +<P> +"But why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" the sheriff stared at him. "When you give a man a lease, you +have to live up to it in this country." +</P> + +<P> +"But I've given no one—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, show it to him, sheriff." Thayer came angrily forward. "No use +to let him stand there and lie." +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I want to see!" Houston squared himself grimly. "If +you've got a lease, or anything else, I want to look at it." +</P> + +<P> +"You know your own writing, don't you?" The sheriff was fishing in his +pockets. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course." +</P> + +<P> +"You'd admit it if you saw it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not trying to hide anything. But I know that I've not given any +lease, and I've not sold any stumpage and—" +</P> + +<P> +"Then, what's this?" The sheriff had pulled two legal documents from +his pocket, and unfolding them, had shown Houston the bottom of each. +Barry's eyes opened wide. +</P> + +<P> +"That's—that's my signature," came at last. +</P> + +<P> +"This one's the same, isn't it?" The second paper was shoved forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I don't see what you're kicking about. Do you know any one named +Jenkins, who is a notary public?" +</P> + +<P> +"He works in my office in Boston." +</P> + +<P> +"That's his writing, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And his seal." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose so." Bewildered, Houston was looking at the papers with +glazed eyes. "It looks like it." +</P> + +<P> +"Then," and the sheriff's voice went brusque, "what right have you to +try to run these men off of property for which you've given them a +bona-fide lease, and to which you've just admitted your signature as +genuine?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've—I've given no lease. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Then look 'em over. If that isn't a lease to the lake and flume and +flume site, and if the second one isn't a contract for stumpage at a +dollar and a half a thousand feet,—well, then, I can't read." +</P> + +<P> +"But I'm telling you that I didn't give it to them." Houston had +reached for the papers with a trembling hand. "There's a fraud about +it somewhere!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see where there can be any fraud when you admit your +signature, and there's a notary's seal attached." +</P> + +<P> +"But there is! I can't tell you why—but—" +</P> + +<P> +"Statements like that don't count in law. There are the papers and +they're duly signed and you've admitted your signature. If there's any +fraud about it, you've got the right to prove it. But in the +meanwhile, the court's injunction stands. You've leased this land to +these men, and you can't interfere with them. Understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"All right." Houston moved hazily back, away from the flume site. +Ba'tiste stood staring glumly, wondering, at the papers which had been +returned to the sheriff. "But I know this, that it's a +fakery—somehow—and I'll prove it. I have absolutely no memory of +ever signing any such papers as that, or of even talking to any one +about selling stumpage at a figure that you should know is ridiculous. +Why, you can't even buy the worst kind of timber from the government at +that price! I don't remember—" +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't I tell you?" Thayer had turned to the sheriff. "There he goes +pulling that loss of memory stunt again. That's one of his best little +bets," he added sneering, "to lose his memory." +</P> + +<P> +"I've never lost it yet!" +</P> + +<P> +"No—then you can forget things awfully easy. Such as coming out here +and pretending not to know who you were. Guess you forgot your +identity for a minute, didn't you? Just like you forgot signing this +lease and stumpage contract! Yeh, you're good at that—losing your +memory. You never remember anything that happens. You can't even +remember the night you murdered your own cousin, can you?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's a—" +</P> + +<P> +"See, sheriff? His memory's bad." All the malice and hate of pent-up +enmity was in Fred Thayer's voice now. One gnarled hand went forward +in accusation. "He can't even remember how he killed his own cousin. +But if he can't, I can. Ask him about the time when he slipped that +mallet in his pocket at a prize fight and then went on out with his +cousin. Ask him what became of Tom Langdon after they left that prize +fight. He won't be able to tell you, of course. He loses his memory; +all he will be able to remember is that his father spent a lot of money +and hired some good lawyers and got him out of it. He won't be able to +tell you a thing about how his own cousin was found with his skull +crushed in, and the bloody wooden mallet lying beside him—the mallet +that this fellow had stolen the night before at a prize fight! He +won't—" +</P> + +<P> +White-hot with anger, Barry Houston lurched forward, to find himself +caught in the arms of the sheriff and thrown back. He whirled,—and +stopped, looking with glazed, deadened eyes into the blanched, +horrified features of a girl who evidently had heard the accusation, a +girl who stood poised in revulsion a moment before she turned, and, +almost running, hurried to mount her horse and ride away. And the +strength of anger left the muscles of Barry Houston. The red flame of +indignation turned to a sodden, dead thing. He could only realize that +Medaine Robinette now knew the story. That Medaine Robinette had heard +him accused without a single statement given in his own behalf; that +Medaine, the girl of his smoke-wreathed dreams, now fully and +thoroughly believed him—a murderer! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + + +<P> +Dully Houston turned back to the sheriff and to the goggle-eyed +Ba'tiste, trying to fathom it all. Weakly he motioned toward Thayer, +and his words, when they came, were hollow and expressionless: +</P> + +<P> +"That's a lie, Sheriff. I'll admit that I have been accused of murder. +I was acquitted. You say that nothing counts but the court action—and +that's all I have to say in my behalf. The jury found me not guilty. +In regard—to this, I'll obey the court order until I can prove to the +judge's satisfaction that this whole thing is a fraud and a fake. In +the meanwhile—" he turned anxiously, almost piteously, "do you care to +go with me, Ba'tiste?" +</P> + +<P> +Heavily, silently, the French-Canadian joined him, and together they +walked down the narrow road to the camp. Neither spoke for a long +time. Ba'tiste walked with his head deep between his shoulders, and +Houston knew that memories were heavy upon him, memories of his +Julienne and the day that he came home to find, instead of a waiting +wife, only a mound beneath the sighing pines and a stalwart cross above +it. As for Houston, his own life had gone gray with the sudden +recurrence of the past. He lived again the first days of it all, when +life had been one constant repetition of questions, then solitude, +questions and solitude, as the homicide squad brought him up from his +cell to inquire about some new angle that they had come upon, to +question him regarding his actions on the night of the death of Tom +Langdon, then to send him back to "think it over" in the hope that the +constant tangle of questions might cause him to change his story and +give them an opening wedge through which they could force him to a +confession. He lived again the black hours in the dingy courtroom, +with its shadows and soot spots brushing against the window, the twelve +blank-faced men in the jury box, and the witnesses, one after another, +who went to the box in an effort to swear his life away. He went again +through the agony of the new freedom—the freedom of a man imprisoned +by stronger things than mere bars and cells of steel—when first he had +gone into the world to strive to fight back to the position he had +occupied before the pall of accusation had descended upon him, and to +fight seemingly in vain. Friends had vanished, a father had gone to +his grave, believing almost to the last that it had been his money and +the astuteness of his lawyers that had obtained freedom for a guilty +son, certainly not a self-evidence of innocence that had caused the +twelve men to report back to the judge that they had been unable to +force their convictions "beyond the shadow of a doubt." A nightmare +had it been and a nightmare it was again, as drawn-featured, +stoop-shouldered, suddenly old and haggard, Barry Houston walked down +the logging road beside a man whose mind also had been recalled to +thoughts of murder. A sudden fear went over the younger man; he +wondered whether this great being who walked at his side had believed, +and at last in desperation, he faced him. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Ba'tiste," came in strained tones, "I might as well hear it now +as at any other time. They've about got me whipped, anyway, so you'll +only be leaving a sinking ship." +</P> + +<P> +"What you mean?" The French-Canadian stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"Just the plain facts. I'm about at the end of my rope; my mill's all +but gone, my flume is in the hands of some one else, my lake is leased, +and Thayer can make as many inroads on my timber as he cares to, as +long as he appeases the court by paying me the magnificent sum of a +dollar and a half a thousand for it. So, you see, there isn't much +left for me." +</P> + +<P> +"What you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"That depends entirely on you—and what effect that accusation made. +If you're with me, I fight. If not—well frankly—I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"'Member the mill, when he burn down?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"You no believe Ba'teese did heem. <I>Oui</I>, yes? Well, now I no believe +either!" +</P> + +<P> +"Honestly, Ba'tiste?" Houston had gripped the other man's arm. "You +don't believe it? You don't—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese believe M'sieu Houston. You look like my Pierre. My Pierre, +he could do no wrong. Ba'teese satisfy." +</P> + +<P> +It sent a new flow of blood through the veins of Barry Houston,—that +simple, quiet statement of the old trapper. He felt again a surge of +the fighting instinct, the desire to keep on and on, to struggle until +the end, and to accept nothing except the bitterest, most absolute +defeat. He quickened his pace, the French-Canadian falling in with +him. His voice bore a vibrant tone, almost of excitement: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going back to Boston to-night. I'm going to find out about this. +I can get a machine at Tabernacle to take me over the range; it may +save me time in catching a train at Denver. There's some fraud, +Ba'tiste. I know it.—and I'll prove it if I can get back to Boston. +We'll stop by the cottage down here and see Miss Jierdon; then I'm +gone!" +</P> + +<P> +"She no there. She, what-you-say, smash up 'quaintance with Medaine. +She ask to go there and stay day or two." +</P> + +<P> +"Then she'll straighten things out, Ba'tiste. I'm glad of it. She +knows the truth about this whole thing—every step of the way. Will +you tell her?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>. Ba'teese tell her—about the flume and M'sieu Thayer, what he +say. But Ba'teese—" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +The trapper was silent a moment. At last: +</P> + +<P> +"You like her, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Medaine?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—the other." +</P> + +<P> +"A great deal, Ba'teese. She has meant everything to me; she was my +one friend when I was in trouble. She even went on the stand and +testified for me. What were you going to say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing," came the enigmatical reply. "Ba'teese will wait here. You +go Boston to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +And that night, in the moonlight, behind the rushing engine of a motor +car, Barry Houston once more rode the heights where Mount Taluchen +frowned down from its snowy pinnacles, where the road was narrow and +the turns sharp, and where the world beneath was built upon a scale of +miniature. But this time, the drifts had faded from beside the +highway; nodding flowers showed in the moonlight; the snow flurries +were gone. Soon the downward grade had come and after that the +straggling little town of Dominion. Early morning found Houston in +Denver, searching the train schedules. That night he was far from the +mountains, hurrying half across the continent in search of the thing +that would give him back his birthright. +</P> + +<P> +Weazened, wrinkle-faced little Jenkins met him at the office, to stare +in apparent surprise, then to rush forward with well-simulated +enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +"You're back, Mr. Houston! I'm so glad. I didn't know whether to send +the notice out to you in Colorado, or wire you. It just came +yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"The notice? Of what?" +</P> + +<P> +"The M. P. & S. L. call for bids. You've heard about it." +</P> + +<P> +But Houston shook his head. Jenkins stared. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you had. The Mountain, Plains and Salt Lake Railroad. I +thought you knew all about it." +</P> + +<P> +"The one that's tunneling Carrow Peak? I've heard about the road, but +I didn't know they were ready for bids for the western side of the +mountain yet. Where's the notice?" +</P> + +<P> +"Right on your desk, sir." +</P> + +<P> +Abstractedly, Houston picked it up and glanced at the +specifications,—for railroad ties by the million, for lumber, lathes, +station-house material, bridge timbers, and the thousands of other +lumber items that go into the making of a road. Hastily he scanned the +printed lines, only at last to place it despondently in a pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"Millions of dollars," he murmured. "Millions—for somebody!" +</P> + +<P> +And Houston could not help feeling that it was for the one man he +hated, Fred Thayer. The specifications called for freight on board at +the spurs at Tabernacle, evidently soon to have competition in the way +of railroad lines. And Tabernacle meant just one thing, the output of +a mill which could afford to put that lumber at the given point cheaper +then any other. The nearest other camp was either a hundred miles +away, on the western side, or so far removed over the range in the +matter of altitude that the freight rates would be prohibitive to a +cheaper bid. Thayer, with his ill-gotten flume, with his lake, with +his right to denude Barry Houston's forests at an insignificant cost, +could out-bid the others. He would land the contract, unless— +</P> + +<P> +"Jenkins!" Houston's voice was sharp, insistent. The weazened man +entered, rubbing his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. Right here, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"What contracts have we in the files?" +</P> + +<P> +"Several, sir. One for mining timber stulls, logs, and that sort of +thing, for the Machol Mine at Idaho Springs; one for the Tramway +company in Denver for two thousand ties to be delivered in June; one +for—" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mean that sort. Are there any stumpage contracts?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only one, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"One? What!" +</P> + +<P> +"The one you signed, sir, to Thayer and Blackburn, just a week or so +before you started out West. Don't you remember, sir; you signed it, +together with a lease for the flume site and lake?" +</P> + +<P> +"I signed nothing of the sort!" +</P> + +<P> +"But you did, sir. I attested it. I'll show it to you in just a +moment, sir. I have the copy right here." +</P> + +<P> +A minute later, Barry Houston was staring down at the printed lines of +a copy of the contract and lease which had been shown him, days before, +out in the mountains of Colorado. Blankly he looked toward the servile +Jenkins, awaiting the return of the documents, then toward the papers +again. +</P> + +<P> +"And I signed these, did I?" +</P> + +<P> +"You certainly did, sir. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon. +I remember it perfectly." +</P> + +<P> +"You're lying!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't lie, sir. I attested the signature and saw you read both +contracts. Pardon, sir, but if any one's lying, sir—it's yourself!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + + +<P> +Ten minutes after that, Barry Houston was alone in his office. Jenkins +was gone, discharged; and Houston felt a sort of relief in the +knowledge that he had departed. The last of the Thayer clan, he +believed, had been cleaned out of his organization—and it was like +lightening a burden to realize it. +</P> + +<P> +That the lease and stumpage contract were fraudulent, Barry Houston was +certain. Surely he had seen neither of them; and the signing must have +been through some sort of trickery of which he was unaware. But would +such a statement hold in court? Houston learned, a half-hour later, +that it wouldn't, as he faced the family attorney, in his big, bleak, +old-fashioned office. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right, Barry, for you to tell me that you didn't sign it," +came the edict. "I'd believe you—because I feel sure you wouldn't lie +to me. But it would be pretty thin stuff to tell to a jury. There is +the contract and the lease in black and white. Both bear your +signature which, you have declared in the presence of witnesses, to be +genuine. Even when a man signs a paper while insane, it's a hard job +to pull it back; and we certainly wouldn't have any witnesses who could +swear that you had lost your reason." +</P> + +<P> +"Nope," he concluded, giving the papers a flip, as though disposing of +the whole matter, "somebody has just worked the old sewing-machine +racket on you—with trimmings. This is an adaptation of a game that is +as old as the hills—the one where the solicitors would go up to a +farmhouse, sell a man a sewing-machine or a cream separator at a +ridiculous figure, let him sign what he thought was a contract to pay a +certain amount a month for twelve months—and then take the promissory +note which he really had signed down to the bank and discount it. +Instead of a promissory note, they made this a contract and a lease. +And just to make it good, they had their confederate, a legalized +notary public, put his seal upon it as a witness. You can't remember +when all this happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"According to Jenkins—who put the notary seal on there—the whole +thing was put over about a week or so before I left for the West. +That's the date on them too. About that time, I remember, I had a good +many papers to sign. A lot of legal stuff, if you'll remember, came up +about father's estate, in which my signature was more of a form than +anything else. I naturally suspected nothing, and in one or two +instances signed without reading." +</P> + +<P> +"And signed away your birthright—to this contract and lease. You did +it with no intention of giving your land and flume and flume site away, +that's true. If one of the men would be willing to confess to a +conspiracy, it would hold water in court. Otherwise not. You've been +bunked, and your signature is as legal and as binding as though you had +read that contract and lease-form a hundred times over. So I don't see +anything to do but to swallow your medicine with as little of a wry +face as possible." +</P> + +<P> +It was with this ultimatum that Houston turned again for the West, glad +to be out of Boston, glad to be headed back once more for the +mountains, in spite of the fact that the shadows of his life had +followed him even there, that the ill luck which seemed to have been +perched continuously on his shoulders for the past two years still +hovered, like a vulture, above him. What he was going to do, how he +could hope to combat the obstacles which had arisen was more than he +could tell. He had gone into the West, believing, at worst, that he +would be forced to become the general factotum of his own business. +Now he found there was not even a business; his very foundations had +been swept from beneath him, leaving only the determination, the grim, +earnest resolution to succeed where all was failure and to fight to +victory—but how? +</P> + +<P> +Personally, he could not answer the question, and he longed for the +sight of the shambling little station at Tabernacle, with Ba'tiste, in +answer to the telegram he had sent from Chicago, awaiting him with the +buggy from camp. And Ba'tiste was there, to boom at him, to call +Golemar's attention to the fact that a visit to a physician in Boston +had relieved the bandaged arm of all except the slightest form of a +splint, and to literally lift Houston into the buggy, tossing his +baggage in after him, then plump in beside him with excited happiness. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Bon</I>!" he rumbled. "It is good you are back. Ba'teese, he was +lonely. Ba'teese, he was so excite' when he hear you come. He have +good news!" +</P> + +<P> +"About what?" +</P> + +<P> +"The railroad. They are near' through with the tunnel. Now they shall +start upon the main road to Salt Lake. And they shall need +timbers—<I>beaucoup</I>! Ties and beams and materials! They have ask for +bids. Ah, <I>oui</I>. Eet is, what-you-say, the swollen chance! M'sieu +Houston shall bid lower than—" +</P> + +<P> +"How, Ba'tiste?" Houston asked the question with a dullness that +caused the aged trapper to turn almost angrily upon him. +</P> + +<P> +"How? Is eet putty that you are made of? Is eet—but no, Ba'teese, +he, what-you-say, misplace his head. You think there is no chance, eh? +Mebbe not. Me'bbe—" +</P> + +<P> +"I found a copy of that contract in our files. The clerk I had in the +office was in the conspiracy. I fired him and closed everything up +there; as far as a Boston end to the business is concerned, there is +none. But the damage is done. My lawyer says that there is not a +chance to fight this thing in court." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>. I expec' that much. But Ba'teese, he think, mebbe, of +another way. Eh, Golemar?" He shouted to the dog, trotting, as usual, +beside the buggy. "Mebbe we have a, what-you-say, punch of luck." +</P> + +<P> +Then, silent, he leaned over the reins. Houston too was quiet, +striving in vain to find a way out of the difficulties that beset him. +At the end of half an hour he looked up in surprise. They no longer +were on the way to the mill. The road had become rougher, hillier, and +Houston recognized the stream and the aspen groves which fringed the +highway leading to Ba'tiste's cabin. But the buggy skirted the cabin, +at last to bring into sight a snug, well-built, pretty little cottage +which Houston knew, instinctively, to be the home of Medaine Robinette. +At the veranda, Ba'tiste pulled on the reins and alighted. +</P> + +<P> +"Come," he ordered quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"She have land, and she have a part of the lake and a flume site." +</P> + +<P> +Houston hung back. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it a bad bet, Ba'tiste? Have you talked to her?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—I have not seen her since the day—at the flume. She is +here—Lost Wing is at the back of the cabin. We will talk to her, you +and I. Mebbe, when the spring come, she will lease to you the lake and +the flume site. Mebbe—" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well." But Houston said it against his will. He felt, in the +first place, that he would be presuming to ask it of her,—himself a +stranger against whom had come the accusation of murder, hardly denied. +Yet, withal, in a way, he welcomed the chance to see her and to seek to +explain to her the deadly thrusts which Fred Thayer had sent against +him. Then too a sudden hope came; Ba'tiste had said that Agnes Jierdon +had become friendly with her; certainly she had told the truth and +righted the wrongs of malicious treachery. He joined Ba'tiste with a +bound. A moment more and the door had opened, to reveal Medaine, +repressed excitement in her eyes, her features a trifle pale, her hand +trembling slightly as she extended it to Ba'tiste. Houston she +received with a bow,—forced, he thought. They went within, and +Ba'tiste pulled his queer little cap from his head, to crush it in the +grasp of his massive hands. +</P> + +<P> +"We have come for business, Medaine," he announced, with a slight show +of embarrassment. "M'sieu Houston, he have need for a flume site." +</P> + +<P> +"But I don't see where I could be of any assistance. I have no right—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! But eet is not for the moment present. Eet is for the +springtime." +</P> + +<P> +She seemed to hesitate then and Houston took a sudden resolve. It +might as well be now as later. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Robinette," he began, coming forward, "I realize that all this +needs some explanation. Especially," and he halted, "about myself." +</P> + +<P> +"But is that any of my affair?" Her old pertness was gone. She seemed +white and frightened, as though about to listen to something she would +rather not hear. Houston answered her as best he could: +</P> + +<P> +"That depends upon yourself, Miss Robinette. Naturally, you wouldn't +want to have any business dealings with a man who really was all that +you must believe me to be. It isn't a pleasant thing for me to talk +about—I would like to forget it. But in this case, it has been +brought up against my will. You were present a week ago when Thayer +accused me of murder." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Eet was a big lie!" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait just a minute, Ba'tiste." Cold sweat had made its appearance on +Barry Houston's forehead. "I—I—am forced to admit that a part of +what he said was true. When I first met Ba'tiste here, I told him +there was a shadow in my life that I did not like to talk about. He +was good enough to say that he didn't want to hear it. I felt that out +here, perhaps I would not be harassed by certain memories that have +been rather hard for me to bear in the last couple of years. I was +wrong. The thing has come up again, in worse form than ever and +without giving me a chance to make a denial. But perhaps you know the +whole story?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your story?" Medaine Robinette looked at him queerly. "No—I never +have heard it." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you've heard—" +</P> + +<P> +"Only accusations." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it fair to believe only one side of a thing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Please, Mr. Houston," and she looked at him with a certain note of +pleading, "you must remember that I—well, I didn't feel that it was +any of my business. I didn't know that circumstances would throw you +at all in my path." +</P> + +<P> +"But they have, Miss Robinette. The land on my side of the creek has +been taken from me by fraud. It is absolutely vital that I use every +resource to try to make my mill what it should be. It still is +possible for me to obtain lumber, but to get it to the mill +necessitates a flume and rights in the lake. I've lost that. We've +been hoping, Ba'tiste and myself, that we would be able to induce you +to lease us your portion of the lake and a flume site. Otherwise, I'm +afraid there isn't much hope." +</P> + +<P> +"As I said, that doesn't become my property until late spring, nearly +summer, in fact." +</P> + +<P> +"That is time enough. We are hoping to be able to bid for the railroad +contract. I believe it calls for the first shipment of ties about June +first. That would give us plenty of time. If we had your word, we +could go ahead, assemble the necessary machinery, snake a certain +amount of logs down through the snow this winter and be in readiness +when the right moment came. Without it, however, we can hardly hope +for a sufficient supply to carry us through. And so—" +</P> + +<P> +"You want to know—about heem. You have Ba'teese's word——" +</P> + +<P> +"Really—" she seemed to be fencing again. +</P> + +<P> +Houston, with a hard pull at his breath, came directly to the question. +</P> + +<P> +"It's simply this, Miss Robinette. If I am guilty of those things, you +don't want to have anything to do with me, and I don't want you to. +But I am here to tell you that I am not guilty, and that it all has +been a horrible blunder of circumstance. It is very true in one +sense—" and his voice lowered—"that about two years ago in Boston, I +was arrested and tried for murder." +</P> + +<P> +"So Mr. Thayer said." +</P> + +<P> +"I was acquitted—but not for the reason Thayer gave. They couldn't +make a case, they failed absolutely to prove a thing which, had I +really been guilty, should have been a simple matter. A worthless +cousin, Tom Langdon, was the man who was murdered. They said I did it +with a wooden mallet which I had taken from a prize fight, and which +had been used to hammer on the gong for the beginning and the end of +the rounds. I had been seen to take it from the fight, and it was +found the next morning beside Langdon. There was human blood on it. I +had been the last person seen with Langdon. They put two and two +together—and tried to convict me on circumstantial evidence. But they +couldn't convince the jury; I went free, as I should have done. I was +innocent!" +</P> + +<P> +Houston, white now with the memories and with the necessity of +retailing again in the presence of a girl who, to him, stood for all +that could mean happiness, gritted his teeth for the determination to +go on with the grisly thing, to hide nothing in the answers to the +questions which she might ask. But Medaine Robinette, standing beside +the window, the color gone from her cheeks, one hand lingering the +curtains, eyes turned without, gave no evidence that she had heard. +Ba'tiste, staring at her, waited a moment for her question. It did not +come. He turned to Houston. +</P> + +<P> +"You tell eet!" he ordered. There was something of the father about +him,—the father with a wayward boy, fearful of the story that might +come, yet determined to do everything within his power to aid a person +he loved. Houston straightened. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll try not to shield myself in any way," came at last. The words +were directed to Ba'tiste, but meant for Medaine Robinette. "There are +some things about it that I'd rather not tell—I wish I could leave +them out. But—it all goes. My word of honor—if that counts for +anything—goes with it. It's the truth, nothing else. +</P> + +<P> +"I had come home from France—invalided back. The records of the +Twenty-sixth will prove that. Gas. I was slated for out here—the +recuperation hospital at Denver. But we managed to persuade the army +authorities that I could get better treatment at home, and they gave me +a disability discharge in about ten months—honorable, of course. +After a while, I went back to work, still weak, but rather eager to get +at it, in an effort to gather up the strands which had become tangled +by the war. I was in the real-estate business then, for myself. Then, +one afternoon," his breath pulled sharp, "Tom Langdon came into my +office." +</P> + +<P> +"He was your cousin?" Ba'tiste's voice was that of a friendly +cross-examiner. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I hadn't seen him in five years. We had never had much to do +with him; we," and Houston smiled coldly with the turn that Fate had +given to conditions in the Houston family, "always had looked on him as +a sort of a black sheep. He had been a runaway from home; about the +only letters my uncle ever had received from him had asked for money to +get him out of trouble. Where he had been this time, I don't know. He +asked for my father and appeared anxious to see him. I told him that +father was out of town. Then he said he would stay in Boston until he +came back, that he had information for him that was of the greatest +importance, and that when he told father what it was, that he, Langdon, +could have anything my father possessed in the way of a job and a +competence for life. It sounded like blackmail—I could think of +nothing else coming from Tom Langdon—and I told him so. That was +unfortunate. There were several persons in my office at the time. He +resented the statement and we quarreled. They heard it and later +testified." +</P> + +<P> +Houston halted, tongue licking at dry lips. Medaine still gave no +indication that she had heard. Ba'tiste, his knit cap still crushed in +his big hands, moved forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Go on." +</P> + +<P> +"Gradually, the quarrel wore off and Tom became more than friendly, +still harping, however, on the fact that he had tremendous news for my +father. I tried to get rid of him. It was impossible. He suggested +that we go to dinner together and insisted upon it. There was nothing +to do but acquiesce; especially as I now was trying to draw from him +something of what had brought him there. We had wine. I was weak +physically. It went to my head, and Tom seemed to take a delight in +keeping my glass full. Oh," and he swerved suddenly toward the woman +at the window, "I'm not trying to make any excuses for myself. I +wanted if—after that first glass or two, it seemed there wasn't enough +in the world. He didn't force it on me—he didn't play the part of a +tempter or pour it down my throat. I took it readily enough. But I +couldn't stand it. We left the cafe, he fairly intoxicated, myself +greatly so. We saw the advertisement of a prize fight and went, +getting seats near the ring-side. They weren't close enough for me. I +bribed a fellow to let me sit at the press stand, next to the +timekeeper, and worried him until he let me have the mallet that he was +using to strike the gong. +</P> + +<P> +"The fight was exciting—especially to me in my condition. I was +standing most of the time, even leaning on the ring. Once, while in +this position, one of the men, who was bleeding, was knocked down. He +struck the mallet. It became covered with blood. No one seemed to +notice that, except myself—every one was too excited. A moment more +and the fight was over, through a knock-out. Then I stuck the mallet +in my pocket, telling every one who cared to hear that I was carrying +away a souvenir. Langdon and I went out together. +</P> + +<P> +"We started home—for he had announced that he was going to spend the +night with me. Persons about us heard him. It was not far to the +house and we decided to walk. On the way, he demanded the mallet for +himself and pulled it out of my pocket. I struggled with him for it, +finally however, to be bested, and started away. He followed me a +block or so, taunting me with his superior strength and cursing me as +the son of a man whom he intended to make bow to his every wish. I ran +then and, evading him, went home and to bed. About four o'clock in the +morning, I was awakened by the police. They had found Tom Langdon +dead, with his skull crushed, evidently by the blow of a club or a +hammer. They said I did it." +</P> + +<P> +A slight gasp traveled over the lips of Medaine, still by the window. +Ba'tiste, his features old and lined, reached out with one big hand and +patted the man on the shoulder. Then for a long time, there was +silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Eet is the lie, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'tiste," Houston turned appealingly to him "as I live, that's all I +know. I never saw Langdon after he took that mallet from me. Some one +killed him, evidently while he was wandering around, looking for me. +The mallet dropped by his side. It had blood on it—and they accused +me. It looked right—there was every form of circumstantial evidence +against me. And," the breath pulled hard, "what was worse, everybody +believed that I killed him. Even my best friends—even my father." +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese no believe it." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" Houston turned to him in hope,—in the glimmering chance that +perhaps there was something in the train of circumstances that would +have prevented the actuality of guilt. But the answer, while it +cheered him, was rather disconcerting. +</P> + +<P> +"You look like my Pierre. Pierre, he could do no wrong. You look like +heem." +</P> + +<P> +It was sufficient for the old French-Canadian. But Houston knew it +could carry but little weight with the girl by the window. He went on: +</P> + +<P> +"Only one shred of evidence was presented in my behalf. It was by a +woman who had worked for about six months for my father,—Miss Jierdon. +She testified to having passed in a taxicab just at the end of our +quarrel, and that, while it was true that there was evidence of a +struggle, Langdon had the mallet. She was my only witness, besides the +experts. But it may help here, Miss Robinette." +</P> + +<P> +It was the first time he had addressed her directly and she turned, +half in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"How," she asked the question as though with an effort, "how were you +cleared?" +</P> + +<P> +"Through expert medical testimony that the blow which killed Langdon +could not have been struck with that mallet. The whole trial hinged on +the experts. The jury didn't believe much of either side. They +couldn't decide absolutely that I had killed Langdon. And so they +acquitted me. I'm trying to tell you the truth, without any veneer to +my advantage." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Bon</I>! Good! Eet is best." +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Jierdon is the same one who is out here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"She testified in your behalf?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. And Miss Robinette, if you'll only talk to her—if you'll only +ask her about it, she'll tell you the story exactly as I've told it. +She trusted me; she was the only bright spot in all the blackness. I +may not be able to convince you—but she could, Miss Robinette. If +you'll only—" +</P> + +<P> +"Would you guarantee the truth of anything she should tell me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Absolutely." +</P> + +<P> +"Even if she told hidden things?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hidden? I don't know what you mean. There's nothing to be hidden. +What she tells you will be the truth, the whole truth, the absolute +truth." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm—I'm sorry." She turned again to the window. Houston went +forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Sorry? Why? There's nothing—" +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Jierdon has told me," came in a strained voice, "things that +perhaps you did not mean for her to tell." +</P> + +<P> +"I? Why, I—" +</P> + +<P> +"That she did pass as you were struggling. That she saw the blow +struck—and that it was you who struck it." +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Robinette!" +</P> + +<P> +"That further, you confessed to her and told her why you had killed +Langdon—because he had discovered something in your own father's life +that would serve as blackmail. That she loved you. And that because +she loved you, she went on the stand and perjured herself to save you +from a conviction of murder—when she knew in her heart that you were +guilty!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + + +<P> +It was a blow greater, far greater than one that could have been struck +in mere physical contact. Houston reeled with the effect of it; he +gasped, he struggled aimlessly, futilely, for words to answer it. +Vaguely, dizzily, knowing nothing except a dim, hazy desire to rid +himself of the loathsomeness of it, Houston started to the door, only +to be pulled back in the gigantic grip of Ba'tiste Renaud. The old +Canadian was glaring now, his voice was thunderous. +</P> + +<P> +"No! No! You shall not go! You hear Ba'teese, huh? You tell Medaine +that is a lie! Un'stan'? That is a lie!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is," Houston heard his voice as though coming from far away, "but I +don't know how to answer it. I—I—can't answer it. Where is Miss +Jierdon? Is she here? May I see her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Jierdon," Medaine Robinette answered him as though with an +effort, "went back to camp last night." +</P> + +<P> +"May I bring her here, to repeat that before me? There's been some +sort of a horrible mistake—she didn't know what she was saying. She—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid, Mr. Houston, that I would need stronger evidence—now. +Oh, I want to be fair about this," she burst out suddenly. "I—I +shouldn't ever have been drawn into it. It's nothing of my concern; +certainly, I shouldn't be the one to be called upon to judge the +innocence or guilt of some one I hardly know! I—" +</P> + +<P> +"I realize that, Miss Robinette. I withdraw my request for anything +you can give me." Again he started toward the door, and this time +Ba'tiste did not detain him. But abruptly he halted, a sudden thought +searing its way through his brain. "Just one moment more, Miss +Robinette. Then I'll go. But this question means a great deal. You +passed me one night on the road. Would it be impertinent to ask where +you had been?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not. To Tabernacle. Lost Wing went with me, as usual. You +may ask him." +</P> + +<P> +"Your word is enough. May I inquire if on that night you saw Fred +Thayer?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did not." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you." Dully he reached for the knob. The woman who had +appeared that night in the clearing, her head upon a man's shoulder, +had been Agnes Jierdon! +</P> + +<P> +He stepped to the veranda, waiting for Ba'tiste, who was making a last +effort in his behalf. Then he called: +</P> + +<P> +"I'd rather you'd not say anything more, Ba'tiste. Words aren't much +use—without something to back them up." +</P> + +<P> +And he knew that this possibility was all but gone. Tricked! For now +he realized that Agnes Jierdon had stood by him at a time when her +supposed confidence and trust could do no more for him than cheer him +and cause him to trust her to the end that,—what? +</P> + +<P> +Had it been she who had slipped the necessary papers of the contract +and the lease into the mass of formalities which he had signed without +even looking at the contents of more than the first page or two of the +pile? They had been so many technical details, merely there for +signature; he had signed dozens before. It would have been easy. +</P> + +<P> +But Houston forced back the thought. He himself knew what it meant to +be unjustly accused. Time was but of little moment now; his theories +could wait until he had seen Agnes Jierdon, until he had talked to her +and questioned her regarding the statements made to Medaine Robinette. +Besides, Ba'tiste already was in the buggy, striving to cover his +feelings by a stream of badinage directed toward Golemar, the wolf-dog, +and waiting for Houston to take his place beside him. A moment more +and they were driving away, Ba'tiste humped over the reins as usual, +Houston striving to put from him the agony of the new accusation. +Finally, the trapper cocked his head and spoke, rather to the horse and +Golemar than to Houston. +</P> + +<P> +"Eet is the one, big lie!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but there's not much way of proving it, Ba'tiste." +</P> + +<P> +"Proof? Bah! And does Ba'teese need proof? Ba'teese no like this +woman, Jierdon. She say Ba'teese burn the mill." +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know you heard that." +</P> + +<P> +"She have a bad mouth. She have a bad eye. She have a bad tongue. +Yes, <I>oui</I>! She have a bad tongue!" +</P> + +<P> +"Let's wait, Ba'tiste. There may be some mistake about it. Of course, +it's possible. She had worked for my father for six months at the +time—she could have been placed there for a purpose. Her testimony +was of the sort that the jury could take either as for me or against +me; she established, as an eyewitness, that we had quarreled and that +the mallet played a part in it. Naturally, though, I looked to her as +my friend. I thought that her testimony helped me." +</P> + +<P> +"And the taxi-driver? What did he say? Eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"We never were able to find him." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, ho! Golemar! You hear?" The old trapper's voice was stinging +with sarcasm. "They nev' fin' heem. But the woman she was in a taxi. +Ah, <I>oui</I>. She could pass, just at the moment. She could put in the +mind of the jury the fact that there was a quarrel, while she preten' +to help M'sieu Houston. But the taxi-driver—no, they nev' fin' heem!" +</P> + +<P> +"Let's wait, Ba'tiste." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—ah, <I>oui</I>." +</P> + +<P> +On they drove in silence, talking of trivial things, each fencing away +from the subject that was on their minds and from mention of the +unfortunate interview with Medaine Robinette. The miles faded slowly, +at last to bring the camp into view. Ten minutes later, Houston leaped +from the buggy and knocked at the door of the cottage. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to see Miss Jierdon," he told the cook who had opened the door. +That person shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"She's gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Gone? Where?" +</P> + +<P> +"To town, I guess. She came back here from Miss Robinette's last night +and packed her things and left. She didn't say where she was going. +She left a note for you." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me have it!" There was anxiety in the command. The cook bustled +back into the house, to return with a sealed envelope addressed to +Houston. He slit it with a trembling finger. +</P> + +<P> +"What she say?" Ba'tiste was leaning from the buggy. Houston took his +place beside him, and as the horse was turned back toward the trapper's +cabin, read aloud: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Dearest Barry: +</P> + +<P> +"Hate awfully to run away like this without seeing you, but it can't be +helped. Have an offer of a position in St. Louis that I can't very +well refuse. Will write you from there. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Love and kisses.<BR> +<br> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">"AGNES."</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Ba'tiste slapped the reins on the horse's back. +</P> + +<P> +"She is like the Judas, eh?" he asked quietly, and Houston cringed with +the realization that he had spoken the truth. Judas! A feminine +Judas, who had come to him when his guard had been lowered, who had +pretended that she believed in him, that she even loved him, that she +might wreck his every plan and hope in life. A Judas, a— +</P> + +<P> +"Let's don't talk about it, Ba'tiste!" Houston's voice was hoarse, +weary. "It's a little too much to take, all in one day." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Tres bien</I>," answered the old French-Canadian, not to speak again +until they had reached his cabin and, red-faced, he had turned from the +stove to place the evening meal on the table. Then, his mouth full of +crisply fried bacon, he waved a hand and spluttered with a sudden +inspiration: +</P> + +<P> +"What you do, now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Queer question, isn't it?" The grim humor of it brought a smile, in +spite of the lead in Houston's heart. "What is there to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" Ba'tiste gulped his food, rose and waved a hand with a sudden +flash of emphasis. "Peuff! And there is ever'thin'. You have a mill." +</P> + +<P> +"Such as it is." +</P> + +<P> +"But eet is a mill. And eet can saw timber—enough to keep the wolf +from the door. You have yourself. Your arm, he is near' well. And +there is alway'—" he gestured profoundly—"the future. He is like a +woman, the future," he added, with a little smile. "He always look +good when he is in the far away." +</P> + +<P> +The enthusiasm of the trapper found a faint echo in Houston's heart. +"I'm not whipped yet, Ba'tiste. But I'm near it. I've had some pretty +hard knocks." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>! But so have Ba'teese!" The shadows were falling, and the +old French-Canadian walked to the window. "<I>Oui, oui, oui</I>! Look." +And he pointed to the white cross, still faintly visible, like a +luminous thing, beneath the pines. "Ev' day, Ba'teese, he see that. +Ev' day, Ba'teese remember—how he work for others, how he is <I>L' +M'sieu Doctaire</I>, how he help and help and help—but how he cannot help +his own. Ev' day, Ba'teese, he live again that night in the cathedral +when he call, so, 'Pierre! Pierre!' But Pierre does not answer. Ev' +day, he remind how he come home, and how his heart, eet is cold, but +how he hope that his Julienne, she will warm eet again—to fin' that. +But does Ba'teese stop? Does Ba'teese fol' his hands? No! No!" He +thundered the words and beat his heavy chest. "Some day, Ba'teese will +fin' what he look for! When the cloud, he get heavy, Ba'teese, he go +out there—out to his Julienne—and he kneel down and he pray that she +give to heem the strength to go on—to look and look and look until he +find eet—the thing he is want'! Ba'teese, he too have had his +trouble. Ba'teese, he too would like to quit! But no, he shall not! +And you shall not! By the cross of my Julienne, you shall not! Eet is +to the end—and not before! You look like my Pierre! My Pierre had in +heem the blood of Ba'teese—Ba'teese, who had broke' the way. And +Pierre would not quit, and you will not quit. And—" +</P> + +<P> +"I will not quit!" Barry Houston said the words slowly, in a voice +heightened by feeling and by a new strength, a sudden flooding of a +reserve power that he did not know he possessed. "That is my absolute +promise to you, Ba'tiste. I will not quit!" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Bon</I>! Good! Golemar, you hear, eh? <I>Mon ami</I>, he come to the +barrier, and he look at the trouble, but he say he will not quit. +<I>Veritas</I>! <I>Bon</I>! He is my Pierre! He speak like my Pierre would +speak! He will not quit!" +</P> + +<P> +"No," and then Houston repeated it, a strange light shining in his +eyes, his hands clenched, breath pulling deep into his lungs. "I will +not quit." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>! Eet is now the, what-you-say, the swing-around point. +To-night Ba'teese go out. Where? Ah, you shall wait an' see. +Ba'teese go—Ba'teese come back. Then you shall see. Ah, <I>oui</I>! Then +you shall see." +</P> + +<P> +For an hour or so after that he boomed about the cabin, singing queer +old songs in a <I>patois</I>, rumbling to the faithful Golemar, washing the +dishes while Houston wiped them, joking, talking of everything but the +troubles of the day and the plans of the night. Outside the shadows +grew heavier, finally to turn to pitch darkness. The bull bats began +to circle about the cabin. Ba'tiste walked to the door. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Bon</I>! Good!" he exclaimed. "The sky, he is full of cloud'. The +star, he do not shine. <I>Bon</I>! Ba'teese shall go." +</P> + +<P> +And with a final wave of the hand, still keeping his journey a mystery, +he went forth into the night. +</P> + +<P> +Long Houston waited for his return, but he did not come. The old, +creaking clock on the rustic ledge ticked away the minutes and the +hours until midnight, but still no crunching of gravel relieved his +anxious ears, still no gigantic form of the grizzled, bearded trapper +showed in the doorway. One o'clock came and went. Two—three. +Houston still waited. Four—and a scratch on the door. It was +Golemar, followed a moment later by a grinning, twinkling-eyed Ba'tiste. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Bon</I>! Good!" he exclaimed. "See, Golemar? What I say to you? He +wait up for Ba'teese. <I>Bon</I>! Now—<I>alert, mon ami</I>! The pencil and +the paper!" +</P> + +<P> +He slumped into a chair and dived into a pocket of his red shirt, to +bring forth a mass of scribbled sheets, to stare at them, striving +studiously to make out the writing. +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese, he put eet down by a match in the shelter of a lumber pile," +came at last. "Eet is all, what-you-say, scramble up. But we shall +see—ah, <I>oui</I>—we shall see. Now," he looked toward Houston, waiting +anxiously with paper and pencil, "we shall put eet in the list. So. +One million ties, seven by eight by eight feet, at the one dollar and +the forty cents. Put that down." +</P> + +<P> +"I have it. But what—" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait! Five thousan' bridge timber, ten by ten by sixteen feet, at the +three dollar and ninety cents." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ten thousand feet of the four by four, at—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'tiste!" Houston had risen suddenly. "What have you got there?" +</P> + +<P> +The trapper grinned and pulled at his gray-splotched beard. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, ho! Golemar! He wan' to know. Shall we tell heem, eh? Ah, +<I>oui</I>—" he shook his big shoulders and spread his hands. "Eet is—the +copy of the bid!" +</P> + +<P> +"The copy? The bid?" +</P> + +<P> +"From the Blackburn mill. There is no one aroun'. Ba'teese, he go +through a window. Ba'teese, he find heem—in a file. And he bring +back the copy." +</P> + +<P> +"Then—" +</P> + +<P> +"M'sieu Houston, he too will bid. But he will make it lower. And +this," he tapped the scribbled scraps of paper, "is cheaper than any +one else. Eet is because of the location. M'sieu Houston—he know +what they bid. He will make eet cheaper." +</P> + +<P> +"But what with, Ba'tiste? We haven't a mill to saw the stuff, in the +first place. This ramshackle thing we're setting up now couldn't even +begin to turn out the ties alone. The bid calls for ten thousand laid +down at Tabernacle, the first of June. We might do that, but how on +earth would we ever keep up with the rest? The boxings, the rough +lumber, the two by fourteen's finished, the dropped sidings and groved +roofing, and lath and ceiling and rough fencings and all the rest? +What on earth will we do it with?" +</P> + +<P> +"What with?" Ba'tiste waved an arm grandiloquently. "With the future!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's taking the longest kind of a chance—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>! But the man who is drowning, he will, what-you-say, grab +at a haystack." +</P> + +<P> +"True enough. Go ahead. I'll mark our figures down too, as you read." +</P> + +<P> +And together they settled to the making of a bid that ran into the +millions, an overture for a contract for which they had neither mill, +nor timber, nor flume, nor resources to complete! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + + +<P> +Time dragged after that. Once the bid was on its way to Chicago, there +was nothing to do but wait. It was a delay which lengthened from June +until July, thence into late summer and early autumn, while the hills +turned brown with the colorings of the aspens, while Mount Taluchen and +its surrounding mountains once more became grim and forbidding with the +early fall of snow. +</P> + +<P> +The time for the opening of the bids had passed, far in the distance, but +there had come no word. Ba'tiste, long since taken into as much of a +partnership agreement as was possible, went day after day to the post +office, only to return empty-handed, while Houston watched with more +intensity than ever the commercial columns of the lumber journals in the +fear that the contract, after all, had gone somewhere else. But no +notice appeared. Nothing but blankness as concerned the plans of the +Mountain Plains and Salt Lake Railroad. +</P> + +<P> +Medaine he saw but seldom,—then only to avoid her as she strove to avoid +him. Houston's work was now in the hills and at the camp, doing exactly +what the Blackburn mill was doing, storing up a reasonable supply of +timber and sawing at what might or might not be the first consignment of +ties for the fulfillment of the contract. But day after day he realized +that he was all but beaten. +</P> + +<P> +His arm had healed now and returned to the strength that had existed +before the fracture. Far greater in strength, in fact, for Houston had +taken his place in the woods side by side with the few lumberjacks whom +he could afford to carry on his pay roll. There, at least, he had right +of way. He had sold only stumpage, which meant that the Blackburn camp +had the right to take out as much timber as it cared to, as long as it +was paid for at the insignificant rate of one dollar and fifty cents a +thousand feet. Thayer and the men in his employ could not keep him out +of his own woods, or prevent him from cutting his own timber. But they +could prevent him from getting it to the mill by an inexpensive process. +</P> + +<P> +From dawn until dusk he labored, sometimes with Ba'tiste singing lustily +beside him, sometimes alone. The task was a hard one; the snaking of +timber through the forest to the high-line roadway, there to be loaded +upon two-wheeled carts and dragged, by a slow, laborious, costly process, +to the mill. For every log that he sent to the saw in this wise, he knew +that Thayer was sending ten,—and at a tenth of the cost. But Houston +was fighting the last fight,—a fight that could not end until absolute, +utter failure stood stark before him at the end of the road. +</P> + +<P> +September became October with its rains, and its last flash of brilliant +coloring from the lower hills, and then whiteness. November had arrived, +bringing with it the first snow and turning the whole, great, already +desolate country into a desert of white. +</P> + +<P> +It was cold now; the cook took on a new duty of the maintenance of hot +pails of bran mash and salt water for the relief of frozen hands. Heavy +gum-shoes, worn over lighter footgear and reaching with felt-padded +thickness far toward the knee, encased the feet. Hands numbed, in spite +of thick mittens; each week saw a new snowfall, bringing with it the +consequent thaws and the hardening of the surface. The snowshoe rabbit +made its appearance, tracking the shadowy, silent woods with great, +outlandish marks. The coyotes howled o' nights; now and then Houston, as +he worked, saw the tracks of a bear, or the bloody imprints of a mountain +lion, its paws cut by the icy crust of the snow as it trailed the elk or +deer. The world was a quiet thing, a white thing, a cold, unrelenting +thing, to be fought only by thick garments and snowshoes. But with it +all, it gave Houston and Ba'tiste a new enthusiasm. They at least could +get their logs to the mill now swiftly and with comparative ease. +</P> + +<P> +Short, awkward-appearing sleds creaked and sang along the icy, +hard-packed road of snow, to approach the piles of logs snaked out of the +timber, to be loaded high beyond all seeming regard for gravitation or +consideration for the broad-backed, patient horses, to be secured at one +end by heavy chains leading to a patent binder which cinched them to the +sled, and started down the precipitous road toward the mill. Once in a +while Houston rode the sleds, merely for the thrill of it; for the +singing and crunching of the logs against the snow, the grinding of bark +against bark, the quick surge as the horses struck a sharp decline and +galloped down it, the driver shouting, the logs kicking up the snow +behind the sled in a swirling, feathery wake. +</P> + +<P> +At times he stayed at the bunk house with the lumberjacks, silent as they +were silent, or talking of trivial things which were mighty to them,—the +quality of the food, the depth of the snow, the fact that the little gray +squirrels were more plentiful in one part of the woods than another, or +that they chattered more in the morning than in the afternoon. Hours he +spent in watching Old Bill, a lumberjack who, in his few moments of +leisure between the supper table and bed, whittled laboriously upon a +wooden chain, which with dogged persistence he had lugged with him for +months. Or perhaps staring over the shoulder of Jade Hains, striving to +copy the picture of a motion-picture star from a worn, dirty, months-old +magazine; as excited as they over the tiny things in life, as eager to +seek a bunk when eight o'clock came, as grudging to hear the clatter of +alarm clocks in the black coldness before dawn and to creak forth to the +watering and harnessing of the horses for the work of the day. Some way, +it all seemed to be natural to Barry Houston, natural that he should +accept this sort of dogged, humdrum, eventless life and strive to think +of nothing more. The other existence, for him, had ended in a blackened +waste; even the one person in whom he had trusted, the woman he would +have been glad to marry, if that could have repaid her in any way for +what he thought she had done for him, had proved traitorous. His +letters, written to her at general delivery, St. Louis, had been +returned, uncalled for. From the moment that he had received that light, +taunting note, he had heard nothing more. She had done her work; she was +gone. +</P> + +<P> +December came. Christmas, and with it Ba'tiste, with flour in his hair +and beard, his red shirt pulled out over his trousers, distributing the +presents which Houston had bought for the few men in his employ. January +wore on, bringing with it more snow. February and then— +</P> + +<P> +"Eet is come! Eet is come!" Ba'tiste, waving his arms wildly, in spite +of the stuffiness of his heavy mackinaw, and the broad belt which sank +into layer after layer of clothing at his waist, came over the brow of +the raise into camp, to seize Houston in his arms and dance him about, to +lift him and literally throw him high upon his chest as one would toss a +child, to roar at Golemar, then to stand back, brandishing an opened +letter above his head. "Eet is come! I have open eet—I can not wait. +Eet say we shall have the contract! Ah, <I>oui! oui! oui! oui</I>! We shall +have the contract!" +</P> + +<P> +Houston, suddenly awake to what the message meant, reached for the +letter. It was there in black and white. The bid had been accepted. +There need now be but the conference in Chicago, the posting of the +forfeit money, and the deal was made. +</P> + +<P> +"Eet say five thousand dollars cash, and the rest in a bond!" came +enthusiastically from Ba'tiste. "Eet is simple. You have the mill, you +have the timber. Ba'teese, he have the friend in Denver who will make +the bond." +</P> + +<P> +"But how about the machinery; we'll need a hundred-thousand-dollar plant +before we're through, Ba'tiste." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" The old French-Canadian's jaw dropped. "Ba'teese, he is like the +child. He have not think of that. He have figure he can borrow ten +thousand dollar in his own name. But he have not think about the +machinery." +</P> + +<P> +"But we must think about it, Ba'tiste. We've got to get it. With the +equipment that's here, we never could hope to keep up with the contract. +And if we can't do that, we lose everything. Understand me, I'm not +thinking of quitting; I merely want to look over the battlefield first. +Shall we take the chance?" +</P> + +<P> +Big Ba'tiste shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese, he always try to break the way," came at last. "Ba'teese, he +have trouble—but he have nev' been beat. You ask Ba'teese—Ba'teese say +go ahead. Somehow we make it." +</P> + +<P> +"Then to-morrow morning we take the train to Denver, and from there I'll +go on to Boston. I'll raise the money some way. I don't know how. If I +don't, we're only beaten in the beginning instead of at the end. We'll +simply have to trust to the future—on everything, Ba'tiste. There are +so many things that can whip us, that—" Houston laughed shortly—"we +might as well be gamblers all the way through. We'll never fulfill the +contract, even with the machinery, unless we can get the use of the lake +and a flume to the mill. We may be able to keep it up for a month or +two, but that will be all. The expense will eat us up. But one chance +is no greater than the other, and personally, I'm at the point where I +don't care." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>! Ba'teese, he have nothing. Ba'teese he only fight for the +excitement. So, to-morrow we go!" +</P> + +<P> +And on the next day they went, again to go over all the details of their +mad, foundationless escapade with Chance, to talk it all over in the old +smoking car, to weigh the balance against them from every angle, and to +see failure on every side. But they had become gamblers with Fate; for +one, it was his final opportunity, to take or disregard, with a faint +glimmer of success at one end of the vista, with the wiping out of every +hope at the other. They tried not to look at the gloomy side, but that +was impossible. As the train ground its way up the circuitous grades, +Houston felt that he was headed finally for the dissolution. But there +was at least the consolation about it that within a short time the +uncertainty of his life would be ended; the hopes either crushed forever, +or realized, that— +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'tiste!" They were in the snowsheds at Crestline, and Houston had +pointed excitedly toward a window of the west-bound train, just pulling +past them on the way down the slope. A woman was there, a woman who had +turned her head sharply, but with not enough speed to prevent a sight of +her by the French-Canadian who glanced quickly and gasped: +</P> + +<P> +"The Judas!" +</P> + +<P> +Houston leaped from his seat and ran to the vestibule of the car, but in +vain. It was closed; already the other last coach of the other train was +pulling past and gaining headway with the easier grade. Wondering, he +returned to his seat beside his partner. +</P> + +<P> +"It was she, Ba'tiste," came with conviction. "I got a good look at her +before she noticed me. Then, when I pointed—she turned her head away." +</P> + +<P> +"But Ba'teese, he see her." +</P> + +<P> +"She's going back. What do you suppose it can mean? Can she be—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese catch the nex' train to Tabernacle so soon as we have finish +our business. Eet is for no good." +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder—" it was a hope, but a faint one—"if she could be coming back +to make amends, Ba'tiste? That—that other thing seemed so unlike the +person who had been so good to me, so apart from the side of her nature +that I knew—" +</P> + +<P> +"She have a bad mouth," Ba'tiste repeated grimly. "She have a bad eye, +she have a bad tongue. A woman with a bad tongue, she is a devil. +You—you no see it, because she come to you with a smile, when every one +else, he frown. You think she is the angel, yes, <I>oui</I>? But she come to +Ba'teese different. She talk to you sof' and she try to turn you against +your frien'. Yes. <I>Oui</I>? <I>Ne c'est pas</I>? Ba'teese see her with the +selfish mouth. Peuff! He see her when she look to heem out from the +corner of her eye—so. Ba'teese know. Ba'teese come back quick, to keep +watch!" +</P> + +<P> +"I guess you're right, Ba'tiste. It won't do any harm. If she's +returned for a good purpose, very well. If not, we're at least prepared +for her." +</P> + +<P> +With that resolution they went on to Denver, there to seek out the few +friends Ba'tiste possessed, to argue one of them into a loan of ten +thousand dollars on the land and trustworthy qualities which formed the +total of Ba'tiste's resources, to gain from the other the necessary bond +to cover the contract,—a contract which Barry Houston knew only too well +might never be fulfilled. But against this fear was the booming +enthusiasm of Ba'tiste Renaud: +</P> + +<P> +"Nev' min'. Somehow we do eet. Ah, <I>oui</I>! Somehow. If we make the +failure, then it shall be Ba'teese who will fin' the way to pay the bond. +Now, Ba'teese, he go back." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and keep watch on that woman. She's out here for something'—I +feel sure of it—something that has to do with Thayer. Before you go, +however, make the rounds of the employment agencies and tell them to send +you every man they can spare, up to a hundred. We'll give them work to +the extent of five thousand dollars. They ought to be able to get enough +timber down to keep us going for a while anyway—especially with the +roads iced." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah. <I>Oui</I>. It is the three o'clock. <I>Bon voyage, mon</I> Baree!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the first time Ba'tiste Renaud ever had dropped the conventional +"M'sieu" in addressing Houston, and Barry knew, without the telling, +without the glowing light in the old man's eyes, that at least a part of +the great loneliness in the trapper's heart had departed, that he had +found a place there in a portion of the aching spot left void by a +shrapnel-shattered son to whom a father had called that night in the +ruined cathedral,—and called in vain. It caused a queer pang of +exquisite pain in Houston's heart, a joy too great to be expressed by the +reflexes of mere pleasure. Long after the train had left Denver, he +still thought of it, he still heard the old man's words, he still sat +quiet and peaceful in a new enthusiasm of hope. The world was not so +blank, after all. One man, at least, believed in him fully. +</P> + +<P> +Came Chicago and the technicalities of ironing out the final details of +the contract. Then, dealer in millions and the possessor of nothing, +Houston went onward toward Boston. +</P> + +<P> +And Ba'tiste was not there to boom enthusiastically regarding the chances +of the future, to enlarge upon the opportunities which might arise for +the fulfillment of a thing which seemed impossible. +</P> + +<P> +Coldly, dispassionately, now that it was done, that the word of the +Empire Lake Mill and Lumber Company had been given to deliver the +materials for the making of a great railroad, had guaranteed its +resources and furnished the necessary bond for the fulfillment of a +promise, Barry Houston could not help but feel that it all had been rash, +to say the least. Where was the machinery to be obtained? Where the +money to keep things going? True, there would be spot cash awaiting the +delivery of every installment of the huge order, enough, in fact, to +furnish the necessary running expenses of a mill under ordinary +circumstances. But the circumstances which surrounded the workings of +the Empire Lake project were far from ordinary. No easy skidways to a +lake, no flume, no aerials; there was nothing to cut expenses. Unless a +miracle should happen, and Houston reflected that miracles were few and +far between, that timber must be brought to the mill by a system that +would be disastrous as far as costs were concerned. Yet, the contract +had been made! +</P> + +<P> +He wandered the aisle of the sleeper, fidgeting from one end to the +other, as neither magazines, nor the spinning scenery without held a +counter-attraction for his gloomy thoughts. When night at last came, he +entered the smoking compartment and slumped into a seat in a far corner, +smoking in a detached manner, often pulling on his cigar long after +lengthy minutes of reflection had allowed its ashes to cool. +</P> + +<P> +About him the usual conversation raged, the settling of a nation's +problems, the discussion of crime waves, Bolshevism and the whatnot that +goes with an hour of smoking on a tiresome journey. From Washington and +governmental affairs, it veered to the West and dry farming, thence to +the cattle business; to anecdotes, and finally to ghost stories. And +then, with a sudden interest, Houston forgot his own problems to listen +attentively, tensely, almost fearfully. A man whom he never before had +seen, and whom he probably never would see again, was talking,—about +something which might be as remote to Houston as the poles. Yet it held +him, it fascinated, it gripped him! +</P> + +<P> +"Speaking of gruesome things," the talker had said, "reminds me. I'm a +doctor—not quite full fledged, I'll admit, but with the right to put M. +D. after my name. Spent a couple of years as an interne in Bellstrand +Hospital in New York. Big place. Any of you ever been there?" +</P> + +<P> +No one had. The young doctor went on. +</P> + +<P> +"Quite a place for experiments. They've got a big room on the fifth +floor where somebody is always dissecting, or carrying out some kind of +investigations into this bodily thing we call a home. My work led me +past there a good deal, and I'd gotten so I hardly noticed it. But one +Sunday night, I guess it was along toward midnight, I saw something that +brought me up short. I happened to look in and saw a man in there, +murdering another one with a wooden mallet." +</P> + +<P> +"Murdering him?" The statement had caused a rise from the rest of the +auditors. The doctor laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, perhaps I used too sentimental a phrase. I should have said, +acting out a murder. You can't very well murder a dead man. The fellow +he was killing already was a corpse. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—" +</P> + +<P> +"Just what I'm saying. There were two or three assistants. Pretty big +doctors, I learned later, all of them from Boston. They had taken a +cadaver from the refrigerator and stood it in a certain position. Then +the one man had struck it on the head with the mallet with all the force +he could summon. Of course it knocked the corpse down—I'm telling you, +it was gruesome, even to an interne! The last I saw of them, the doctors +were working with their microscopes—evidently to see what effect the +blow had produced." +</P> + +<P> +"What was the idea?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never found out. They're pretty close-mouthed about that sort of thing. +You see, opposite sides in a trial are always carrying out experiments +and trying their level best to keep the other fellow from knowing what's +going on. I found out later that the door was supposed to have been +locked. I passed through about ten minutes later and saw them working on +another human body—evidently one of a number that they had been trying +the tests on. About that time some one heard me and came out like a +bullet. The next thing I knew, everything was closed. How long the +experiments had been going on, I couldn't say. I do know, however, that +they didn't leave there until about three o'clock in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +"You—you don't know who the men were?" Houston, forcing himself to be +casual, had asked the question. The young doctor shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"No—except that they were from Boston. At least, the doctors were. One +of the nurses knew them. I suppose the other man was a district +attorney—they usually are around somewhere during an experiment." +</P> + +<P> +"You never learned with what murder case it was connected?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—the fact is, it passed pretty much out of my mind, as far as the +details were concerned. Although I'll never forget the picture." +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon me for asking questions. I—I—just happen to come from Boston +and was trying to recall such a case. You don't remember what time of +the year it was, or how long ago?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I do. It was in the summer, along about two or two and a half +years ago." +</P> + +<P> +Houston slumped back into his corner. Ten minutes later, he found an +opportunity to exchange cards with the young physician and sought his +berth. To himself, he could give no reason for establishing the identity +of the smoking-compartment informant. He had acted from some sort of +subconscious compulsion, without reasoning, without knowing why he had +catalogued the information or of what possible use it could be to him. +But once in his berth, the picture continued to rise before him; of a big +room in a hospital, of doctors gathered about, and of a man "killing" +another with a mallet. Had it been Worthington? Worthington, the +tired-eyed, determined, over-zealous district attorney, who, day after +day, had struggled and fought to send him to the penitentiary for life? +Had it been Worthington, striving to reproduce the murder of Tom Langdon +as he evidently had reconstructed it, experimenting with his experts in +the safety of a different city, for points of evidence that would clinch +the case against the accused man beyond all shadow of a doubt? +Instinctively Houston felt that he just had heard an unwritten, +unmentioned phase of his own murder case. Yet—if that had been +Worthington, if those experts had found evidence against him, if the +theories of the district attorney had been verified on that gruesome +night in the "dead ward" of Bellstrand Hospital— +</P> + +<P> +Why had this damning evidence been allowed to sink into oblivion? Why +had it not been used against him? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + + +<P> +It was a problem which Barry Houston, in spite of wakefulness, failed +to solve. Next morning, eager for a repetition of the recital, in the +hope of some forgotten detail, some clue which might lead him to an +absolute decision, he sought the young doctor, only to find that he had +left the train at dawn. A doorway of the past had been opened to +Houston, only to be closed again before he could clearly discern +beyond. He went on to Boston, still struggling to reconstruct it all, +striving to figure what connection it might have had, but in vain. And +with his departure from the train, new thoughts, new problems, arose to +take the place of memories. His purposes now were of the future, not +of the past. +</P> + +<P> +And naturally, he turned first to the office of his father's +attorney,—the bleak place where he had conferred so many times in the +black days. Old Judge Mason, accustomed to seeing Barry in time of +stress, tried his best to be jovial. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, boy, what is it this time?" +</P> + +<P> +"Money." Houston came directly to the point. "I've come back to +Boston to find out if any one will trust me." +</P> + +<P> +"With or without security." +</P> + +<P> +"With it—the best in the world." Then he brought forward a copy of +the contract. Mason studied it at length, then, with a slow gesture, +raised his glasses to a resting place on his forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I don't know, boy," he said at last. "It's a rather hard problem +to crack. I wish there was some one in the family we could go to for +the money." +</P> + +<P> +"But there isn't." +</P> + +<P> +"No. Your uncle Walt might have it. But I'm afraid that he wouldn't +feel like lending it to you. He still believes—well, you know how +fathers are about their boys. He's forgotten most of Tom's bad points +by now." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll drop him from the list. How about the bankers." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll have to see. I'm a little afraid there. I know you'll pardon +me for saying it, Barry, but they like to have a man come to them with +clean hands. Not that you haven't got them," he interjected, +"but—well, you know bankers. What's the money for; running expenses?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Machinery. The other mill burned down, you know—and as usual, +without insurance. We have a makeshift thing set up there now—but +it's nothing to what will be needed. I've got to have a good, +smooth-working plant—otherwise I won't be able to live up to +specifications." +</P> + +<P> +"You're not," and the old lawyer smiled quizzically, "going to favor +your dearly beloved friend with the order, are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" +</P> + +<P> +"Worthington." +</P> + +<P> +"The district attorney?" +</P> + +<P> +"That was. Plutocrat now, and member of society, you know. He came +into his father's money, just after he went out of office, and bought +into the East Coast Machinery Company when it was on its last legs. +His money was like new blood. They've got a good big plant. He's +president," again the smile, "and I know he'd be glad to have your +order." +</P> + +<P> +Houston continued the sarcasm. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd be overjoyed to give it to him. In fact, I think I'd refuse to +buy any machinery if I couldn't get it from such a dear friend as +Worthington was. It wasn't his fault that I wasn't sent to the +penitentiary." +</P> + +<P> +"No, that's right, boy." Old Lawyer Mason was quietly reminiscent. +"He tried his best. It seemed to me in those days he was more of a +persecutor than prosecutor." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's forget it." Houston laughed uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, to go back to the bankers—" +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't much for us to do but to try them, one after another. I +guess we might as well start now as any time." +</P> + +<P> +Late that afternoon they were again in the office, the features of +Mason wrinkled with thought, those of Barry Houston plainly +discouraged. They had failed. The refusals had been courteous, +fraught with many apologies for a tight market, and effusive regrets +that it would be impossible to loan money on such a gilt-edged +proposition as the contract seemed to hold forth, but— There had +always been that one word, that stumbling-block against which they had +run time after time, shielded and padded by courtesy, but present +nevertheless. Nor were Houston and Mason unaware of the real fact +which lay behind it all; that the bankers did not care to trust their +money in the hands of a man who had been accused of murder and who had +escaped the penalty of such a charge by a margin, which to Boston, at +least, had seemed exceedingly slight. One after another, there in the +office, Mason went over the list of his business acquaintances, seeking +for some name that might mean magic to them. But no such inspiration +came. +</P> + +<P> +"Drop back to-morrow, boy," he said at last. "I'll think over the +thing to-night, and I may be able to get a bright idea. It's going to +be tough sledding—too tough, I'm afraid. If only we didn't have to +buck up against that trial, and the ideas people seem to have gotten of +it, we'd be all right. But—" +</P> + +<P> +There it was again, that one word, that immutable obstacle which seemed +to arise always. Houston reached for his hat. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to keep on trying, anyway, Mr. Mason. I'll be back +to-morrow. I'm going to get that money if I have to make a canvass of +Boston, if I have to go out and sell shares at a dollar apiece and if I +go broke paying dividends. I've made my promise to go through—and I'm +going!" +</P> + +<P> +"Good. I'll be looking for you." +</P> + +<P> +But half an hour later, following a wandering, aimless journey through +the crooked streets, Barry Houston suddenly straightened with an +inspiration. He whirled, he dived for a cigar store and for a +telephone. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello!" he called, after the long wait for connections. "Mr. Mason? +Don't look for me tomorrow—I believe I'll not be there." +</P> + +<P> +"But you haven't given it up?" +</P> + +<P> +"Given up?" Houston laughed with sudden enthusiasm. "No—I've just +started. Put the date off a day or two until I can try something +that's buzzing around in my head. It's a wild idea—but it may work. +If it doesn't, I'll see you Thursday." +</P> + +<P> +Then he turned from the telephone and toward the railroad station. +</P> + +<P> +"One, to New York," he ordered hurriedly through the ticket window. +"I've got time to make that seven-forty, if you rush it." +</P> + +<P> +And the next morning, Barry Houston was in New York, swirling along +Seventh Avenue toward Bellstrand Hospital. There he sought the +executive offices and told his story. "Five minutes later he was +looking at the books of the institution, searching, searching,—at last +to stifle a cry of excitement and bend closer to a closely written page. +</P> + +<P> +"August second," he read. "Kilbane Worthington, district attorney, +Boston, Mass. Acc by Drs. Horton, Mayer and Brensteam. Investigations +into effect of blows on skull. Eight cadavers." +</P> + +<P> +With fingers that were almost frenzied, Houston copied the notation, +closed the book, and hurried again for a taxicab. It yet was only nine +o'clock. It the traffic were not too thick, if the driver were +skilful— +</P> + +<P> +He raced through the gate at Grand Central just as it was closing. He +made the train in unison with the last drawling cry of the conductor. +Then for hours, in the Pullman chair car, he fidgeted, counting the +telegraph posts, checking off the stations as they flipped past the +windows, through a day of eagerness, of excited, racking anticipation. +It was night when he reached Boston, but Houston did not hesitate. A +glance at a telephone book, another rocking ride in a taxicab, and +Barry stood on the veranda of a large house, awaiting the answer to his +ring at the bell. Finally it came. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Worthington," he demanded. The butler arched his eyebrows. +</P> + +<P> +"Sorry, but Mr. Worthington has left orders not to be—" +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him that it is a matter of urgent business. That it is something +of the utmost importance to him." +</P> + +<P> +A wait. The butler returned. +</P> + +<P> +"Sorry, sir. But Mr. Worthington is just ready to retire." +</P> + +<P> +"You tell Mr. Worthington," answered Houston in a crisp voice, "that he +either will see me or regret it. Tell him that I am very sorry, but +that just now, I am forced to use his own methods—and that if he +doesn't see me within five minutes, there will be something in the +morning papers that will be, to say the least, extremely distasteful to +him." +</P> + +<P> +"The name, please?" +</P> + +<P> +"It doesn't matter." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you from a newspaper?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not saying. Whether I go to one directly from here, depends +entirely upon Mr. Worthington. Will you please take my message?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid—" +</P> + +<P> +"Take my message!" +</P> + +<P> +"Directly, sir!" +</P> + +<P> +Another wait. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Worthington will see you in the library, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks." Houston almost bounded into the hall. A moment later, in +the dimness of the heavily furnished, somewhat mysterious appearing +library, Barry Houston again faced the man whom, at one time, he had +hoped never again to see. Kilbane Worthington was seated at the large +table, much in the manner which he had affected in court, elbows on the +surface, chin cupped in his thin, nervous hands. The light was not +good for recognizing faces; without realizing it, the former district +attorney had placed himself at a disadvantage. Squinting, he sought to +make out the features of the man who had hurried into the room, and +failing, rose. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he asked somewhat brusquely, "may I inquire—" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. My name's Houston." +</P> + +<P> +"Houston—Houston—it seems to me—" +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe your memory needs refreshing. Such little things as I figured +in probably slipped your mind the minute you were through with them. +To be explicit, my name is Barry Houston, son of the late William K. +Houston. You and I met—in the courtroom. You once did me the very +high honor to accuse me of murder and then tried your level best to +send me to the penitentiary for life when you knew, absolutely and +thoroughly, that I was an innocent man!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + + +<P> +The former district attorney started slightly. Then, coming still +closer, he peered into the tense, angry features of Barry Houston. +</P> + +<P> +"A bit melodramatic, aren't you?" he asked in a sneering tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps so. But then murder is always melodramatic." +</P> + +<P> +"Murder? You don't intend—" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I simply referred to the past. I should have said 'reference to +murder.' I hope you will pardon me if any inelegance of language +should offend you." +</P> + +<P> +"Sarcastic, aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have a right to be. Knowing what I know—I should use more than +sarcasm." +</P> + +<P> +"If I'm not mistaken, you have. The butler spoke of some threat." +</P> + +<P> +"Hardly a threat, Mr. Worthington." Houston was speaking coldly, +incisively. "Merely what I have heard you often call in court a +statement of fact. In case it wasn't repeated to you correctly, I'll +bore you with it again. I said that if you didn't see me immediately, +there would be something extremely distasteful to you in the morning +papers." +</P> + +<P> +"Well? I've seen you. Now—" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait just a moment, Mr. Worthington. I thought it was only civil +lawyers who indulged in technicalities. I didn't know that criminal," +and he put emphasis on the word, then repeated it, "that criminal +lawyers had the habit also." +</P> + +<P> +"If you'll cease this insulting—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I think I have a right to that. To tell the truth, I've only +begun to insult you. That is—if you call this sort of a thing an +insult. To get at the point of the matter, Mr. Worthington, I want to +be fair with you. I've come here to ask something—I'll admit +that—but it is something that should benefit you in a number of ways. +But we'll speak of that later. The main point is this: I am thinking +very seriously of suing the city of Boston for a million dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"Well? What's that to me?" Worthington sighed, with a bit of relief, +Houston thought, and walked back to the table for a cigarette. "I +haven't anything to do with the city. Go as far as you like. I'm out +of politics; in case you don't know, I'm in business for myself and +haven't the least interest in what the city does, or what any one does +to it." +</P> + +<P> +"Even though you should happen to be the bone of contention—and the +butt of what may be a good deal of unpleasant newspaper notoriety?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're talking blackmail!" +</P> + +<P> +"I beg your pardon. Blackmail is something by which one extorts money. +I'm here to try to give you money—or at least the promise of it—and +at the same time allow you to make up for something that should, +whether it does or not, weigh rather heavily on your conscience." +</P> + +<P> +"If you'll come to the point." +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly. Do you remember my case?" +</P> + +<P> +"In a way. I had a good many of them." +</P> + +<P> +"Which, I hope, you did not handle in the same way that you did mine. +But to recall it all to your recollection, I was accused of having +killed my own cousin, Tom Langdon, with a mallet." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—I remember now. You two had some kind of a drunken fight." +</P> + +<P> +"And you, at the time, if I remember correctly, had a fight of your +own. It was nearing election time." +</P> + +<P> +"Correct. I remember now." Then, with a little smile, "Quite luckily, +I was beaten." +</P> + +<P> +"I agree with you there. But to return to the original statement. Am +I right, or am I wrong, when I say that you were striving very hard, +for a record that would aid you in the election?" +</P> + +<P> +"Every official tries to make the best possible record. Especially at +election time." +</P> + +<P> +"No matter whom it injures." +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't say that." +</P> + +<P> +"But I did—and I repeat it. No matter whom it injures! Now, to be +plain and frank and brutal with you to-night as you were with me in the +courtroom, Mr. Worthington, I have pretty convincing evidence that you +knew I was innocent. Further, that you knew it almost at the beginning +of the trial. But that in spite of this knowledge, you continued to +persecute me—notice, I don't say prosecute—to persecute me in a hope +of gaining a conviction, simply that you might go before the voters and +point to me in prison as a recommendation of your efficiency as a +district attorney." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" Worthington threw away his cigarette with an angry gesture, and +came forward. "You fellows are all the same. You're always squealing +about your innocence. I never saw a man yet who wasn't innocent in one +way or another. Even when they confess, they've got some kind of an +alibi for their act. They didn't know the gun was loaded, or the other +fellow hit them first or—" +</P> + +<P> +"In my case I have no alibis. And this isn't simply my own statement. +I have sufficient witnesses." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why didn't you produce them at the trial?" +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't. You had them." +</P> + +<P> +"I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I don't mind giving you the names. One of them was Doctor +Horton. Another was Doctor Mayer. A third was Doctor Brensteam, all +physicians of the highest reputation. I would like, Mr. Worthington, +to know why you did not make use of them in the trial instead of the +expert Hamon, and that other one, Jaggerston, who, as every one knows, +are professional expert witnesses, ready at all times to testify upon +anything from handwriting to the velocity of a rifle bullet, providing +they are sufficiently paid." +</P> + +<P> +"Why? Simply because I figured they would make the best witnesses." +</P> + +<P> +"It couldn't have been," and Houston's voice was more coldly caustic +than ever, "that it was because they would be willing to perjure +themselves, while the real doctors wouldn't?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not! This whole thing is silly. Besides, I'm out of it +entirely. I'm—" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Worthington," and Houston's tone changed. "Your manner and your +words indicate very plainly that you're not out of it—that you merely +wish you were. Isn't that the truth? Don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," and the man lit a fresh cigarette, "I feel that way about every +murder case." +</P> + +<P> +"But especially about this one. You're not naturally a persecutor. +You don't naturally want to railroad men to the penitentiary. And I +believe that, as a general thing, you didn't do it. You tried it in my +case; election was coming on, you had just run up against two or three +acquittals, and you had made up your mind that in my case you were +going to run the gauntlet to get a conviction. I don't believe you +wanted to send me up simply for the joy of seeing an innocent man +confined in prison. You wanted a conviction—wasn't that it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Every prosecutor works for that." +</P> + +<P> +"Not when he knows the man is innocent, Mr. Worthington. You knew +that—I have proof. I have evidence that you found it out almost at +the beginning of my trial—August second, to be exact—and that you +used this information to your own ends. In other words, it told you +what the defense would testify; and you built up, with your +professional experts, a wall to combat it. Now, isn't that the truth?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—" The former district attorney took more time than usual to +knock the ashes from his cigarette, then suddenly changed the subject. +</P> + +<P> +"You spoke of a suit you might bring when you came in here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Against the city. I have a perfect one. I was persecuted when +the official in charge of the case knew that I was not guilty. To that +end I can call the three doctors I've mentioned and put them on the +stand and ask them why they did not testify in the case. I also can +call the officials of Bellstrand Hospital in New York where you +conducted certain experiments on cadavers on the night of August +second; also a doctor who saw you working in there and who watched you +personally strike the blows with a mallet; further, I can produce the +records of the hospital which state that you were there, give the names +of the entire party, together with the number of corpses experimented +upon. Is that sufficient evidence that I know what I'm talking about?" +</P> + +<P> +Worthington examined his cigarette again. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose it's on the books down there. But there's nothing to state +of what the experiments consisted." +</P> + +<P> +"I have just told you that I have an eye-witness. Further, there are +the three doctors." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you seen them?" +</P> + +<P> +Houston thought quickly. It was his only chance. +</P> + +<P> +"I know exactly what their testimony will be." +</P> + +<P> +"You've made arrangements for your suit then." Worthington's color had +changed. Houston noticed that the hand which held the cigarette +trembled slightly. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I haven't. I'm not here to browbeat you, Mr. Worthington, or lie +to you. It came to me simply as a ruse to get in to see you. But the +more I think of it, the more I know that I could go through with it and +possibly win it. I might get my million. I might not. I don't want +money gained in that way. The taxpayers would have to foot the bill, +not yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I guess I'd pay enough," Worthington had assumed an entirely +different attitude now. "It would hurt me worse in business than it +would if I were still in office. Whether it's true or not." +</P> + +<P> +"You know in your heart that there's no doubt of that." +</P> + +<P> +Worthington did not answer. Houston waited a moment, then went on. +</P> + +<P> +"But personally, I don't want to file the suit. I don't want any +money—that way. I don't want any bribes, or exculpations, or +statements from you that you know me to be innocent. Some might +believe it; others would only ask how much I paid to have that +statement given out. The damage has been done and is next to +irreparable. You could have cleared me easily enough by dropping the +case, or making your investigations before ever an indictment was +issued. You didn't, and I remain guilty in the minds of most of +Boston, in spite of what the jury said. A man is not guilty until +convicted—under the law. He is guilty as soon as accused, with the +lay mind. So you can't help me much there; my only chance for freedom +lies in finding the man who actually committed that murder. But that's +something else. We won't talk about it. You owe me something. And +I'm here to-night to ask you for it." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you said you didn't want any bribes." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't. May I ask you what your margin of profit is at your +machinery company?" +</P> + +<P> +"My margin of profit? What's that? Well, I suppose it runs around +twelve per cent." +</P> + +<P> +"Then will you please allow me to give you twelve thousand dollars in +profits? I'm in the lumber business. I have a contract that runs into +the millions; surely that is good enough security to a man"—he +couldn't resist the temptation—"who knows my absolute innocence. It +isn't good enough for the bankers, who still believe me guilty, so I've +come directly to you. I need one hundred thousand dollars' worth of +lumber-mill machinery, blade saws, crosscuts, jackers, planers, +kickers, chain belting, leather belting, and everything else that goes +to make up a first-class plant. I can pay for it—in installments. I +guarantee to give you every cent above my current running expenses +until the bill is disposed of. My contract with the Mountain, Plains +and Salt Lake Railroad is my bond. I don't even ask a discount, or for +you to lose any of your profits. I don't even ask any public statement +by you regarding my innocence. All I want is to have you do what you +would do to any reputable business man who came to you with a contract +running into the millions of dollars—to give me credit for that +machinery. It's a fair proposition. Come in with me on it, and we'll +forget the rest. Stay out—and I fight!" +</P> + +<P> +For a long moment, Kilbane Worthington paced the floor, his hands +clasped behind him, his rather thin head low upon his chest. Then, at +last, he looked up. +</P> + +<P> +"How long are you going to be in town?" +</P> + +<P> +"Until this matter's settled." +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you staying?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Touraine." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. I'll have a machine there to pick you up at ten o'clock +to-morrow morning and take you to my office. In the meanwhile—I'll +think it over." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + + +<P> +It was a grinning Barry Houston who leaped from the train at Tabernacle +a week later and ran open-armed through the snow toward the waiting +Ba'tiste. +</P> + +<P> +"You got my telegram?" He asked it almost breathlessly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui! oui, oui, oui</I>! <I>Sacre</I>, and you are the wizard!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hardly that." They were climbing into the bobsled. "I just had +enough sense to put two and two together. On the train to Boston I got +a tip about my case, something that led me to believe that the district +attorney knew all the time that I was innocent. He had conducted +experiments at the Bellstrand Hospital of which nothing had been said +in the trial. Three famous doctors had been with him. As soon as I +saw their names, I instinctively knew that if the experiments had +turned out the way the district attorney had wanted them, he would have +used them in the trial against me, but that their silence meant the +testimony was favorable to me." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Bon</I>!" Ba'tiste grinned happily. "And he?" +</P> + +<P> +"It just happened that he is now in the mill machinery business. I," +and Houston smiled with the memory of his victory, "I convinced him +that he should give me credit." +</P> + +<P> +"Eet is good. In the woods, there are many men. The log, he is pile +all about the mill. Three thousand tie, already they are stack up." +</P> + +<P> +"And the woman—she has caused no trouble?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Peuff! I have no see her. Mebbe so, eet was a mistake." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe, Ba'tiste, but I was sure I recognized her. The Blackburn crowd +hasn't given up the ghost yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, no. But eet will. Still they think that we cannot fill the +contract. They think that after the first shipment or so, then we will +have to quit." +</P> + +<P> +"They may be right, Ba'tiste. It would require nearly two thousand men +to keep that mill supplied with logs, once we get into production, +outside of the regular mill force, under conditions such as they are +now. It would be ruinous. We've got to find some other way, Ba'tiste, +of getting our product to the mill. That's all there is to it." +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese, he have think of a way—that he have keep secret. Ba'teese, +he have a, what-you-say, hump." +</P> + +<P> +"Hunch, you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>. Eet is this. We will not bring the log to the mill. We +will bring the mill to the log. We have to build the new plant, yes, +<I>oui</I>? Then, <I>bon</I>, we shall build eet in the forest, where there is +the lumber." +</P> + +<P> +"Quite so. And then who will build a railroad switch that can +negotiate the hills to the mill?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" Ba'tiste clapped a hand to his forehead. "<I>Veritas</I>? I am the +prize, what-you-say, squash! Ba'teese, he never think of eet!" A +moment he sat glum, only to surge with another idea. "But, now, +Ba'teese have eet! He shall go to Medaine! He shall tell her to write +to the district attorney of Boston—that he will tell her—" +</P> + +<P> +"It was part of my agreement, Ba'tiste, that he be forced to make no +statements regarding my innocence." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"It was either that, or lose the machinery. He's in business. He's +afraid of notoriety. The plain, cold truth is that he tried to +railroad me, and only my knowledge of that fact led him into doing a +decent and honorable thing. But I sealed any chance of his moral aid +when I made my bargain. It was my only chance." +</P> + +<P> +Slowly Ba'tiste nodded and slapped the reins on the back of the horse. +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'teese will not see Medaine," came at last, and they went on. +</P> + +<P> +Again the waiting game, but a busy game however, one which kept the ice +roads polished and slippery; which resulted, day by day, in a +constantly growing mountain of logs about the diminutive sawmill. One +in which plans were drawn, and shell-like buildings of mere slats and +slab sidings erected, while heavy, stone foundations were laid in the +firm, rocky soil to support the machinery, when it arrived. A game in +which Houston hurried from the forests to the mill and back again, now +riding the log sheds as a matter of swifter locomotion, instead of for +the thrill, as he once had done. Another month went by, to bring with +it the bill of lading which told that the saws, the beltings, the +planers and edgers and trimmers, and the half hundred other items of +machinery were at last on their way, a month of activities and—of +hopes. +</P> + +<P> +For to Ba'tiste Renaud and Barry Houston there yet remained one faint +chance. The Blackburn crowd had taken on a gamble, one which, at the +time, had seemed safe enough; the investment of thousands of dollars +for a plant which they had believed firmly would be free of +competition. That plant could not hope for sufficient business to keep +it alive, with the railroad contract gone, and the bigger mill of +Houston and Renaud in successful operation. There would come the time +when they must forfeit that lease and contract through non-payment, or +agree to re-lease them to the original owner. But would that time +arrive soon enough? It was a grim possibility,—a gambling wager that +held forth hope, and at the same time threatened them with extinction. +For the same thing applied to Houston and Ba'tiste that applied to +Blackburn and Thayer. If they could not make good on their contract, +the other mill was ever ready to step in. +</P> + +<P> +"Eet all depen'," said Ba'tiste more than once during the snowy, +frost-caked days in which they watched every freight train that pulled, +white-coated, over the range into Tabernacle. "Eet all depen' on the +future. Mebbe so, we make eet. Mebbe so, we do not. But we gamble, +eh, <I>mon</I> Baree?" +</P> + +<P> +"With our last cent," came the answer of the other man, and in the +voice was grimness and enthusiasm. It was a game of life or extinction +now. +</P> + +<P> +March, and a few warm days, which melted the snows only that they might +crust again. Back and forth traveled the bobsled to Tabernacle, only +to meet with disappointment. +</P> + +<P> +"I've wired the agent at Denver three times about that stuff," came the +announcement of the combined telegrapher and general supervisor of +freight at the little station. "He's told me that he'd let me know as +soon as it got in. But nothing's come yet." +</P> + +<P> +A week more, and another week after that, in which spring taunted the +hills, causing the streams to run bank-full with the melting waters of +the snow, in which a lone robin made his appearance about the +camp,—only to fade as quickly as he had come. For winter, tenacious, +grim, hateful winter, had returned for a last fling, a final outburst +of frigid viciousness that was destined to wrap the whole range country +in a grip of terror. +</P> + +<P> +They tried the bobsled, Ba'tiste and Houston, only to give it up. All +night had the snow fallen, in a thick, curtain-like shield which +blotted out even the silhouettes of the heaviest pines at the brow of +the hill, which piled high upon the ridges, and with great sweeps of +the wind drifted every cut of the road to almost unfathomable depths. +The horses floundered and plowed about in vain efforts at locomotion, +at last to plunge in the terror of a bottomless road. They whinnied +and snorted, as though in appeal to the men on the sled behind,—a sled +that worked on its runners no longer, but that sunk with every fresh +drift to the main-boards themselves. Wadded with clothing, shouting in +a mixture of French and English and his own peculiar form of slang, +Ba'tiste tried in vain to force the laboring animals onward. But they +only churned uselessly in the drift; their hoofs could find no footing, +save the yielding masses of snow. Puffing, as though the exertion had +been his own, the trapper turned and stared down at his companion. +</P> + +<P> +"Eet is no use," came finally. "The horse, he can not pull. We must +make the trip on the snowshoe." +</P> + +<P> +They turned back for the bunk house, to emerge a few moments +later,—bent, padded forms, fighting clumsily against the sweep of the +storm. Ghosts they became almost immediately, snow-covered things that +hardly could be discerned a few feet away, one hand of each holding +tight to the stout cord which led from waist-belt to waist-belt, their +only insurance against being parted from each other in the blinding +swirl of winter. +</P> + +<P> +Hours, stopping at short intervals to seek for some landmark—for the +road long ago had become obliterated—at last to see faintly before +them the little box-car station house, and to hurry toward it in a fear +that neither of them dared to express to the other. Snow in the +mountains is not a gentle thing, nor one that comes by fits and gusts. +The blizzard does not sweep away its vengeful enthusiasm in a day or a +night. It comes and it stays—departing for a time, it seems—that it +may gather new strength and fury for an even fiercer attack. And the +features of the agent, as he stared up from the rattling telegraph key, +were not conducive to relief. +</P> + +<P> +"Your stuff's on the way, if that's any news to you," came with a +worried laugh. "It left Denver on Number 312 at five o'clock this +morning behind Number Eight. That's no sign that it's going to get +here. Eight isn't past Tollifer yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Not past Tollifer?" Houston stared anxiously. "Why, it should be at +the top of the range by now. It hasn't even begun to climb." +</P> + +<P> +"Good reason. They're getting this over there too." +</P> + +<P> +"The snow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Worse than here, if anything. Denver reported ten inches at eleven +o'clock—and it's fifteen miles from the range. There was three inches +when the train started. Lord knows where that freight is—I can't get +any word from it." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"Gone out again!" The telegrapher hammered disgustedly on the key. +"The darned line grounds on me about every five minutes. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you hear anything from Crestline—about conditions up there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bad. It's even drifting in the snowsheds. They've got two plows +working in 'em keeping 'em open, and another down at Crystal Lake. If +things let up, they're all right. If not—they'll run out of coal by +to-morrow morning and be worse than useless. There's only about a +hundred tons at Crestline—and it takes fuel to feed them babies. But +so far—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes?" +</P> + +<P> +"They're keeping things halfway open. Wait a minute—" he bent over +the key again—"it's opened up. Number Eight's left Tollifer. The +freight's behind it, and three more following that. I guess they're +going to try to run them through in a bunch. They'll be all right—if +they can only get past Crestline. But if they don't—" +</P> + +<P> +He rattled and banged at the key for a long moment, cursing softly. +Only the dead "cluck" of a grounded line answered him. Houston turned +to Ba'tiste. +</P> + +<P> +"It looks bad." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>! But eet depen'—on the storm. Eet come this way, near' ev' +spring. Las' year the road tie up—and the year before. Oh," he +shrugged his shoulders, "that is what one get for living in a country +where the railroad eet chase eetself all over the mountain before eet +get here." +</P> + +<P> +"There wouldn't be any chance at the tunnel either, would there? They +haven't cut through yet." +</P> + +<P> +"No—and they won' finish until June. That is when they figure—" +</P> + +<P> +"That's a long way off." +</P> + +<P> +"Too long," agreed Ba'tiste, and turned again toward the telegrapher, +once more alert over a speaking key. But before it could carry +anything but a fragmentary message, life was gone again, and the +operator turned to the snow-caked window, with its dreary exterior of +whirling snow that seemed to come ever faster. +</P> + +<P> +"Things are going to get bad in this country if this keeps up," came at +last. "There ain't any too great a stock of food." +</P> + +<P> +"How about hay for the cattle?" +</P> + +<P> +"All right. I guess. If the ranchers can get to it. But that's the +trouble about this snow. It ain't like the usual spring blizzard. +It's dry as a January fall, and it's sure drifting. Keeps up for four +or five days; they'll be lucky to find the haystacks." +</P> + +<P> +For a long time then, the three stood looking out the window, +striving—merely for the sake of passing time—to identify the almost +hidden buildings of the little town, scarcely more than a hundred yards +away. At last the wire opened again, and the operator went once more +to his desk. Ba'tiste and Houston waited for him to give some report. +But there was none. At last: +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" Houston was at his side. The operator looked up. +</P> + +<P> +"Denver asking Marionville if it can put its snowplow through and try +to buck the drifts from this side. No answer yet." +</P> + +<P> +A long wait. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's done. Only got one Mallett engine at Marionville. Other +two are in the shop. One engine couldn't—" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped. He bent over the key. His face went white—tense. +</P> + +<P> +"God!" +</P> + +<P> +"What's wrong?" The two men were close beside him now. +</P> + +<P> +"Number one-eleven's kicked over the hill!" +</P> + +<P> +"One-eleven—kicked over?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Snowplow. They're wiring Denver, from Crestline. The second +plow's up there in the snowshed with the crew. One of 'em's dead. The +other's—wait a minute, I have to piece it together." +</P> + +<P> +A silence, except for the rattling of the key, broken, jagged, a +clattering voice of the distance, faint in the roar and whine of the +storm, yet penetrating as it carried the news of a far-away world,—a +world where the three waiting men knew that all had turned to a white +hell of wintry fury; where the grim, forbidding mountains were now the +abiding place of the snow-ledge and the avalanche; where even steel and +the highest product of invention counted for nothing against the blast +of the wind and the swirl of the tempest. Then finally, as from far +away, a strained voice came, the operator's: +</P> + +<P> +"Ice had gotten packed on the rails already. One-eleven tried to keep +on without a pick and shovel gang. Got derailed on a curve just below +Crestline and went over. One-twelve's crew got the men up. The plow's +smashed to nothing. Fifty-three thousand dollars' worth of junk now. +Wait a minute—here's Denver." +</P> + +<P> +Again one of those agonizing waits, racking to the two men whose future +depended largely upon the happenings atop the range. Far on the other +side, fighting slowly upward, was a freight train containing flatcar +after flatcar loaded with the necessary materials of a large sawmill. +True, June was yet two months away. But months are short when there is +work to do, when machinery must be installed, and when contracts are +waiting. Every day, every hour, every minute counted now. And as if +in answer to their thoughts, the operator straightened, with a little +gesture of hopelessness. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess it's all off," came at last. "The general superintendent in +Denver's on the wire. Says to back up everything to Tollifer, +including the plows, and give up the ghost." +</P> + +<P> +"Give it up?" Houston stared blankly at the telegrapher. "But that's +not railroading!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is when you're with a concern that's all but broke," answered the +operator. "It's cheaper for this old wooden-axle outfit to quit than +to go on fighting—" +</P> + +<P> +"That mean six weeks eef this storm keep up two days longer!" Ba'tiste +broke in excitedly. "By to-morrow morning, ever' snowshed, he will be +bank-full of snow. The track, he will be four inches in ice. Six +week—this country, he can not stand it! Tell him so on the telegraph! +Tell him the cattle, he will starve! Peuff! No longer do I think of +our machinery! Eef it is los'—we are los'. But let eet go. Say to +heem nothing of that. Say to heem that there are the cattle that will +starve, that in the stores there is not enough provision. That—" +</P> + +<P> +"I know. I'll call Denver. But I don't know what chance there is—the +road's been waiting for a chance to go into bankruptcy, anyway—since +this new Carrow Point deal is about through. They haven't got any +money—you know that, Ba'tiste. It's cheaper for them to shut down for +six weeks than to try to keep running. That fifty thousand they lost +on that snowplow just about put the crimp in 'em. It might cost a +couple of hundred thousand more to keep the road open. What's the +result? It's easier to quit. But I'll try 'em—" +</P> + +<P> +He turned to the key and hammered doggedly. Only soggy deadness +answered. He tested his plugs and tried again. In vain. An hour +later, he still was there, fighting for the impossible, striving to +gain an answer from vacancy, struggling to instil life into a thing +deadened by ice, and drifts, and wind, and broken, sagging telegraph +poles. The line was gone! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + + +<P> +Until dusk they remained in the boxlike station, hoping against hope. +But the whine and snarl of the wind were the only sounds that came to +them, the steady banking of the snow against the windows the only +evidence of life. The telegraph line, somewhere between Tabernacle and +the country which lay over the bleak, now deadly range, was a shattered +thing, with poles buried in drifts, with loose strands of wire swinging +in the gusts of the blizzard, with ice coated upon the insulations, and +repair—until the sun should come and the snows melt—an almost +impossible task. +</P> + +<P> +"It'd take a guy with a diving suit to find some of them wires, I +guess," the operator hazarded, as he finally ceased his efforts and +reached for his coat and hat and snowshoes. "There ain't no use +staying here. You fellows are going to sleep in town to-night, ain't +you?" +</P> + +<P> +There was little else to do. They fought their way to the rambling +boarding house, there to join the loafing group in what passed for a +lobby and to watch with them the lingering death of day in a shroud of +white. Night brought no cessation of the wind, no lessening of the +banks of snow which now were drifting high against the first-story +windows; the door was only kept in working order through constant +sallies of the bent old boarding-house keeper, with his snow shovel. +</P> + +<P> +Windows banged and rattled, with a muffled, eerie sound; snow sifted +through the tiniest cracks, spraying upon those who sat near them. The +old cannon-ball stove, crammed with coal, reached the point where dull +red spots enlivened its bulging belly; yet the big room was cold with +non-detectable drafts, the men shivered in spite of their heavy +clothing, and the region outside the immediate radius of the heater was +barn-like with frigidity. Midnight came, and the group about the stove +slept in their chairs, rather than undergo the discomfort and coldness +of bed. +</P> + +<P> +Morning brought no relief. The storm was worse, if anything, and the +boarding-house keeper faced drifts waist high at the doorway with his +first shoveling expedition of the day. The telegrapher, at the +frost-caked window, rubbed a spot with his hand and stared into the +dimness of the flying snow, toward his station. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess I'll have t' call for volunteers if I get in there to-day. +We'll have to tunnel." +</P> + +<P> +Ba'tiste and Houston joined him. The box car that served as a station +house—always an object of the heaviest drifts—was buried! The big +French-Canadian pulled at his beard. +</P> + +<P> +"Peuff! Eet is like the ground hog," he announced. "Eet is +underground already." +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh. But I've got to get in there. The wire might be working." +</P> + +<P> +"So? We will help, Baree and Ba'teese. Come—we get the shovels." +</P> + +<P> +Even that was work. The town simply had ceased to be; the stores were +closed, solitude was everywhere. They forced a window and climbed into +the little general merchandise establishment, simply because it was +easier than striving to get in through the door. Then, armed with +their shovels, they began the work of tunneling to the station. Two +hours later, the agent once more at his dead key, Ba'tiste turned to +Houston. +</P> + +<P> +"Eet is the no use here," he announced. "We must get to camp and +assemble the men that are strong and willing to help. Then—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then, eet will be the battle to help those who are not fortunate. +There is death in this storm." +</P> + +<P> +Again with their waist-belt guide lines, they started forth, to bend +against the storm in a struggle that was to last for hours; to lose +their trail, to find it again, through the straggling poles that in the +old days had carried telephone wires, and at last to reach the squat, +snowed-in buildings of camp. There, Ba'tiste assembled the workmen in +the bunk house. +</P> + +<P> +"There are greater things than this now," he announced. "We want the +strong men—who will go back with us to Tabernacle, and who will be +willing to take the risk to help the countryside. Ah, <I>oui</I>, eet is +the danger that is ahead. How many of you will go?" +</P> + +<P> +One after another they readied for their snowshoes, silent men who +acted, rather than spoke. A few were left behind, to care for the camp +in case of emergencies, to keep the roofs as free from snow as possible +and to avoid cave-ins. The rest filed outside, one by one, awkwardly +testing the bindings of their snowshoes, and awaiting the command. At +the doorway, Ba'tiste, his big hands fumbling, caught the paws of +Golemar, his wolf-dog, and raised the great, shaggy creature against +his breast. +</P> + +<P> +"No," he said in kindly, indulgent fashion. "Eet is not for Golemar to +go with us. The drift, they are deep. There is no crust on the snow. +Golemar, he would sink above his head. Then blooey! There would be no +Golemar!" +</P> + +<P> +Guide lines were affixed. Once more, huddled, clumsy figures of white, +one following the other, they made the gruelling trip back to +Tabernacle and the duties which they knew lay before them. For already +the reports were beginning to come in, brought by storm-weakened, +blizzard-battered men, of houses where the roofs had crashed beneath +the weight of snow, of lost ranchmen, of bawling cattle, drifting +before the storm,—to death. It was the beginning of a two-weeks' +siege of a white inferno. +</P> + +<P> +Little time did Barry Houston have for thought in those weeks. There +were too many other things to crowd upon him; too many cold, horrible +hours in blinding snow, or in the faint glare of a ruddy sun which only +broke through the clouds that it might jeer at the stricken country +beneath it, then fade again in the whipping gusts of wind and its +attendant clouds, giving way once more to the surging sweep of white +and the howl of a freshened blizzard. +</P> + +<P> +Telegraph poles reared only their cross-arms above the mammoth drifts. +Haystacks became buried, lost things. The trees of the forest, +literally harnessed with snow, dropped their branches like tired arms +too weary to longer bear their burdens. The whole world, it seemed, +was one great, bleak thing of dreary white,—a desert in which there +was life only that there might be death, where the battle for existence +continued only as a matter of instinct. +</P> + +<P> +And through—or rather over—this bleak desert went the men of the West +Country, silent, frost-burned men, their lips cracked from the cut of +wind, their eyes blood-red with inflammation, struggling here and there +with a pack of food upon their back that they might reach some desolate +home where there were women and children; or stopping to pull and tug +at a snow-trapped steer and by main effort, drag him into a barren spot +where the sweep of the gale had kept the ground fairly clear of snow; +at times also, they halted to dig into a haystack, and through long +hours scattered the welcome food about for the bawling cattle; or +gathered wood, where such a thing was possible, and lighting great +fires, left them, that they might melt the snows about a spot near a +supply of feed, where the famished cattle could gather and await the +next trip of the rescuers, bearing them sustenance. +</P> + +<P> +Oftimes they stopped in vain—the beast which they sought to succor was +beyond aid—and a revolver shot sounded, muffled in the thickness of +the storm. Then, with knives and axes, the attack came, and struggling +forms bore to a ranch house the smoking portions of a newly butchered +beef; food at least for one family until the relief of sun and warmth +would come. It was a never-ending agony of long hours and +muscle-straining work. But the men who partook—were men. +</P> + +<P> +And side by side with the others, with giant Ba'tiste, with the silent +woodsmen, with the angular, wiry ranchmen, was Barry Houston. His +muscles ached. His head was ablaze with the eye-strain of constant +white; his body numbed with cold from the time that he left the old +cannon-ball stove of the boarding house in the early morning until he +returned to it at night. Long ago had he lost hope,—so far as +personal aims and desires were concerned. The Crestline road was tied +up; it had quit completely; Barry Houston knew that the fury of the +storm in this basin country below the hills was as nothing compared to +the terror of those crag tops where altitude added to the frigidity, +and where from mountain peak to mountain peak the blizzard leaped with +ever-increasing ferocity. Far out on the level stretches leading up to +the plains of Wyoming, other men were working, struggling doggedly from +telegraph pole to telegraph pole, in an effort to repair the lines so +that connection might be made to Rawlins, and thence to Cheyenne and +Denver,—to apprise the world that a great section of the country had +been cut off from aid, that women and children were suffering from lack +of food, that every day brought the news of a black splotch in the +snow,—the form of a man, arms outstretched, face buried in the drift, +who had fought and lost. But so far, there had been only failure. It +was a struggle that made men grim and dogged; Barry Houston no less +than the rest. He had ceased to think of the simpler things of life, +of the ordinary problems, the usual worries or likes and dislikes. His +path led once by the home of Medaine Robinette, and he clambered toward +the little house with little more of feeling than of approaching that +of the most unfamiliar ranchman. +</P> + +<P> +Smoke was coming from the chimney. There were the marks of snowshoes. +But they might mean nothing in the battle for existence. Houston +scrambled up to the veranda and banged on the door. A moment more, and +he faced Medaine Robinette. +</P> + +<P> +"Just wanted to see if you're all right," came almost curtly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—thank you." +</P> + +<P> +"Need any food?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have plenty." +</P> + +<P> +"Anybody sick?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Lost Wing has found wood. We're keeping warm. Tell me—" and +there was the politeness of emergency in her tones—"is there any need +for women in Tabernacle? I am willing to go if—" +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet. Besides, a woman couldn't get in there alone." +</P> + +<P> +"I could. I'm strong enough. Besides, I've been out—I went to the +Hurd Ranch yesterday. Mrs. Hurd's sick—Lost Wing brought me the word." +</P> + +<P> +"Then keep on with that. There's nothing in Tabernacle—and no place +for any one who isn't destitute. Stay here. Have you food enough for +Hurd's?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. That is—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll leave my pack. Take that over as you need it. There's enough +for a week there. If things don't let up by that time, I'll be by +again." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you." +</P> + +<P> +Then the door was closed, and Houston went his way again, back to +Tabernacle and a fresh supply for his pack—hardly realizing the fact +that he had talked to the woman he could not help wishing for—the +woman he would have liked to have loved. The world was almost too +gray, too grim, too horrible for Houston even to remember that there +was an estrangement between them. Dully, his intellect numbed as his +body was numbed, he went back to his tasks,—tasks that were seemingly +endless. +</P> + +<P> +Day after day, the struggle remained the same, the wind, the snow, the +drifts, the white fleece flying on the breast of the gale even when +there were no storm clouds above, blotting out the light of the sun and +causing the great ball to be only a red, ugly, menacing thing in a +field of dismal gray. Night after night the drifts swept, changing, +deepening in spots where the ground had been clear before, smoothing +over the hummocks, weaving across the country like the vagaries of +shifting sands before they finally packed into hard, compressed mounds, +to form bulwarks for newer drifts when the next storm came. Day after +day,—and then quiet, for forty-eight hours. +</P> + +<P> +It caused men to shout,—men who had cursed the sun in the blazing +noonday hours of summer, but men who now extended their arms to it, who +slapped one another on the back, who watched the snow with blood-red +eyes for the first sign of a melting particle, and who became +hysterically jubilant when they saw it. Forty-eight hours! Deeper and +deeper went the imprints of milder weather upon the high-piled +serrations of white, at last to cease. The sun had faded on the +afternoon of the second day. The thaw stopped. The snowshoes soon +carried a new crunching sound that gradually became softer, more +muffled. For the clouds had come again, the wind had risen with a +fiercer bite than ever in it; again the snow was falling. But the grim +little army of rescuers, plodding from one ranchhouse to another, had +less of worriment in their features now,—even though the situation was +no less tense, no less dangerous. At least the meager stores of the +small merchandise establishment in Tabernacle could be distributed with +more ease; a two-inch crust of snow had formed over the main snowfall, +permitting small sleds to be pulled behind struggling men; the world +beneath had been frozen in, to give place to a new one above. And with +that: +</P> + +<P> +"It's open! It's open!" The shout came from the lips of the +telegrapher, waving his arms as he ran from the tunnel that led to the +stationhouse. "It's open! I've had Rawlins on the wire!" +</P> + +<P> +Men crowded about him and thumped into the little box car to listen, +like children, to the rattling of the telegraph key,—as though they +never had heard one before. So soon does civilization feel the need of +its inventions, once they are taken away; so soon does the mind become +primitive, once the rest of the world has been shut away from it. +Eagerly they clustered there, staring with anxious eyes toward the +operator as he hammered at the key, talking in whispers lest they +disturb him, waiting for his interpretation of the message, like +worshippers waiting for the word of an oracle. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm putting it all on the wire!" he announced at last, with feverish +intensity. "I'm telling 'em just how it is over here. Maybe they can +do something—from Rawlins." +</P> + +<P> +"Rawlins?" Houston had edged forward. "There's not a chance. It's +hundreds of miles away; they can't use horses, and they certainly can't +walk. Wait—will you give me a chance at something?" +</P> + +<P> +A gleam had come into his eyes. His hands twisted nervously. Voices +mumbled about him; suddenly the great hands of Ba'tiste grasped him by +the shoulders and literally tossed him toward the telegrapher. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>! If eet is the idea—then speak it." +</P> + +<P> +"Go on—" the telegrapher had stopped his key for a moment—"I'll put +it through, if it'll help." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. Get Denver on the wire. Then take this message to every +newspaper in the city: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"'Can't you help us? Please try to start campaign to force Crestline +Road to open the Pass. Women and children are starving here. We have +been cut off from the rest of the world for two weeks. We need +food—and coal. Road will not be open for four or five weeks more +under ordinary circumstances. This will mean death to many of us here, +the wiping out of a great timber and agricultural country, and a blot +on the history of Colorado. Help us—and we will not forget it." +</P> + +<P> +"'THE CITIZENS OF THE WEST COUNTRY.'" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>!" Old Ba'tiste was addressing the rest of the crowd. "The +newspapers, they can help, better than any one else. Eet is our +chance. <I>Bon</I>—good! <I>Mon</I> Baree, he have the big, what-you-say, +sentiment." +</P> + +<P> +"Sounds good." The telegrapher was busily putting it on the wire. +Then a wait of hours,—hours in which the operator varied his routine +by sending the word of the stricken country to Cheyenne, to Colorado +Springs, to Pueblo, and thence, through the news agencies, to the rest +of the world. +</P> + +<P> +"Might as well get everybody in on it," he mused, as he pounded the +telegraph instrument; "can't tell—some of those higher-ups might be in +New York and think there wasn't anything to it unless they could see it +in the New York papers. I—" Then he stopped as the wire cut under +his finger and clattered forth a message. He jumped. He grasped +Ba'tiste in his lank arms, then turned beaming to the rest of the +gaping crowd. +</P> + +<P> +"It's from the papers in Denver!" he shouted. "A joint message. +They've taken up the fight!" +</P> + +<P> +A fight which had its echoes in the little railroad box car, the center +of the deadened, shrouded West Country, the news of which must travel +to Cheyenne, to Rawlins, thence far down through the northern country +over illy patched telegraph wires before it reached the place for which +it was intended, the box car and its men who came and went, eager for +the slightest word from the far-away, yet grudging of their time, lest +darkness still find them in the snows, and night come upon them +struggling to reach the little town and send them into wandering, +aimless journeys that might end in death. For the snows still swirled, +the storms still came and went, the red ball of the sun still refused +to come forth in its beaming strength. And it was during this period +of uncertainty that Houston met Ba'tiste Renaud, returning from a +cruising expedition far in the lake region, to find him raging, his +fists clenched, his eyes blazing. +</P> + +<P> +"Is eet that the world is all unjust?" he roared, as he faced Houston. +"Is eet that some of us do our part, while others store up for +emergency? Eh? Bah! I am the mad enough to tear them apart!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who? What's gone wrong?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am the mad! You have no seen the M'sieu Thayer during all the +storm?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor the M'sieu Blackburn? Nor the men who work for them. Eh? You +have no seen them?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, not once." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! I pass to-day the Blackburn mill. They have shovel out about the +sawshed. They have the saw going,—they keep at work, when there are +the women and the babies who starve, when there are the cattle who are +dying, when there is the country that is like a broken thing. But they +work—for themself! They saw the log into the tie—they work from the +piles of timber which they have about the sawmill, to store up the +supply. They know that we do not get our machinery! They have think +they have a chance—for the contract!" +</P> + +<P> +It brought Houston to a sharp knowledge of conditions. They had given, +that the rest of the country might not suffer. Their enemies had +worked on, fired with the new hope that the road over the mountains +would not be opened; that the machinery so necessary to the carrying +out of Houston's contract would not arrive in time to be of aid. For +without the ability to carry out the first necessities of that +agreement, the rest must surely and certainly fail. Long before, +Houston had realized the danger that the storm meant; there had been no +emergency clause in the contract. Now his hands clenched, his teeth +gritted. +</P> + +<P> +"It almost seems that there's a premium on being crooked, Ba'tiste," +came at last. "It—" +</P> + +<P> +Then he ceased. A shout had come from the distance. Faintly through +the sifting snow they could see figures running. Then the words +came,—faint, far-away, shrill shouts forcing their way through the +veil of the storm. +</P> + +<P> +"They're going to open the road! They're going to open the road!" +</P> + +<P> +Here, there and back again it came, men calling to men, the few women +of the little settlement braving the storm that they too might add to +the gladful cry. Already, according to the telegram, snow-fighting +machinery and men were being assembled in Denver for the first spurt +toward Tollifer, and from there through the drifts and slides of the +hills toward Crestline. Ba'tiste and Houston were running now, as fast +as their snowshoes would allow, oblivious for once of the cut of the +wind and the icy particles of its frigid breath. +</P> + +<P> +"They open the road!" boomed Ba'tiste in chorus with the rest of the +little town. "Ah, <I>oui</I>! They open the road. The Crestline Railroad, +he have a heart after all, he have a—" +</P> + +<P> +"Any old time!" It was a message bearer coming from the shack of a +station. "They're not going to do it—it's the M. P. & S. L." +</P> + +<P> +"Through the tunnel?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Over the hill. According to the message, the papers hammered the +stuffing out of the Crestline road. But you've got to admit that they +haven't got either the motive power or the money. The other road saw a +great chance to step in and make itself solid with this country over +here. It's lending the men and the rolling stock. They're going to +open another fellow's road, for the publicity and the good will that's +in it." +</P> + +<P> +A grin came to Houston's lips,—the first one in weeks. He banged +Ba'tiste on his heavily wadded shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the kind of railroad to work for!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>! And when eet come through—ah, we shall help to build it." +</P> + +<P> +Two pictures flashed across Houston's brain; one of a snowy sawmill +with the force working day and night, when all the surrounding country +cried for help, working toward its selfish ends that it might have a +supply of necessary lumber in case a more humane organization should +fail; another of carload after carload of necessary machinery, +snow-covered, ice-bound, on a sidetrack at Tollifer, with the whole, +horrible, snow-clutched fierceness of the Continental Divide between it +and its goal. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope so!" he exclaimed fervently. "I hope so!" +</P> + +<P> +Then, swept along by hurrying forms, they went on toward the station +house, there to receive the confirmation of the glad news, to shout +until their throats were raw, and then, still with their duties before +them, radiate once more on their missions of mercy. For the +announcement of intention was no accomplishment. It was one thing for +the snowplows and the gangs and tremendous engines of the M. P. & S. L. +to attempt to open the road over the divide. But it was quite another +thing to do it! +</P> + +<P> +All that day Houston thought of it, dreamed of it, tried to visualize +it,—the fight of a railroad against the snows of the hills. He +wondered how the snowplows would work, how they would break through the +long, black snowsheds, now crammed with the thing which they had been +built to resist. He thought of the laborers; and his breath pulled +sharply. Would they have enough men? It would be grueling work up +there, terrific work; would there be sufficient laborers who would be +willing to undergo the hardships for the money they received? Would— +</P> + +<P> +In the night he awoke, again thinking of it. Every possible hand that +could swing a pick or jam a crowbar against grudging ice would be +needed up there. Every pair of shoulders willing to assume the burdens +of a horrible existence that others might live would be welcomed. A +mad desire began to come over him; a strange, impelling scheme took +hold of his brain. They would need men,—men who would not be afraid, +men who would be willing to slave day and night if necessary to the +success of the adventure. And who should be more willing than he? His +future, his life, his chance of success, where now was failure, lay at +Tollifer. His hands would be more than eager! His muscles more than +glad to ache with the fatigue of manual labor! Long before dawn he +rose and scribbled a note in the dim light of the old kerosene lamp in +the makeshift lobby, a note to Ba'tiste Renaud: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"I'm going over the range. I can't wait. They may need me. I'm +writing this, because you would try to dissuade me if I told you +personally. Don't be afraid for me—I'll make it somehow. I've got to +go. It's easier than standing by. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"HOUSTON." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Then, his snowshoes affixed, he went out into the night. The stars +were shining dimly, and Houston noticed them with an air of +thankfulness as he took the trail of the telephone poles and started +toward the faint outline of the mountains in the distance. It would +make things easier; but an hour later, as he looked for a dawn that did +not come, he realized that it had been only a jest of the night. The +storm clouds were thick on the sky again, the snow was dashing about +him once more; half-blindly, gropingly, he sought to force his way from +one pole to another,—in vain. +</P> + +<P> +He measured his steps, and stopping, looked about him. He had traveled +the distance from one pole to another, yet in the sweep of the darting +sheet of white he could discern no landmark, nothing to guide him +farther on his journey. He floundered aimlessly, striving by short +sallies to recover the path from which the storm had taken him, but all +to no purpose. If dawn would only come! +</P> + +<P> +Again and again, hardly realizing the dangers to which he was +subjecting himself, Houston sought to regain his lost sense of +direction. Once faintly, in the far-away, as the storm lifted for a +moment, he thought that he glimpsed a pole and hurried toward it with +new hope, only to find it a stalwart trunk of a dead tree, rearing +itself above the mound-like drifts. Discouraged, half-beaten, he tried +again, only to wander farther than ever from the trail. Dawn found him +at last, floundering hopelessly in snow-screened woods, going on toward +he knew not where. +</P> + +<P> +A half-hour, then he stopped. Fifty feet away, almost covered by the +changing snows, a small cabin showed faintly, as though struggling to +free itself from the bonds of white, and Houston turned toward it +eagerly. His numbed hands banged at the door, but there came no +answer. He shouted; still no sound came from within, and he turned the +creaking, protesting knob. +</P> + +<P> +The door yielded, and climbing over the pile of snow at the step, +Houston guided his snowshoes through the narrow door, blinking in the +half-light in an effort to see about him. There was a stove, but the +fire was dead. At the one little window, the curtain was drawn tight +and pinned at the sides to the sash. There was a bed—and the form of +some one beneath the covers. Houston called again, but still there +came no answer. He turned to the window, and ripping the shade from +its fastenings, once more sought the bed, to bend over and to stare in +dazed, bewildered fashion, as though in a dream. He was looking into +the drawn, haggard features of an unconscious woman, the eyes +half-open, yet unseeing, one emaciated hand grasped about something +that was shielded by the covers. Houston forced himself even closer. +He touched the hand. He called: +</P> + +<P> +"Agnes!" +</P> + +<P> +The eyelids moved slightly; it was the only evidence of life, save the +labored, irregular breathing. Then the hand moved, clutchingly. +Slowly, tremblingly, Houston turned back an edge of the blankets,—and +stood aghast. +</P> + +<P> +On her breast was a baby—dead! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + + +<P> +There was no time for conjectures. The woman meant a human life,—in +deadly need of resuscitation, and Barry leaped to his task. +</P> + +<P> +Warmth was the first consideration, and he hurried to the sheet-iron +stove, with its pile of wood stacked behind, noticing, as he built the +fire, cans and packages of provisions upon the shelf over the small +wooden table, evidence that some one other than the woman herself had +looked after the details of stocking the cabin with food and of +providing against emergencies. At least a portion of the wood as he +shoved it into the stove crackled and spit with the wetness of snow; +the box had been replenished, evidently within the last few days. +</P> + +<P> +Soon water was boiling. Hot cloths went to the woman's head; quietly, +reverently, Barry had taken the still, small child from the tightly +clenched arm and covered it, on the little table. And with the touch +of the small, lifeless form, the resentment which had smoldered in +Houston's heart for months seemed to disappear. Instinctively he knew +what a baby means to a mother,—and she must be its mother. He +understood that the agony of loss which was hers was far greater even +than the agony which her faithlessness had meant for him. Gently, +almost tenderly, he went again to the bed, to chafe the cold, thin +wrists, to watch anxiously the eyes, then at last to bend forward. The +woman was looking at him, staring with fright in her gaze, almost +terror. +</P> + +<P> +"Barry—" the word was more of a mumble. "Barry—" then the eyes +turned, searching for the form that no longer was beside her. +"My—my—" Then, with a spasm of realization, she was silent. Houston +strove dully for words. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry—Agnes. Don't be afraid of me. I'll get help for you." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't." The voice was a monotone, minus expression, almost minus +life. The face had become blank, so much parchment drawn over bone. +"I've been sick—my baby—where's my baby?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," came at last. There was the dullness that comes when grief has +reached the breaking point. "Dead. It died—yesterday morning." +</P> + +<P> +Houston could say nothing in answer. The simple statement was too +tragic, too full of meaning, too fraught with the agony of that long +day and night of suffering, for any reply in words that would not jar, +or cause even a greater pang. Quietly he turned to the stove, red-hot +now, and with snow water began the making of gruel from the supplies on +the shelf. Once he turned, suddenly aware that the eyes of the woman +were centered in his direction. But they were not upon him; their gaze +was for one thing, one alone,—that tiny, covered form on the table. +</P> + +<P> +An hour passed silently, except for the trivialities of speech +accompanying the proffered food. Then, at last, forcing himself to the +subject, Houston asked a question: +</P> + +<P> +"Where is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" Sudden fright had come into the woman's eyes. A name formed on +Houston's lips, only to be forced back into the more general query: +</P> + +<P> +"Your husband." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"You've got me, haven't you, Barry?" A half-hysterical tone came now. +"You know a lot—and you want the rest, so you can pay me back, don't +you? Oh," and the thin fingers plucked at the bedclothes, "I expected +it! I expected it! I knew sooner or later—" +</P> + +<P> +"If you're talking about me, Agnes—and what I've been led to believe, +we'll save that for a future time. I think I'm enough of a man not to +harass a person in time of grief." +</P> + +<P> +"Coals of fire, eh?" A tinge of her old expression had come back, with +returning strength. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing of the kind. I simply wanted to help you—because you're a +woman in trouble. You're sick. Your baby's—gone. If I can get your +husband for you, I—" +</P> + +<P> +But she shook her head, suddenly weak and broken, suddenly only what +Barry was trying to make of her in his mind, a grieving woman, in need. +</P> + +<P> +"We're—not married. You'll know it sooner or later. I—I don't know +where he is. He was here three days ago and was coming back that +night. But he didn't. Maybe he's gone—he'd threatened it." +</P> + +<P> +"He? You mean—" +</P> + +<P> +She pressed her lips tight. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not going to tell—yet. You've got to do something for me first. +I'm in trouble—" she was speaking rapidly now, the words flooding over +her lips between gasps, her eyes set, her hands knitting. "My baby's +dead. You know that, don't you?" she asked suddenly, in apparent +forgetfulness of any previous conversation. "My baby's dead. It died +yesterday morning—all day long I held it in my arms and cried. Then I +slept, didn't I?" +</P> + +<P> +"You were unconscious." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe I'm going to die." There was childishness in the voice. "Like +my baby. I baptized her before she went. Maybe I'm going to die too." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope not, Agnes." +</P> + +<P> +"You'd like to see me die!" The frail bonds of an illness-ridden brain +were straining at their leash. "I can see it in your eyes. You'd like +to see me die!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" he could think of nothing else. +</P> + +<P> +"Because—" and then she stopped. "No—you're trying to get me to +tell—but I won't; I'll tell when you come back—I'll tell what I said +and did when you bring me the note from the priest. You want me to +tell, don't you? Don't you? That's what you came here for. You found +out I was here. I—did he tell?" she asked sharply. +</P> + +<P> +Barry shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know who you mean, Agnes." +</P> + +<P> +"No? I think you're—" +</P> + +<P> +"I was on my way over the range. I got lost in the storm and stumbled +in here." He looked out. "It's let up some now. Maybe I could find +my way back to town—you must have a doctor." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want a doctor! I want to go—with my baby. And I don't want +him to know—understand that—" with a struggle she raised to one +elbow, eyes suddenly blazing with the flashes of her disordered brain, +features strained and excited. "I don't want him to know! He ran away +and left me for three days. The fire went out—my baby—" hysterical +laughter broke from her dry lips—"My baby died, and still he didn't +come. He—" +</P> + +<P> +"Agnes!" Houston grasped her hands. "Try to control yourself! Maybe +he couldn't get back. The storm—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, the storm! It's always the storm! We would have been +married—but there was the storm. He couldn't marry me months +ago—when I found out—and when I came back out here! He couldn't +marry me then. 'Wait'; that's what he always said—'wait—' and I +waited. Now—" then the voice trailed off—"it's been three days. He +promised to be back. But—" +</P> + +<P> +Houston sought to end the repetition. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I could find him and bring him here." +</P> + +<P> +But it was useless. The woman drifted back to her rambling statements. +Laughter and tears followed one another in quick succession; the +breaking of restraint had come at last. At last she turned, and +staring with glazed eyes into those of Houston, burst forth. +</P> + +<P> +"You hate me, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't deny it!" Querulous imperiousness was in the voice. "You hate +me—you'll go back to Boston and tell my mother about this. I +know—you've got the upper hand now. You'll tell her why I came out +here—you'll tell her about the baby, won't you? Yes, you'll—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell nothing of the sort, Agnes. I don't fight that way. You +ought to know that. You've been my enemy, I'll admit. I've felt +bitter, terribly so, against you. I believed that you used my trust to +betray me. But I believe I know the reason now. Besides, the harm's +done. It's in the past. I fight men, not women." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you want help?" A thin hand stretched out. "Will you give me a +promise—if I give you one?" +</P> + +<P> +"About what, Agnes?" +</P> + +<P> +"My baby. You—you're not going to let it stay there? You're—" +</P> + +<P> +"I hardly know what to do. I thought after you were better, I'd—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm better now." She tried to rise. "I'm better—see? I've more +strength. You could leave me alone. I—I want you to take my baby." +</P> + +<P> +"Where?" +</P> + +<P> +"Where she can sleep in peace—in hallowed ground. I—I want a priest +for her. Tell him that I baptized her Helena." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. And the other name?" +</P> + +<P> +A weird laugh came from the colorless lips. +</P> + +<P> +"She hasn't one." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"Then use mine—so you'll have evidence that I'm not married. Use +mine, if that's the kind of a man you are—so you can go back and tell +them—back home—that I—I—" The last bond had snapped. She caught +at him with clawing hands, her eyes wild, her teeth showing from behind +tightly drawn lips. "Torture me—that's it—torture me! At least, I +didn't do that to you! I told you that I believed in you—at least +that cheered you up when you needed it—I didn't tell you that I +believed you guilty. Did I? I didn't continually ask you for the name +of the man you'd killed? Oh, there were other things—I know there +were other things—" the lips seemed to fairly stream words, "but at +least, I didn't torture you. I—I—" +</P> + +<P> +Then she halted, for the briefest part of a moment, to become suddenly +madly cajoling, crazily cunning: +</P> + +<P> +"Listen, Barry, listen to me. You want to know things. I can tell +them to you—oh, so many of them. I'll tell them too—if you'll only +do this for me. It's my baby—my baby. Don't you know what that +means? Won't you promise for me? Take her to a priest—please, +Barry—for what you once thought I was? Won't you, Barry? Haven't I +had punishment enough? Did you ever lie all day and listen to the wind +shriek, waiting for somebody who didn't come—with your dead baby in +your arms? Do you want to punish me more? Do you want me to die +too—or do you want me to live and tell you why I did the things I did? +Do you? Do you want to know who was back of everything? I didn't do +it for myself, Barry. It was some one else—I'll help you, Barry, +honestly I'll help you." +</P> + +<P> +"About the murder?" Houston was leaning forward now, tense, hopeful. +But the woman shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"No—I don't know about that. Maybe you did it—I can't say. It's +about other things—the lease, and the contract. I'll help you about +that—if you'll help me. Take my baby—" +</P> + +<P> +"And keep your secret, Agnes? Is that it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Will you?" The woman's eyes were gleaming strangely. "My mother +doesn't know. She's old—you know her, Barry. She thinks I'm—what I +should have been. That's why I came back out here. I—I—" +</P> + +<P> +The man rose. He walked to the window and stood for a long time +looking out, trying to close his ears to the ramblings of the woman on +the bed, striving to find a way to keep the promise she sought. For +just a moment the old hatred flooded through him, the resentment toward +this being who had been an integral factor in all the troubles which +had pursued him in his efforts to beat back to a new life. But as +swift as they came, they faded. No longer was she an enemy; only a +broken, beaten woman, her empty arms aching as her heart ached; +harassed by fears of exposure to the one woman in whom she still +desired to be held in honor, of the whereabouts of the man who had led +her on through the byways of love into a dismal maze of chicanery. +Only a woman, ill, perhaps dying. A woman crying out for the one boon +that she could ask of a person she knew to distrust and despise her, +seeking the thing that now was her greatest desire in the world, and +willing to promise—whether truthfully or not, Barry had no way of +telling—to reveal to him secrets of the past, if he would but comply. +Was she honest? As he stood there looking out at the snow, it seemed +to make little difference. Was she sincere? He would strive to aid a +dumb brute if he found it in distress. At last he turned and walked to +the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll promise, Agnes. If you want to help me afterward, well and good. +If not—you are free to do as you please. I suppose you want her +dressed before—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." The woman had raised eagerly. "There are clothes—she's never +had on—in the bottom drawer of that old bureau. Take them with you. +Then look in a box in the top drawer. You'll find a crucifix. +They—they might want to put it on her." +</P> + +<P> +She sank back in the bed, and Barry went to his task of searching the +drawers of the rickety old bureau. In a mass of tangled, old-fashioned +jewelry, he found the crucifix, its chain broken and twisted, and +placed it in a pocket. Then he turned to the grimmer task,—and the +good-by. A half-hour later, white-featured, his arms cupped gently +about a blanket-wrapped form, he stepped forth into the storm, and +bending against the wind, turned toward the railroad in obedience to +the hazy directions of the sobbing woman he had left behind. +</P> + +<P> +The snowfall was lighter now; he could find his way more easily. A +half-hour passed, and he stopped, kneeling and resting the tiny, still +bundle upon his knees to relieve his aching arms. Then on again in +plodding perseverance,—fulfilling a promise to a woman who had done +her best to wreck his existence. +</P> + +<P> +A mile farther, and the railroad telegraph poles appeared. Houston saw +them with grateful eyes, though with concern. He knew to a certainty +that there was no priest in Tabernacle, and what his story would be +when he got there was a little more than he could hazard. To Ba'tiste, +he would tell the truth; to others, there must simply be some +fabrication that would hold for the moment and that would allow him to +go on—while Ba'tiste— +</P> + +<P> +But suddenly he ceased his plans. Black splotches against the snow, +two figures suddenly had come out of the sweeping veil,—a girl and a +man. Something akin to panic seized Houston. The man was Lost Wing, +faithfully in the background as usual. The girl was Medaine Robinette. +</P> + +<P> +For once Houston hoped that she would pass him as usual,—with averted +eyes. He did not care to make explanations, to be forced to lie to +her. But Fate was against him. A moment more and the storm closed in +again, with one of its fitful gusts, only to clear at last and to leave +them face to face. Medaine's eyes went with womanly instinct to the +bundle in his arms. And even though she could see nothing but the +roundness of the blankets, the tender manner in which Barry Houston +held the poor, inanimate little parcel was enough. +</P> + +<P> +"A baby!" There was surprise in her tone. Forgetting for the moment +her aversion to the man himself, she came forward, touching the +blankets, then lifting one edge ever so slightly that she might peer +beneath. "Where did you find it? Whose is it?" +</P> + +<P> +Houston sought vainly for words. He stammered,—a promise made to an +enemy struggling for supremacy. And the words seem to come unbidden: +</P> + +<P> +"Does it matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not." She looked at him queerly. "I merely thought I could +be of assistance." +</P> + +<P> +"You can. Tell me where I can find a priest." +</P> + +<P> +"A priest?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I need him—the baby is dead." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh." She touched the bundle ever so softly. "I didn't know." Then +with a sudden thought; "But her mother. She must need—" +</P> + +<P> +"Only a doctor. I will try to get Ba'tiste to come out." +</P> + +<P> +"But couldn't I—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry." Barry tried in vain for the words that would tell her the +truth, yet tell her nothing. He felt that he was miring himself +hopelessly, that his denials and his efforts at secrecy could cause +only one idea to form in her brain. He wanted to tell her the truth, +to ask her aid, to send her back into the woods to the assistance of +the stricken woman there. But he could not frame the request. +Instead, "I—I can't tell you. I've given a woman my word. She +wouldn't understand—if you went there. With Ba'tiste, it is +different. He is a doctor. He has a right. I—I—" +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," came quietly, and in those two words Houston felt that +her opinion had been formed; that to her, he was the father; the quiet +form in his arms his own child! It was like a blow to him; yet it was +only what he had expected from the moment that he had recognized her. +And after all, he felt that it did not matter; it was only one more +false accusation to be added to the total, only one more height to be +added to the barrier which already existed between them. He accepted +her attitude—in spite of the pain it brought—and faced her. +</P> + +<P> +"You were willing to help—before you—knew. You would have been glad +to help in the case of a stranger. Are you still willing—now?" +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated a moment, her eyes downcast, at last to force a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course. But you are asking something almost impossible. The +nearest priest is at Crestline." +</P> + +<P> +"Crestline?" Houston instinctively turned toward the hills, a bleak, +forbidding wall against the sky. "I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Rather, a mile below there at the Croatian settlement on Mount Harris. +I am afraid you couldn't find it." +</P> + +<P> +"I can try. Will you lend me Lost Wing to run an errand? I want to +get Ba'tiste—for her." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly." +</P> + +<P> +"May I talk to him privately? He understands English?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell Lost Wing that anything you have to say to him shall be a +secret even from me. I—do not want to know it." +</P> + +<P> +She spoke to the Indian in Sioux then and drew away, her eyes on the +tracings of a snowshoe. Houston, pointing with his head, gave the +Indian his directions. +</P> + +<P> +"A woman is sick in a cabin, two miles straight west from here. Get +Ba'tiste Renaud and take him there. Turn away from the stream at a +tall, dead lodgepole and go to the left. You will see the cabin. I +would rather that you would not go in and that you know nothing about +the woman. Tell Ba'tiste that her name must stay a secret until she +herself is willing that it be otherwise. Do you understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"A'ri." The Indian went then toward his mistress, waiting her sanction +to the mission. She looked at Barry Houston. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you given him his directions?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, Lost Wing, do as he has told you." +</P> + +<P> +The Sioux started on, soon to be engulfed in the swirling veil of the +storm. Barry turned again to the girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Just one more request: I can't carry the child up there—this way. +Will you help strap her to my pack?" +</P> + +<P> +Silently she assisted him in the grim task of mercy. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know the Pass?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can find my way." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know it?" +</P> + +<P> +He shook his head. She tapped one glove against the other. +</P> + +<P> +"It is impossible then. You—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll make it some way. Thank you—for helping me." +</P> + +<P> +He started on. But she called him back. +</P> + +<P> +"It's dangerous—too dangerous," and there was a note of pity in her +voice. "It's bad enough on foot when there's no snow—if you're not +familiar with it. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me the way. Perhaps I could find it. It's not for myself. I +made a promise to the child's mother. I'm afraid she's dying." +</P> + +<P> +A new light came into the girl's eyes, a light of compassion, of utmost +pity,—the pity that one can feel for some one who has transgressed, +some one who faces the penalty, who feels the lash of the whip, yet +does not cry out. Slowly she came toward Houston, then bent to tighten +the fastenings of her snowshoes. +</P> + +<P> +"I know the way," came quietly. "I have been over it—in summer and +winter. I will show you." +</P> + +<P> +"You! Medaine! I—I—beg pardon." The outburst had passed his lips +almost before he realized it. "Miss Robinette, you don't know what +you're saying. It's all a man could do to make that climb. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"I know the way," she answered, without indicating that she had heard +his remonstrance. "I am glad to go—for the sake of—" She nodded +slightly toward the tenderly wrapped bundle on the pack. "I would not +feel right otherwise." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +Then she faced him. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not afraid," came with a quiet assurance that spoke more than +words. It told Barry Houston that this little woman of the hills was +willing to help him, although she loathed him; that she was willing to +undergo hardships, to quell her own dislike for the man she aided that +she might give him assistance in a time of death. And he thrilled with +it, in spite of the false beliefs that he knew existed in the mind of +Medaine Robinette. It gave him a pride in her,—even though he knew +this pride to be gained at the loss of his own prestige. And more than +all, it made him glad that he had played the man back there in the +little, lonely cabin, where lay a sorrow-crazed woman, grieving for a +child who was gone; that he too had been big enough and strong enough +to forget the past in the exigencies of the moment; that he had aided +where he might have hindered; that he had soothed where a lesser nature +might have stormed. He bowed his head in acknowledgment of her +announcement. Then, side by side, affixing the stout cord that was to +form a bond of safety between two alien souls, they started forth, a +man who had been accused, but who was strong enough to rise above it, +and a woman whose woman-heart had dictated that dislike, distrust, even +physical fear be subjugated to the greater, nobler purpose of human +charity. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI +</H3> + + +<P> +Silence was their portion as they turned toward the mountains. There +was little to say. Now and then as Houston, in the lead, got off the +trail, Medaine jerked on the cord to draw his attention, then pointed, +and Barry obeyed. Thus their pilgrimage progressed. +</P> + +<P> +An hour found them in the hills, plodding steadily upward, following +the smoother mounds of snow which indicated heavy, secure drifts, at +times progressing easily, almost swiftly, at others veering and +tacking, making the precipitous ascent by digging their shoes into the +snow and literally pulling themselves up, step by step. Here, where +the crags rose about them, where sheer granite walls, too steep, too +barren to form a resting place even for the driven snow, rose brown and +gaunt above them, where the wind seemed to shriek at them from a +hundred places at once, Houston dropped slowly back to watch the effect +that it all was having upon the girl, to study her strength and her +ability to go on. But there was no weakening in the sturdy little +step, no evidence of fatigue. As they went higher, and the wind beat +against them with its hail of splintered ice particles, Houston saw her +heavily gloved hands go to her face in sudden pain and remain there. +The man went to her side, and grasping her by the shoulder, stopped +her. Then, without explanation, he brought forth a heavy bandanna +handkerchief and tied it about her features, as high as possible +without shutting off the sight. Her eyes thanked him. They went on. +</P> + +<P> +Higher—higher! the old cracks of Houston's lips, formed in his days of +wandering, opened and began to bleed, the tiny, red drops falling on +his clothing and congealing there. The flying ice cut his skin; he +knew that his eyeballs were becoming red again, the blood-red where +never a speck of white showed, only black pupils staring forth from a +sea of carmine. Harder and swifter the wind swept about them; its +force greater than the slight form of the woman could resist. Close +went Houston to her; his arm encircled her—and she did not resist—she +who, down there in the west country in the days that had gone, would +have rebelled at the touch of his hand! But now they were in a strange +land where personalities had vanished; two beings equipped with human +intelligence and the power of locomotion, little more. All else in +their natures had become subjugated to the greater tasks which faced +them; the primitive had come to life; they were fighting against every +vengeful weapon which an outraged Nature could hurl,—fighting at +cross-purposes, he to fulfill a promise to a woman who might even now +be dead, she to assuage the promptings of a merciful nature, even to +the extent of the companionship of a man she had been led to revile. +</P> + +<P> +Afternoon came, and the welcome shelter of a ledge where the snow had +drifted far outward, leaving a small space of dry rock,—to them like +an island to a drifting victim of shipwreck. There they stopped, to +bring food from the small provision pack which had been shifted to +Medaine's shoulders, to eat silently, then, without a word, to rise and +go onward. +</P> + +<P> +Miles and miles,—rods in fact. Aeons of space after that, in which +huddled, bent figures in the grip of stormdom, climbed, veering, +swinging about the easier stretches, crawling at painfully slow pace up +the steeper inclines. Upward through the stinging blast of the tempest +they went, toward the top of a stricken world. Late afternoon; then +Medaine turned toward the bleeding man beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"A mile more." +</P> + +<P> +She said no more. He nodded in answer and extended a hand to aid her +over a slippery stretch of ice-coated granite. Timber line came and +went. The snowfall ceased, to give way to the grayness of heavy, +scudding clouds and the spasmodic flurries of driving white, as the +gusty wind caught up the loose fall of the drifts and whirled it on, +like harassed, lost souls seeking in vain a place they could abide. +And it was in one of the moments of quiet that Medaine pointed above. +</P> + +<P> +Five splotches showed on the mountain side,—the roofs of as many +cabins; the rest of them were buried in snow. No smoke came from the +slanting chimneys; no avenues were shoveled to the doorways; the drifts +were unbroken. +</P> + +<P> +"Gone!" Houston voiced the monosyllable. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Probably on to Crestline. I was afraid of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Night's coming." +</P> + +<P> +"It's too late to turn back now." +</P> + +<P> +And in spite of the pain of bleeding, snow-burned lips, Houston smiled +at her,—the smile that a man might give a sister of whom he was +inordinately proud. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you afraid?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Me." +</P> + +<P> +She did not answer for a moment. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"Are you afraid—of yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Only men with something on their conscience are afraid." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him queerly, then turned away. Houston again took the +lead, rounding the stretches, then waiting for her, halting at the +dangerous gulleys and guiding her safely across, but silently. He had +said enough; more would require explanations. And there was a pack +upon his back which contained a tiny form with tight-curled hands, with +eyes that were closed,—a poor, nameless little thing he had sworn to +carry to grace and to protection. At last they reached the cabins. +Houston untied the bond which connected them and loosened his +snowshoes, that he might plunge into the smallest drift before a door +and force his way within. There was no wood; he tore the clapboards +from a near-by cabin and the tar paper from the wind-swept roof. Five +minutes later a fire was booming; a girl tired, bent-shouldered, her +eyes drooping from a sudden desire for sleep, huddled near it. Houston +walked to the pack and took food. +</P> + +<P> +"You would rather eat alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be in the next cabin—awake." +</P> + +<P> +"Awake?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I'd rather—keep watch." +</P> + +<P> +"But there is nothing—" +</P> + +<P> +"Illness—a snowslide—a fresh drift. I would feel easier in mind. +Good night." +</P> + +<P> +Then with his snowshoes and his pack of death, he went out the door, to +plunge through another drift, to force his way into a cabin, and there, +a plodding, dumb figure, go soddenly about the duties of comfort. And +more than once in the howling, blustery night which followed, Houston +shivered, shook himself into action and rose to rebuild a fire that had +died while he had sat hunched in the hard, uncomfortable chair beside +it, trying to fathom what the day had meant, striving to hope for the +keeping of the promises that an hysterical woman had made, struggling +for the strength to go on,—on with this cheery, brave little bit of +humanity in the next cabin, without a word in self-extenuation, without +a hint to break the lack of estimation in which she held him, without a +plea in his own defense. And some way, Houston felt that such a plea +now would be cheap and tawdry; they were in a world where there were +bigger things than human aims and human frailties. Besides, he had +locked his lips at the command of a grief-ridden woman. To open them +in self-extenuation would mean that she must be brought into it; for +she had been the one who had clinched the points of suspicion in the +mind of Medaine Robinette. Were he now to speak of proof that she had +lied— +</P> + +<P> +It was impossible. The wind-swept night became wind-swept dawn, to +find him still huddled there, still thinking, still grim and drawn and +haggard with sleeplessness and fatigue. Then he rose at a call from +without: +</P> + +<P> +"Are you ready?" +</P> + +<P> +He affixed the pack. Together they went on again, graceless figures in +frozen clothing, she pointing the way, he aiding her with his strength, +in the final battle toward the summit of the range,—and Crestline. +</P> + +<P> +Hours they plodded and climbed, climbed and plodded, the blood again +dripping from his lips, her features again shielded by the heavy folds +of the bandanna; the moisture of their breath at times swirling about +them like angry steam, at others invisible in the areas of sudden +dryness, where the atmosphere lapped up even the vapors of laboring +lungs before it could visualize. Snow and cloud and rising walls of +granite: this was their world, and they crawling pigmies within it. +Once she brushed against the pack on his back and drew away with a +sudden recoil. Houston dully realized the reason. The selfish, +gripping hands of Winter, holding nothing sacred, had invaded even +there. +</P> + +<P> +Noon. And a half-cry from both of them, a burst of energy which soon +faded. For above was Crestline—even as the little Croatian settlement +had been—smokeless, lifeless. They had gone from here also, hurrying +humans fleeing with the last snowplow before the tempest, beings afraid +to remain, once the lines of communication were broken. But there was +nothing to do but go on. +</P> + +<P> +Roofless houses met them, stacks of crumpled snow, where the beams had +cracked beneath the weight of high piled drifts; staring, glassless +windows and rooms filled with white; stoves that no longer fought the +clasp of winter but huddled instead amid piles of snow; that was all. +Crestline had fled; there was no life, no sound, only the angry, +wailing cry of the wind through half-frozen roof spouts, the slap of +clattering boards, loosened by the storm. Gloomily Houston surveyed +the desolate picture, at last to turn to the girl. +</P> + +<P> +"I must go on. I gave my promise." +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"It means Tollifer now. The descent is more dangerous." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not as well as the other. If I only had something to guide me." +</P> + +<P> +And as if in answer, the storm lifted for a moment. Gradually the wind +stilled, in one of those stretches of calm which seem to be only the +breeding spots of more terror, more bitterness. But they gave no heed +to that, nor to the red ball of the sun, faintly visible through the +clouds. Far below, miles in reality, straight jets of steam rose high +above black, curling smoke; faintly, distantly, whistles sounded. The +snowplows! +</P> + +<P> +He gripped her arm with the sight of it, nor did she resist. Thrilled, +enthralled, they watched it: the whirling smoke, the shooting steam, +the white spray which indicated the grinding, churning progress of the +plows, propelled by the heavy engines behind. Words came from the +swollen lips of Houston, but the voice was hoarse, strained, unnatural: +</P> + +<P> +"They've started the fight! They've—" +</P> + +<P> +"It's on the second grade, up from Tollifer. It's fairly easy there, +you know, for ten or twelve miles. They're making that without +difficulty—their work won't come until they strike the snowsheds at +Crystal Lake. Oh—" and there was in the voice all the yearning, the +anxiety that a pent-up soul could know—"I wish I were a man now! I +wish I were a man—to help!" +</P> + +<P> +"I hope—" and Houston said it without thought of bravado—"that I may +have the strength for both of us. I'm a man—after a sort. I'm going +to work with them." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +He knew what she meant and shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"No—she does not need me. My presence would mean nothing to her. I +can't tell you why. My place—is down there." +</P> + +<P> +For an instant Medaine Robinette looked at him with frankly questioning +eyes, eyes which told that a thought was beginning to form somewhere +back in her brain, a question arising as to his guilt in at least one +of the things which circumstances had arrayed against him. Some way +Barry felt that she knew that a man willing to encounter the dangers of +a snowy range would hurry again to the side of the woman for whom he +had dared them, unless— But suddenly she was speaking, as though to +divert her thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll have about three hours—from the looks of the sky. Unless +conditions change quickly, there'll not be another blow before night. +It's our chance. We'd better cut this cord—the one in the lead may +fall and pull the other one over. We had better make haste." +</P> + +<P> +Houston stepped before her. A moment later they were edging their way +down the declivity of what once had been a railroad track, at last to +veer. The drifts from the mountain side had become too sharp; it was +easier to accept the more precipitous and shorter journey, straight +downward, the nearest cut toward those welcome spires of smoke. +</P> + +<P> +Gradually the snow shook or was melted from their clothing, through +sheer bodily warmth. Black dots they became,—dots which appeared late +in the afternoon to the laboring crews of the snow-fighters far below; +dots which appeared and disappeared, edging their way about beetling +precipices, plunging forward, then stopping; pulling themselves out of +the heavier drifts, where drops of ten and even twenty feet had thrown +them; swinging and tacking; scrambling downward in long, almost running +descents, then crawling slowly along the ice walls, while the jutting +peaks about them seemed to close them in, seemed to threaten and seek +to engulf them in their pitfalls, only to break from them at last and +allow them once more to resume their journey. +</P> + +<P> +Breaks and stops, falls and plunges into drift after drift; through the +glasses the workers below could see that a man was in the lead, with +something strapped to his back, which the woman in the rear adjusted +now and then, when it became partially displaced by the plunging +journey. Banks of snow cut them off; snowshoes sank in air +pockets—holes made by protruding limbs of the short, gnarled trees of +timber line,—and through these the man fought in short, spasmodic +lunges, breaking the way for the woman who came behind, never stopping +except to gather strength for a fresh attack, never ceasing for +obstacle or for danger. Once, at the edge of an overhanging ledge, he +scrambled furiously, failed and fell,—to drop in a drift far below, to +crawl painfully back to the waiting dot above, and to guide her, by +safer paths, on downward. Hours! The dots grew larger. The glasses +no longer were needed. On they came, stumbling, reeling, at last to +stagger across the frozen, wind-swept surface of a small lake and +toward the bunk cars of the snow crews. The woman wavered and fell; he +caught her. Then double-weighted, a pack on his back, a form in his +arms, he came on, his blood-red eyes searching almost sightlessly the +faces of the waiting, stolid, grease-smeared men, his thick voice +drooling over bloody lips: +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody take her—get her into the bunk cars. She's given out. +I'm— I'm all right. Take care of her. I've got to go on—to +Tollifer!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H3> + + +<P> +It was night when Barry Houston limped, muscles cramped and +frost-numbed, into the little undertaking shop at Tollifer and +deposited his tiny burden. Medaine Robinette had remained behind in +the rough care of the snow crews, while he, revived by steaming coffee +and hot food, had been brought down on a smaller snowplow, running +constantly, and without extra power, between Tollifer and "the front", +that the lines of communication be kept open. +</P> + +<P> +"Nameless," he said with an effort, when the lengthy details of +certification were asked. "The mother—" and a necessary lie came to +his lips—"became unconscious before she could tell me anything except +that the baby had been baptized and called Helena. She wanted a +priest." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll look after it. There's clothing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. In the pack. But wait—where does the Father live?" +</P> + +<P> +The man pointed the way. Houston went on—to a repetition of his story +and a fulfillment of his duties. Then, from far up the mountain side, +there came the churning, grinding sound of the snowplow, and he hurried +toward the station house to greet it. There on a spur, in the faint +glow of an electric light, a short train was side-tracked, engineless, +waiting until the time should come when the road again would be open, +and the way over the Pass free. One glance told him what it was: the +tarpaulin-covered, snow-shielded, bulky forms of his +machinery,—machinery that he now felt he could personally aid to its +destination. For there was work ahead. Midnight found him in a shack +buried in snow and reached only by a circuitous tunnel, a shack where +men—no longer Americans, but black-smeared, red-eyed, doddering, +stumbling human machines—came and went, their frost-caked Mackinaws +steaming as they clustered about the red-hot stove, their faces smudged +with engine grease to form a coating against the stinging blast of the +ice-laden wind, their cheeks raw and bleeding, their mouths swollen +orifices which parted only for mumblings; vikings of another age, the +fighters of the ice gangs, of which Houston had become a part. +</P> + +<P> +The floor was their bed; silently, speaking only for the purpose of +curses, they gulped the food that was passed out to them, taking the +steaming coffee straight down in spite of its burning clutch at tender +membranes, gnawing and tearing at their meal like beasts at the kill, +then, still wadded in their clothing, sinking to the floor—and to +sleep. The air was rancid with the odor of wet, steaming clothing. +Men crawled over one another, then dropped to the first open spot, to +flounder there a moment, then roar in snoring sleep. Against the wall +a bearded giant half leaned, half lay, one tooth touching the ragged +lips and breaking the filmy skin, while the blood dripped, slow drop +after slow drop, upon his black, tousled beard. But he did not wake. +</P> + +<P> +Of them all, only Houston, tired even as they were tired, yet with +something that they had forgotten, a brain, remained open-eyed. What +had become of Medaine? Had she recovered? Had she too gone to +Tollifer, perhaps on a later trip of the plow? The thoughts ran +through his head like the repetition of some weird refrain. He sought +sleep in vain. From far away came the whistles of locomotives, +answering the signals of the snowplows ahead. Outside some one +shouted, as though calling to him; again he remembered the bulky cars +of machinery at Tollifer. It was partially, at least, his battle they +were fighting out there, while he remained inactive. He rose and +sought the door, fumbling aimlessly in his pockets for his gloves. +Something tinkled on the floor as he brought them forth, and he bent to +pick up the little crucifix with its twisted, tangled chain, forgotten +at Tollifer. Dully, hazily, he stared at it with his red eyes, with +the faint feeling of a duty neglected. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"She only said they might want it," he mumbled. "I'm sorry—I should +have remembered. I'm always failing—at something." +</P> + +<P> +Then, dully anxious to do his part, to take his place in the fighting +line, he replaced the tiny bit of gold in his pocket, and threading his +way through the circuitous tunnel of snow, stepped forth into the night. +</P> + +<P> +It was one of those brief spaces of starlight between storms, and the +crews were making the most of it. The wind had ceased temporarily, +allowing every possible workman to be pulled from the ordinary task of +keeping the tracks clear of the "pick-ups" of the wind, blowing the +snow down from the drifts of the hill, and to be concentrated upon the +primary task of many,—the clearing of the packed sittings which filled +the first snowshed. +</P> + +<P> +Atop the oblong shed, swept clear by the wind, a light was signalling, +telling the progress of the plow, and its consequent engines, within. +Even from the distance, Barry could hear the surge of the terrific +impact, as the rotary, pushed by the four tremendous "compounds" and +Malletts which formed its additional motive power, smashed against the +tight-jammed contents of the shed, snarled and tore at its enemy, then, +beaten at last by the crusted ice of the rails, came grudgingly back, +that the ice crews, with their axes and bars, might break the +crystallization from the rails and give traction for another assault. +Houston started forward, only to stop. A figure in the dim light of +the cook car had caught his eye. Medaine Robinette. +</P> + +<P> +She was helping with the preparation of the midnight meal for the +laborers, hurrying from the steaming cauldrons to the benches and +baskets, filling the big pots with coffee, arranging the tin cups in +their stacks for the various crews, and doing something that Houston +knew was of more value than anything else,—bringing a smile to the +tired men who labored beside her. And this in spite of the fact that +the black rings of fatigue were about her eyes, that the pretty, +smoothly rounded features had the suggestion of drawnness, that the +lips, when they ceased to move, settled into the slightest bit of a +droop. Now and then she stopped by one of the tables and clung to it, +as though for support,—only to perk her head with a sudden little +motion of determination, to turn, and then with a laugh go on with her +work. Presently he heard her singing above the clatter of kitchenware +and the scuffling of the men with their heavy, hobnailed shoes. And he +knew that it was a song of the lips, not of the heart, that she might +lighten the burden of others in forgetfulness of self. +</P> + +<P> +And as he watched her, Houston knew for all time that he loved her, +that he wanted her above all things, in spite of what she had been led +to believe of him, in spite of everything. His hands extended, as +though to reach toward her,—the aching appeal of a lonely, harassed +man, striving for a thing he could not touch. Then hope surged in his +heart. +</P> + +<P> +If the woman back there in the west country only would tell! If she +would only keep the promise which she had given him in her +half-delirium! It meant the world to Barry Houston now,—something far +greater even than the success for which he had struggled; she could +tell so much! +</P> + +<P> +For Houston felt that Agnes Jierdon knew the details of practically +every conspiracy that had been fashioned against him; the substitution +of the lease and contract in the pile of technical papers which he had +signed, the false story which she had told to Medaine,—suddenly Barry +wondered if she really had passed the scene of his struggle with Tom +Langdon, if she had seen anything at all; if her whole testimony had +not been a manufactured thing, built merely for the purpose of +obtaining his utmost confidence. If she only would tell! If she only +would stay by her promise to a man who had kept his promise to her! +If— +</P> + +<P> +But a call had come from up the line. The whistles no longer were +tooting; instead, they were blowing with long foghorn blasts, an eerie +sound in the cold, crisp night,—a sound of foreboding, of danger. A +dim figure made its appearance, running along the box cars, at last to +sight Houston and come toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"Which car does the engine crews sleep in?" came sharply. +</P> + +<P> +Houston shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. Has something gone wrong?" +</P> + +<P> +"Plenty. Both the firemen on Number Six have went out from gas—in the +snowshed. We've picked up a guy out of an ice gang that's willin' to +stand th' gaff, but we need another one. Guess there ain't nothin' to +do but wake up one of th' day crew. Hate t' do it, though—they're all +in." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, then. I'll make a try at it." +</P> + +<P> +"Know anything about firin' an engine?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know enough to shovel coal—and I've got a strong pair of shoulders." +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, then." +</P> + +<P> +Houston followed the figure toward the snowshed on the hill. Ten +minutes later he stood beside a great Mallet engine, a sleek, +glistening grayhound of the mountains, taking from the superintendent +the instructions that would enable him to assist, at least, in the +propulsion of the motive power. At the narrow areaway between the +track and the high wall of the straightaway drifts through which the +plow had cut, four men were lifting a limp figure, to carry it to the +cars. The superintendent growled. +</P> + +<P> +"You payin' attention to me—or that guy they're cartin' off? When you +get in them gas pockets, stick your nose in the hollow of your elbow +and keep it there 'till you've got your breath again. There ain't no +fresh air in that there shed; the minute these engines get inside and +start throwin' on the juice, it fills up with smoke. That's what gets +you. Hold your nose in your arm while you take your breath. Then, if +you've got to shovel, keep your mouth and your lungs shut. Got me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Then go to it. Hey, Andy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh." A voice had come from the engine cab. +</P> + +<P> +"Here's a guy that'll swing a shovel. I've told him about the gas." +</P> + +<P> +Barry climbed to his place on the engine. A whistle sounded, to be +echoed and reëchoed by the answering blasts of the snowplow train—four +engines and the big auger itself—ready now for a fresh sally into the +shed. Headlights, extinguished momentarily, were thrown on again, +lighting up the dirty, ragged edges of the snow walls, with their black +marks of engine soot; throwing into sharp relief the smudge-faced +figures of the pick-and-axe crews just emerging from the black maw of +the tunnel; playing upon the smooth, white outlines of the forbidding +mountains yet beyond, mountains which still must be conquered ere the +top of the world was reached. Ahead came the "high-ball" signal from +the plow; two sharp blasts, to be repeated by the first, the second, +the third and fourth of the engines. Then, throttles open, fire boxes +throwing their red, spluttering glare against the black sky as firemen +leaped to their task, the great mass of machinery moved forward. +</P> + +<P> +Faster—faster—then the impact, like crashing into a stone wall. They +were within the snowshed now, the auger boring and tearing and snarling +like some savage, vengeful thing against the solid mass of frigidity +which faced it. Inch by inch for eight feet it progressed; the offal +of the big blades flying past in the glare of the headlights like +swirling rainbows; then progress ceased, while the plow ahead, answered +by the engines which backed it, shrilled the triple signal to back up, +out into the air again, that the ice crews might hurry to their tasks. +The engineer opened the cab window and gratefully sucked in the fresh, +clean air. +</P> + +<P> +"Eight feet—that's all," he mused. "Eight feet at a time." Then, +noticing Houston's attention, he went on: +</P> + +<P> +"It's all the big screw can make. Got a hood on the front, you know, +protecting the blades. It's eight feet from the front of that hood to +the first trucks. When it's scooped that out, it's the finish. The +wheels hit ice, and it's either back out or get derailed. So we back. +Huh! There she goes again. Keep your nose in your elbow, youngster, +this time. We're goin' back pretty sudden. We'll get gas." +</P> + +<P> +The screaming of the whistles faded, giving way to the lurching of +steel monsters as they once more crawled within the blackness of the +smoke-filled, snow-choked shed. Deeper they went and deeper, the +shouts from without fading away, the hot, penetrating sulphur smoke +seeping in even through the closed cab, blackening it until the +electric lights were nothing more than faint pinpoints, sending the +faces of the men to their arms, while the two crouched, waiting +anxiously until the signal should come from ahead. +</P> + +<P> +A long, long moment, while the smoke cut deeper into protesting lungs, +in spite of every effort to evade it, while Old Andy on the engine seat +twisted and writhed with the agony of fading breath, at last to reel +from his position and stumble about in the throes of suffocation. At +last, from ahead, came the welcome signal, the three long-drawn-out +blasts, and the engineer waved an arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Pull that rope!" he gasped toward the first fireman. "For God's sake, +pull that rope! I'm about gone." +</P> + +<P> +A fumbling hand reached up and missed; the light was nearly gone now, +in a swirling cloud of venomous smoke. Again the old engineer +stumbled, and Houston, leaping to his side, supported him. +</P> + +<P> +"Find that rope—" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't see! The smoke—" +</P> + +<P> +Desperately Houston released the engineer and climbed upward, groping. +Something touched his hand, and he jerked at it. A blast +sounded—repeated twice more. In the rear the signal was answered. +Out ground the train to freedom again. It was the beginning of a night +of an Arctic hell. +</P> + +<P> +Back and forth—back and forth—fresh air and foul air—gleaming +lights, then dense blackness—so the hours passed. Sally after sally +the snowplow made, only to withdraw to give way to the pick crews, and +they in turn, gasping and reeling, hurried out for the attack of the +plow again. Men fell grovelling, only to be dragged into the open air +and resuscitated, then sent once more into the cruelty of the fight. +The hours dragged by like stricken things. Then—with dawn—the plow +churned with lesser impact. It surged forward. Gray light broke +through at the end of the tunnel. The grip of at least one snowshed +was broken; but there remained twenty more—and the Death Trail—beyond! +</P> + +<P> +"That's the baby I'm afraid of!" Old Andy was talking as they went +toward the cars, the relief day crew passing them on the way. "We can +whip these sheds. But that there Death Trail—there's a million tons +of snow above it! Once that there vibration loosens it up—we'd better +not be underneath it." +</P> + +<P> +Houston did not answer. The clutch of forty-eight hours of wakeful +activity was upon him. The words of Old Andy were only so much of a +meaningless jumble to him. Into the car he stumbled, a doddering, +red-eyed thing, to drink his coffee as the rest drank it, to shamble to +the stove, forgetful of the steaming, rancid air, then like some tired +beast, sink to the floor in exhausted, dreamless sleep. +</P> + +<P> +Hours he remained there, while the day crew carried the fight on +upward, through three of the smaller snowsheds, at last to halt at the +long, curved affair which shielded the jutting edge of Mount Taluchen. +Then Houston stirred; some one had caught him by the shoulder and was +shaking him gently. A voice was calling, and Houston stirred, dazedly +obedient to its command. +</P> + +<P> +"I hate to awaken you—" It was a woman; her tones compassionate, +gentle. "But they're whistling for the night crew. They've still got +you on the list for firing." +</P> + +<P> +Houston opened his eyes and forced a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right. Thanks—thanks for waking me." +</P> + +<P> +Then he rose and went forth into the agonies of the night,—willing, +eager, almost happy. A few words from a woman had given him strength, +had wiped out fatigue and aching muscles, and cramped, lifeless +limbs,—a few words from a woman he loved, Medaine Robinette. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII +</H3> + + +<P> +It was a repetition of the first night,—the same churning of the +plows, the same smaller machines working along the right of way to keep +the rails clear of drifting snow and ice particles, the wind howling +again and carrying the offal of the plows in gigantic spouts of dirty +white high into the air, to lash and pulverize it, then swish it away +to the icy valleys beneath, where drifts could do no harm, where there +were no struggling crews and dogged, half-dead men. +</P> + +<P> +A repetition of the foul-smelling wooden tunnels, the sulphur fumes, +the gasping of stricken men. The same long, horrible hours, the same +staggering release from labor and the welcome hardness of a sleeping +spot on a wooden floor. Night after night it was the same—starlight +and snow, fair weather and storm. Barry Houston had become a +rough-bearded, tattered piece of human machinery like all the rest. +Then, at last— +</P> + +<P> +The sun! Shining faintly through the windows of the bunk car, it +caused him to stir in his sleep. Dropping in a flood of ruby red, it +still reflected faint streaks of color across the sky, when at last he +started forth to what men had mentioned but seldom, and then with fear. +For to-night was the last night, the last either in the struggle or in +the lives of those who had fought their way upward to the final +barricade which yet separated them from the top of the world,—the +Death Trail. +</P> + +<P> +Smooth and sleek it showed before Houston in the early moonlight, an +icy Niagara, the snow piled high above the railroad tracks, extending +upward against an almost sheer wall of granite, in stacks and drifts, +banked in places to a depth of a hundred feet. Already the plows were +assembled,—four heavy steel monsters, with tremendous beams lashed in +place and jutting upward, that they might break the overcasts and knock +down the snow roofings that otherwise might form tunnels, breaking the +way above as the tremendous fan of the plow would break it below. This +was to be the fight of fights, there in the moonlight. Houston could +see the engines breathing lazily behind their plows, sixteen great, +steel contrivances, their burdens graduated in size from the tremendous +auger at the fore to the lesser, almost diminutive one, by comparison, +at the rear, designed to take the last of the offal from the track. +For there would be no ice here; the drippings of the snowsheds, with +their accompanying stalactites and stalagmites, were absent. A quick +shoot and a lucky one. Otherwise,—the men who went forward to their +engines would not speak of it. But there was one who did. +</P> + +<P> +She was standing beside the cook car as Houston passed, and she looked +toward him with a glance that caused Barry to stop and to wait, as +though she had called to him. Hesitatingly she came forward, and +Houston's dulled mentality at last took cognizance that a hand was +extended slightly. +</P> + +<P> +"You're still working on the engine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you'll be with them?" +</P> + +<P> +"On the Death Trail? I expect to." +</P> + +<P> +"They talk of it as something terrible. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +Houston pointed to the forbidding wall of snow. His thick, broken lips +mumbled in the longest speech he had known in days. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all granite up there. The cut of the roadbed forms a base for +the remainder of the snow. It's practically all resting on the tracks; +above, there's nothing for the snow to cling to. When we cut out the +foundation—they're afraid that the vibration will loosen the rest and +start an avalanche. It all depends whether it comes before—or after +we've passed through." +</P> + +<P> +"And you are not afraid?" She asked it almost childishly. He shook +his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't know. I guess every one is—a bit afraid, when they're going +into trouble. I know what I'm doing, if that's what you mean." +</P> + +<P> +She was silent for a long moment, looking up at the packed drifts, at +the ragged outlines of the mountains against the moonlit sky, then into +the valleys and the shimmering form of the round, icy lake, far below. +Her lips moved, and Barry went closer. +</P> + +<P> +"Beg pardon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing—only there are some things I can't understand. It doesn't +seem quite natural—" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"That things could—" Then she straightened and looked at him with +clear, frank eyes. "Mr. Houston," came quietly, "I've been thinking +about something all day. I have felt that I haven't been quite +fair—that a man who has acted as you have acted since—since I met you +this last time—that he deserves more of a chance than I have given +him. That—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm asking nothing of you, Miss Robinette." +</P> + +<P> +"I know. I am asking something of you. I want to tell you that I have +been hoping that you can some day furnish me the proof—that you spoke +of once. I—that's what I wanted to tell you," she ended quickly and +extended her hand. "Good-by. I'll be praying for all of you up there." +</P> + +<P> +Houston answered only with a pressure of his hand. His throat had +closed suddenly. His breath jerked into his lungs; his burning, +wind-torn lips ached to touch the hand that had lingered for a moment +in his. He looked at her with eyes that spoke what his tongue could +not say, then he went on,—a shambling, dead-tired man, even on awaking +from sleep, but a man whose heart was beating with a new fervor. She +would be praying for all of them up there at the Trail. And all of +them included him. +</P> + +<P> +At the cab of the engine, he listened to the final instructions of the +cursing, anxious superintendent, then went to his black work of the +shovel. Higher and higher mounted the steam on the gauge; theirs was +the first plow, theirs the greatest task. For if they did not go +through, the others could not follow; if their attack were not swift +enough, staunch enough, the slide that was sure to come sooner or later +would carry with it mangled machinery and the torn forms of men into a +chasm of death. One by one the final orders came,—crisp, shouted, +cursing commands, answered in kind. Then the last query: +</P> + +<P> +"If there's a damn man of you who's a coward, step out! Hear that? If +you're afraid—come on—there's no stopping once you start!" +</P> + +<P> +Engine after engine answered, in jeering, sarcastic tones, the +belligerent cries of men hiding what pounded in their hearts, driving +down by sheer will-power the primitive desires of self-preservation. +Again was the call repeated. Again was it answered by men who snarled, +men who cursed that they might not pray. And with it: +</P> + +<P> +"A-w-w-w-w—right! Let 'er go!" +</P> + +<P> +The whistles screamed. Up the grade, four engines to a plow, the jets +of steam shrilling upward, coughing columns of smoke leaping blackly up +the mountain side, the start was made, as the great, roaring mass of +machinery gathered speed for the impact. +</P> + +<P> +A jarring crash that all but threw the men of the first crews from +their feet, and the Death Trail had been met. Then churning, snarling, +roaring, the snow flying in cloud-like masses past them, the first plow +bit its way deep into the tremendous mass, while sweating men, Barry +Houston among them, crammed coal into the open, angry fire boxes, the +sand streamed on greasy tracks,—and the cavalcade went on. +</P> + +<P> +A hundred yards,—the beams knocking down the snow above and all but +covering the engines which forced their way through, only to leave as +high a mass behind; while the whole mountain seemed to tremble; while +the peaks above sent back roar for roar, and grim, determined men +pulled harder than ever at the throttles and waited,—for the breath of +night again, or the crash of the avalanche. +</P> + +<P> +A shout from Old Andy. A pull at the whistle, screeching forth its +note of victory. From in front was it answered, then from the rear, +and on and on, seemingly through an interminable distance, as moonlit +night came again, as the lesser plows in the rear swept their way clear +of the Death Trail and ground onward and upward. But only for a +moment. Then, the blare of the whistles was drowned in a greater +sound, a roar that reverberated through the hills like the bellow of a +thousand thunders, the cracking and crashing of trees, the splintering +of great rocks as the snows of the granite spires above the Death Trail +loosed at last and crashed downward in an all-consuming rush of +destruction. Trees gave way before the constantly gathering mass of +white, and joined in the downfall. Great boulders, abutting rocks, +slides of shale! On it went, thundering toward the valley and the +gleaming lake, at last to crash there; to send the ten-foot thicknesses +of ice splintering like broken glass; to pyramid, to spray the whole +nether world with ice and snow and scattering rock; then to settle, a +jumbled conglomerate mass of destructiveness, robbed of its prey. +</P> + +<P> +And the men shouted, and screamed and beat at one another in their +frenzy of happiness, in spite of the fact that the track had been torn +away from behind them as though it never had existed, and that they now +were cut off entirely from the rest of the world. Only one snowshed +remained, with but a feeble bulwark of drifts before it. Already +lights were gleaming down the back-stretch, engines were puffing +upward, bearing ties and rails and ballast and abuttment materials, on +toward the expected, with men ready to repair the damage as soon as it +was done. There were cries also from there below, the shouts of men +who were glad even as the crews of the engines and plows were glad, and +the engineers and firemen leaned from their cabs to answer. +</P> + +<P> +Still the whistles screamed; all through the night they screamed, as +drift after drift yielded, as the eight-foot bite of the first giant +auger gnawed and tore at the packed contents of the last shed atop +Crestline; then roared and sang, while the hills sent back their +outbursts with echoes that rolled, one into another, until at last the +whole world was one terrific out-pouring of explosive sounds and +shrill, shrieking blasts, as though the mountains were bellowing their +anger, their remonstrance at defeat. Eight feet, then eight feet more; +steadily eight feet onward. Nor did the men curse at the sulphur +fumes, nor rail at the steel-blue ice. It was the final fight; on the +downgrade were lesser drifts, puny in comparison to what they had gone +through, simple, easily defeated obstacles to the giant machinery, +which would work then with gravity instead of against it. Eight feet +more—eight feet after that; they marked it off on the windows of the +engine cabs with greasy fingers and counted the hours until success. +Night faded. Dawn came and then,—the sun! Clear and brilliant with +the promise of spring again and of melting snows. The fight was the +same as over. +</P> + +<P> +Sleep,—and men who laughed, even as they snored, laughed with the +subconscious knowledge of success, while the bunk cars which sheltered +them moved onward, up to the peak, then started down the range. Night +again,—and Houston once more in the engine cab. But this time, the +red glare of the fire-box did not show as often against the sky; the +stops were less frequent for the ice packs; once the men even sang! +</P> + +<P> +Morning of the second day,—and again the sunshine, causing dripping +streams from the long, laden branches of the pines and spruce, filling +the streams bank-full, here and there cutting through the blanket of +white to the dun-brown earth again. Work over, Houston leaned out the +door of the bunk car, drinking in the sunshine, warm for the first time +in weeks, it seemed,—and warm in heart and spirit. If she would only +keep her promise! If she would allow Medaine to see her! If she would +tell her the truth,—about the contract, the lease, and most of all +that accusation. If— +</P> + +<P> +The whistles again,—and crowded forms at the doors of the cars. +Tabernacle was in the distance, while men and women waded through the +soggy snows to be the first to reach the train. Happiness gleamed on +the features of the inhabitants of a beleagured land shut away from the +world for weeks, men and women who saw no shame in the tears which +streamed down their cheeks, and who sought not to hide them. Eagerly +Barry searched the thronging crowd, at last to catch sight of a +gigantic figure, his wolf-dog beside him. He leaped from the car even +before it had ceased to move. +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'tiste!" he called. "Ba'tiste!" +</P> + +<P> +Great arms opened wide. A sob came from the throat of a giant. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Mon</I> Baree! <I>Mon</I> Baree!" It was all he could say for a moment. +Then, "<I>Mon</I> Baree, he have come back to Ba'teese. Ah, Golemar! <I>Mon</I> +Baree, he have come back, he have come back!" +</P> + +<P> +"We've won, Ba'tiste! The line's open—they'll be running trains +through before night. And if she keeps her promise—" +</P> + +<P> +"She?" Ba'tiste stared down at him. They had drawn away from the rest +of the excited, noisy throng. "She? You mean—" +</P> + +<P> +"Agnes. You've been taking care of her, haven't you? I found her—she +promised that she would tell the truth for me when I got back, that she +would explain the lease and contract and tell Medaine that it was all a +lie. She—" +</P> + +<P> +But Ba'tiste Renaud shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Baree. Eet is the too late. I have jus' come—from there. I +have close her eyes." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV +</H3> + + +<P> +Dead! Houston saw Medaine Robinette pass in the distance, and his eyes +followed her until she had rounded the curve by the dead aspens,—the +eyes of lost hope. For it was upon life that he had planned and +dreamed; that the woman of the lonely cabin would stand by her promise +made in a time of stress and right at least some of the wrongs which +had been his burden. But now— +</P> + +<P> +"She—she didn't tell you anything before she went?" +</P> + +<P> +Ba'tiste shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"She would not speak to me. Nothing would, she tell me. At first I go +alone—then yesterday, when the snow, he pack, I take Golemar. Then +she is unconscious. All day and night I stay beside the bed, but she +do not open her eye. Then, with the morning, she sigh, and peuff! She +is gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Without a word." It spelled blackness for Houston where there had +been light. "I—I—suppose you've taken charge of everything." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Oui</I>! But I have look at nothing—if that is what you mean." +</P> + +<P> +"No—I just had something here that you ought to have," Houston fumbled +in his pockets. "She would want it around her neck, I feel sure, I +when she is——." +</P> + +<P> +But the sudden glare in Ba'tiste's eyes stopped him as he brought forth +the crucifix and its tangled chain. The giant's hands raised. His big +lips twisted. A lunge and he had come forward, savage, almost +beast-like. +</P> + +<P> +"You!" He bellowed. "Where you get that? Hear me, where you get +that?" +</P> + +<P> +"From her. She—" +</P> + +<P> +"Then come! Come—quick with me!" He almost dragged the younger man +away, hurrying him toward the sled and its broad-backed old horses. +"We must go to the cabin, <I>oui</I>—yes! Hurry—" Houston saw that he +was trembling. "Eet is the thing I look for—the thing I look for!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'tiste! What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"My Julienne," came hoarsely. "Eet is my Julienne's!" +</P> + +<P> +Already they were in the sled, the wolf-dog perched between them, and +hurrying along the mushy road, which followed the lesser raises of +snow, taking advantage of every windbreak and avoiding the greater +drifts of the highway itself. Two miles they went, the horses urged to +their greatest speed. Then, with a leap, Ba'tiste cleared the runners +and motioned to the man behind him. +</P> + +<P> +"Come with me! Golemar! You shall stay behind. You shall fall in the +drift—" The old man was talking excitedly, almost childishly. "No? +Then come—Eet is your own self that must be careful. Ba'teese, he +cannot watch you. Come!" +</P> + +<P> +At a run, he went forward, to thread his way through the pines, to +flounder where the snow had not melted, to go waist-deep at times, but +still to rush onward at a speed which taxed even Houston's younger +strength to keep him in sight. The wolf-dog buried itself in the snow, +Houston pulling it forth time after time, and lugging it at long +intervals. Then at last came the little clearing,—and the cabin. +Ba'tiste already was within. +</P> + +<P> +Houston avoided the figure on the bed as he entered and dropped beside +the older man, already dragging forth the drawers of the bureau and +pawing excitedly among the trinkets there. He gasped and pulled forth +a string of beads, holding them trembling to the light, and veering +from his jumbled English to a stream of French. Then a watch, a ring, +and a locket with a curly strand of baby hair. The giant sobbed. +</P> + +<P> +"My Pierre—eet was my Pierre!" +</P> + +<P> +"What's that?" Houston had raised suddenly, was staring in the +direction of an old commode in the corner. At the door the wolf-dog +sniffed and snarled. Ba'tiste, bending among the lost trinkets that +once had been his wife's, did not hear. Houston grasped him by the +shoulder and shook him excitedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'tiste! Ba'tiste! There's some one hiding—over there in the +corner. I heard sounds—look at Golemar!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hiding? No. There is no one here—no one but Ba'tiste and his +memories. No one—" +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you I heard some one. The commode moved. I know!" +</P> + +<P> +He rose, only to suddenly veer and flatten himself against the wall. +The yellow blaze of aimless revolver fire had spurted from the corner; +then the plunging form of a gnarled, gangling, limping man, who rushed +past Houston to the door, swerved there, and once more raised the +revolver. But he did not fire. +</P> + +<P> +A furry, snarling thing had leaped at him, knocking the revolver from +his hand in its plunging ascent. Then a cry,—a gurgling growl. Teeth +had clenched at the throat of the man; together they rolled through the +door to the snow without, Golemar, his hold broken by the fall, +striving again for the death clutch, the man screaming in sudden +frantic fear. +</P> + +<P> +"Take him off!" The voice of the thin-visaged Fred Thayer was shrill +now. "Take him off—I'll tell you about it—she did it—she did it! +Take him off!" +</P> + +<P> +"Golemar!" Ba'tiste had appeared in the doorway. Below the dog +whirled in obedience to his command and edged back, teeth still bared, +eyes vigilant, waiting for the first movement of the man on the ground. +Houston went forward and stood peering down at the frightened, huddled +form of Thayer, wiping the blood from the fang wound in his neck. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll tell about what?" came with sudden incisiveness. +</P> + +<P> +The man stared, suddenly aware that he had spoken of a thing that had +been mentioned by neither Ba'tiste nor Houston. His lips worked +crookedly. He tried to smile, but it ended only in a misshapen snarl. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you fellows were looking for something. I—I—wanted to get +the dog off." +</P> + +<P> +"We were. We've found it. Ba'tiste," and Houston forced back the +tigerish form of the big French-Canadian. "You walk in front of us. +I'm—I'm afraid to trust you right now. And don't turn back. Do you +promise?" +</P> + +<P> +The big hands worked convulsively. The eyes took on a newer, fiercer +glare. +</P> + +<P> +"He is the man, eh? His conscience, eet speak when there is no one to +ask the question. He—" +</P> + +<P> +"Go on, Ba'tiste. Please." Houston's voice was that of a pleading +son. Once more the big muscles knotted, the arms churned; the giant's +teeth showed between furled lips in a sudden beast-like expression. +</P> + +<P> +"Ba'tiste! Do you want to add murder to murder? This is out of our +hands now; it's a matter of law. Now, go ahead—for me." +</P> + +<P> +With an effort the Canadian obeyed, the wolf-dog trotting beside him, +Houston following, one hand locked about the buckle of the thinner +man's belt, the other half supporting him as he limped and reeled +through the snow. +</P> + +<P> +"It's my hip—" The man's mind had gone to trivial things. "I +sprained it—about ten days ago. I'd been living over here with her up +till the storm. Then I had to be at camp. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"That was your child, then?" +</P> + +<P> +Fred Thayer was silent. Barry Houston repeated the question +commandingly. There could be no secrecy now; events had gone too far. +For a third time the accusation came and the man beside him turned +angrily. +</P> + +<P> +"Whose would you think it was?" +</P> + +<P> +Houston did not answer. They stumbled on through the snow-drifted +woods, finally to reach the open space leading to the sleigh. Thayer +drew back. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the use of taking me into town?" he begged. "She's dead and +gone; you can't harm her now." +</P> + +<P> +"We're not inquiring about her." +</P> + +<P> +"But she's the one that did it. She told me—when she first got sick. +Those are her things in there. They're—" +</P> + +<P> +"Have I asked you about anything?" Houston bit the words at him. +Again the man was silent. They reached the sled, and Ba'tiste pointed +to the seat. +</P> + +<P> +"In there," he ordered. "Ba'teese will walk. Ba'teese afraid—too +close." And then, in silence, the trip to town was made, at last to +draw up in front of the boarding house. Houston called to a bystander. +</P> + +<P> +"Is the 'phone working—to Montview?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh. Think it is. Got it opened up yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"Then call up over there and tell the sheriff we want him. It has to +do with the Renaud murder." +</P> + +<P> +The loafer sprang to the street and veered across, shouting the news as +he went, while Ba'tiste made hurried arrangements regarding the silent +form of the lonely cabin. A few moments later, the makeshift +boarding-house lobby was crowded, while Barry Houston, reverting to the +bitter lessons he had learned during the days of his own +cross-examinations, took his place in front of the accused man. +</P> + +<P> +"In the first place, Thayer," he commanded. "You might as well know +one thing. You're caught. The goods are on you. You're going up if +for nothing else than an attempt to murder Ba'tiste Renaud and myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I thought you were robbers." +</P> + +<P> +"You know that's a lie. But that's a matter for the court room. There +are greater things. In the first place—" +</P> + +<P> +"About that other—" Still he clung to his one shred of a story, his +only possibility of hope. Conscience had prompted the first outcry; +now there was nothing to do but follow the lead. "I don't know +anything. She told me—that's all. And she's dead now." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, <I>oui</I>!" Ba'tiste had edged forward. "She is dead. And because +she is dead—because she have suffer and die, you would lay to her door +murder! Eet is the lie! Where then is the ten thousand dollar she +took—if she kill my Julienne? Eh? Where is the gun with which she +shot her? Ah, you cringe! For why you do that—for why do you not +look at Ba'teese when he talk about his Julienne! Eh? Is eet that you +are afraid? Is eet that your teeth are on your tongue, to keep eet +from the truth? <I>Oui</I>! You are the man—you are the man!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know anything about it. She told me she did it—that those +were Mrs. Renaud's things." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! Then you have nev' see that ring, which my Julienne, she wore on +her finger. Ah, no? You have nev' see, in all the time that you come +to Ba'teese house, the string of bead about her neck. <I>Oui</I>! Eet is +the lie, you tell. You have see them—eet is the lie!" +</P> + +<P> +And thus the battle progressed, the old man storming, the frowning, +sullen captive in the chair replying in monosyllables, or refusing to +answer at all. An hour passed, while Tabernacle crowded the little +lobby and overflowed to the street. One by one Ba'tiste brought forth +the trinkets and laid them before the thin-faced man. He forced them +into his hands. He demanded that he explain why he had said nothing of +their presence in the lonely cabin, when he had known them, every one, +from having seen them time after time in the home of Renaud. The +afternoon grew old. The sheriff arrived,—and still the contest went +on. Then, with a sudden shifting of the head, a sudden break of +reserve, Thayer leaned forward and rubbed his gnarled hands, one +against the other. +</P> + +<P> +"All right!" he snapped. "Have it your way. No use in trying to lay +it on the woman—you could prove an alibi for her. You're right. I +killed them both." +</P> + +<P> +"Both?" They stared at him. Thayer nodded, still looking at the +floor, his tongue licking suddenly dry lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Yeh, both of 'em. One brought on the other. Mrs. Renaud and John +Corbin—they called him Tom Langdon back East." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXV +</H3> + + +<P> +It was staggering in its unexpectedness. A gasp came from the lips of +Barry Houston. He felt himself reeling,—only to suddenly straighten, +as though a crushing weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He +whirled excitedly and grasped the nearest onlooker. +</P> + +<P> +"Go get Medaine Robinette. Hurry! Tell her that it is of the utmost +importance—that I have found the proof. She'll understand." +</P> + +<P> +Then, struggling to reassure himself, he turned again to the prisoner. +Two hours later, in the last glint of day, the door opened, and a woman +came to his side, where he was finishing the last of many closely +written sheets of paper. He looked up at her, boyishly, happily. +Without waiting for her permission, he grasped her hand, and then, as +though eager for her to hear, he turned to the worn-faced man, now +slumped dejectedly in his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"You understand, Thayer, that this is your written confession?" +</P> + +<P> +The man nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Given in the presence of the sheriff, of Ba'tiste Renaud, of myself, +and the various citizens of Tabernacle that you see here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Of your own free will, without threats or violence?" +</P> + +<P> +"I guess so." +</P> + +<P> +"And you are willing to sign it?" +</P> + +<P> +The man hesitated. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"I'd want to know what I was signing." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. I intend to read it to you—so that all witnesses may hear +it. It is then to be filed with the district attorney. You can +signify its correctness or incorrectness after every paragraph. Is +that agreeable?" +</P> + +<P> +"I guess so." +</P> + +<P> +A pause. At last: +</P> + +<P> +"'My name is Fred Thayer. I am forty-four years of age. Prior to +about a year ago, I was employed by the Empire Lake Mill and Lumber +Company as superintendent. I had occupied this position for some +fifteen or twenty years, beginning with it when it was first started by +Mr. Houston of Boston.' Is that right?" +</P> + +<P> +A nod from the accused. Houston went on: +</P> + +<P> +"'I figured from the first that I was going to be taken in partnership +with Mr. Houston, although nothing ever was said about it. I just took +it for granted. However, when years passed and, nothing was done about +it, I began to force matters, by letting the mill run down, knowing +that Mr. Houston was getting old, and that he might be willing to sell +out to me if things got bad enough. At that time, I didn't know where +I was going to get the money, but hoped that Mr. Houston would let me +have the mill and acreage on some sort of a payment basis. I went back +to see him about it a couple of times, but he wouldn't listen to me. +He said that he wanted to either close the thing out for cash or keep +on running it in the hope of making something of it.' That's all +right, isn't it, Thayer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"'I tried two or three times to get him to sell out to me, but we +couldn't get together on the terms. He always wanted cash, and I +couldn't furnish it—although I pretended that I had the money all +right, but that I simply did not want to tie it all up at once. About +this time—I think it was three or four years ago; I am not exactly +clear on the dates—a nephew of his named Thomas Langdon came out here, +under the name of John Corbin. He had been a black sheep and was now +wandering about the country, doing anything that he could set his hand +to for a living. I had known him since boyhood and gave him a job +under his assumed name. He pretended that he was very close to Mr. +Houston, and I thought maybe he could help me get the plant. But his +word was not worth as much as mine.' Have I taken that down correctly, +Thayer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Except about Langdon. He told me when he came here that his +uncle had sent him out to straighten him up. But I don't guess it +makes much difference." +</P> + +<P> +Houston, nevertheless, made the changes, glancing up once to assure +himself that Medaine still was there. She had not left his side. He +went on with the reading: +</P> + +<P> +"'By this time, the mill had gotten to be a sort of mania with me, and +I almost had myself believing that Houston had promised me more than he +had given me. Then, a woman came out here, an Agnes Jierdon, a +stenographer, on her vacation. I met her and learned that she was from +Boston.'" A slight pressure exerted itself on Houston's arm. He +glanced down to see Medaine Robinette's hand, clasped tight. "'She +spent nearly the whole summer here, and I made love to her. I asked +her to marry me, and she told me that she would. She was really very +much in love with me. I didn't care about her—I was working for a +purpose. I wanted to use her—to get her in Houston's office. I +wanted to find out what was going on, so that I would know in advance, +and so that I could prepare for it by having breakage at the mill, to +stop contracts and run things farther down than ever, so the old man +would get disgusted and sell out at my terms. I knew there would be a +mint of money for me if I could get hold of that mill. At the end of +her vacation, she went back to Boston and got a job with Houston, as an +office clerk. Almost the first thing that she wrote me was that the +old man was thinking about selling out to some concern back East.'" +</P> + +<P> +Houston looked toward the accused man for his confirmation, then +continued. +</P> + +<P> +"'While she had been out here, I had told her that Houston had promised +to take me into partnership and that he had gone back on his word. I +put it up to her pretty strong about how I had been tricked into +working for him for years, and she was sympathetic with me, of course, +inasmuch as she was in love with me. Naturally, when she heard this, +she wrote me right away. It made me desperate. Then I thought of +Ba'tiste Renaud.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" The word was accompanied by a sharp intake of breath as the big +French-Canadian moved closer to hear again the story of a murder. But +the sheriff motioned him back. The emotions of the old trapper were +not to be trusted. The recital went on: +</P> + +<P> +"'Everybody around this country had always talked about how rich he +was. There was a saying that he didn't believe in banks and that he +kept more than a hundred thousand dollars in his little cabin. At this +time, both he and his son were away at war, and I thought I could steal +this money, place it in other hands, and then work things so that if I +did get hold of the mill, people around here would merely think I had +borrowed the money and bought the mill with it. By this time, a cousin +of Miss Jierdon's, a fellow named Jenkins, had gotten a job with +Houston and was working with her, and of course, I was hearing +everything that went on. It looked like the deal was going through, +and it forced me to action. One night I watched Mrs. Renaud and saw +her leave the house. I thought she was going to town. Instead, after +I'd gotten into the cabin, she came back, surprising me. There wasn't +anything else to do. I killed her, with a revolver.'" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Diable</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"Easy, Ba'tiste. That's the way you gave it to me, isn't it, Thayer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I shot twice at her. The first bullet missed." +</P> + +<P> +Again the door of the tiny lobby opened and closed, and a form edged +forward,—Blackburn, summoned from his mill. Thayer glanced at him, +then lowered his eyes. Houston made the additional notation on the +confession and went back to his reading: +</P> + +<P> +"'When I found the deed box, there was only ten thousand dollars in it +instead of the fortune that I had supposed was there. I was about to +take it out and stuff it into my pocket, when I heard a noise outside +the window. Thinking it was Renaud's wolf-dog, and that he might give +the alarm, I pushed the box under my coat and ran out the back door. +The next day, Corbin—or Langdon—came to me and demanded his share of +what I had stolen. He said that he had seen me at the deed box after I +had killed the woman, that he had made the noise outside the window. I +put him off—denying it all. But it wasn't any use. At first he +threatened that he would go to the sheriff at Montview, and for several +days he came to me, telling me that this was the last chance that he +would give me if I didn't let him have his share. I played him for +time. Then he began to beg small amounts of money from me, promising +to keep still if I gave them to him. I guess this kept up for two or +three months, the amounts getting larger all the time. At last, I +wouldn't stand it any longer. He threatened me again,—and then, +suddenly, one day disappeared. I hurried to Montview, thinking of +course that he had gone there, hoping to catch him on the way. But no +one had seen him. Then I went to Tabernacle and learned that he had +bought a ticket for Boston, and that he had left on a morning train. I +knew what was up then; he was going back to tell Old Man Houston and +try to step into my shoes when I was arrested. But I beat him there by +going over the range in an automobile, and taking an earlier train for +Boston. I picked him up when he arrived and trailed him to young +Houston's office. After that I saw them go to a cafe, and from there +to a prize fight. I bought a ticket and watched them from the rear of +the hall. I had my gun with me—I had made up my mind to kill them +both. I thought Langdon had told. After the fight, they started out, +myself in the rear. Young Houston had gotten a mallet from the +timekeeper. On the way home, I could hear them talking, and heard +Houston asking Langdon why he wanted to see the old man. By that I +knew that it hadn't been told yet—and I felt safer. Then they got in +a quarrel, and my chance came. It was over the mallet—Langdon took it +away from his cousin and started to fight him. Houston ran. When he +was well out of sight, I went forward. No one was near. Langdon still +had the mallet in his hand. I crept up behind him and clubbed my +revolver, hitting him on the head with it. He fell—dead—and I knew I +was safe, that Houston would be accused.'" +</P> + +<P> +Barry looked earnestly at the man before him. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all true, isn't it, Thayer?" +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't made any objection, have I?" came surlily. +</P> + +<P> +"I merely wanted to be sure. But to go on: 'Then I thought of a way to +get what I wanted from Miss Jierdon. This was several months +afterward, just before the trial. I argued that I was sure young +Houston hadn't committed the murder, and that if some woman could +testify to the fact that Langdon had that mallet, it might free +Houston, and make a hit with the old man and that maybe he would make +good on his promises. I did it pretty skilfully and she listened to +me, largely, I guess, because she was in love with me. Anyway, it +ended with her testifying at the trial in a sort of negative way. I +didn't care about that—it was something else I wanted. Later after +the old man had died, I used it. I wanted her to switch some papers on +young Mr. Houston for me, and she bucked against it. Then I told her +that she had done worse things, that she had perjured herself, and that +unless she stayed by me, she could be sent to the penitentiary. Of +course, I didn't tell her in those exact words—I did it more in the +way of making a criminal out of her already, so that the thing she was +going to do wouldn't seem as bad to her. I wasn't foolish enough to +threaten her. Besides, I told her that the mill should have been +rightfully mine, that the old man had lied to me and gotten me to work +for him for years at starvation wages, on promises that it would be +mine some time, and that he had neither taken me in partnership, nor +left it to me in the will. She got her cousin to help her in the +transfer of the papers; it was a lease and stumpage contract. He +affixed a notary seal to it. The thing was illegitimate, of course. +Shortly after that, young Houston came out here again, and I got her to +come too. I wanted to see what he was up to. He fired me, and while +he was in Denver, and Renaud away from the mill, I got Miss Jierdon and +took her for a walk, while one of the other men kept watch for the cook +who was asleep. But she didn't wake up. On the way back, Miss Jierdon +saw that the mill was burning, and I directed her suspicion toward +Renaud. She accused him, and it brought about a little quarrel between +Miss Jierdon and young Houston. I had forced her, by devious ways, to +pretend that she was in love with him—keeping that perjury thing +hanging over her all the time and constantly harping on how, even +though he was a nice young fellow, he was robbing us both of something +that was rightfully ours. All this time, I had dodged marrying her, +promising that I would do it when the mill was mine. In the meantime, +with the lease and contract in my hands, I had hooked up with this man +here, Blackburn, and he had started a mill for me. I guess Miss +Jierdon had gotten to thinking a little of Houston, after all, because +when I forced her to the final thing of telling some lies about him to +a young woman, she did it, but went away mad at me and threatening +never to see me again. But a little while later, she came back. Our +relations, while she had been at the Houston camp, hadn't been exactly +what they should have been. Miss Jierdon is dead—she had stayed in a +little cabin in the woods. I had lived with her there. About ten days +ago, the baby died, while I was laid up at camp with a sprained hip. +To-day I went there to find her dead, and while I was there, Renaud and +young Houston caught me. This is all I know. I make this statement of +my own free will, without coercion, and I swear it to be the truth, the +whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.'" +</P> + +<P> +The little lobby milled and buzzed, drowning the scratching of the pen +as a trembling man signed the confession, page by page. Then came the +clink of handcuffs. A moment later two figures had departed in the +dusk,—the sheriff and Fred Thayer, bound for the jail at Montview. +Houston straightened, to find a short, bulky form before him, Henry +Blackburn. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" questioned that person. "I guess it's up to me. I—I haven't +got much chance against that." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Simply this," and the bulky Blackburn drew a nervous, sweating hand +across his brow. "I ain't above dealing with crooks, I'll admit that. +I've done a few things in my life that haven't been any too straight, +or any too noble, and when Thayer came to me with this contract and +lease, I didn't ask any questions. My lawyer said it was O. K. That +was enough for me. But somehow or other, I kind of draw the line at +murder. I'm in your hands, Houston. I've got a mill up there that +I've put a lot of money in. It ain't worth the powder to blow it up +now—to me, anyway. But with you, it's different. If you want to make +me a fair offer, say the word, and I'll go more than half-way. What +say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is to-morrow time enough?" +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow—or the next day—or the next week. Suits me. I'm in your +hands." +</P> + +<P> +Then he went on, leaving only three figures in the lobby,—the bent, +silent form of Ba'tiste Renaud, grave, but rewarded at last in his +faithful search; the radiant-eyed Houston, free with a freedom that he +hardly believed could exist; and a girl who walked to the window and +stood looking out a moment before she turned to him. Then impetuously +she faced him, her eyes searching his, her hands tight clasped, her +whole being one of supplication. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry," she begged. "Can you—will you forgive me?" +</P> + +<P> +Boyishly Barry Houston reached forward and drew away a strand of hair +that had strayed from place, a spirit of venture in his manner, a +buoyant tone in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Say it again. I like it!" +</P> + +<P> +"But I am—don't you believe me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course. But then—I—I—" Then he caught her hands. "Will you go +with me while I telegraph?" he asked in sudden earnestness. "I want to +wire—to the papers back in Boston and tell them that I've been +vindicated. Will you—?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd be glad to." +</P> + +<P> +They went out the door together, Houston beaming happily downward, the +girl close beside him, her arm in his. And it was then that the +features of Ba'tiste Renaud lost their gravity and sorrow. He looked +after them, his eyes soft and contented. Then his big hands parted +slowly. His lips broke into a smile of radiant happiness. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +And it was with the same glad light in his eyes that three months later +Ba'tiste Renaud stood on the shores of Empire Lake, his wolf-dog beside +him, looking out over the rippling sheen of the water. The snow was +gone from the hills now; the colors were again radiant, the blues and +purples and greens and reds vying, it seemed, with one another, in a +constantly recurring contest of beauty. Afar off, logs were sliding in +swift succession down the skidways, to lose themselves in the waters, +then to bob along toward the current that would carry them to the +flume. The jays cried and quarreled in the aspens; in a little bay, an +old beaver made his first sally of the evening, and by angry slaps of +his tail warned the rest of the colony that humans were near. +Distantly, from down the bubbling stream which led from the lake, there +sounded the snarl of giant saws and the hum of machinery, where, in two +great mills, the logs traveled into a manufactured state through a +smooth-working process that led from "jacker" to "kicker", thence to +the platforms and the shotgun carriages; into the mad rush of the bank +saws, while the rumbling rolls caught the offal to cart it away; then +surging on, to the edgers and trimmers and kilns. Great trucks rumbled +along the roadways. Faintly a locomotive whistled, as the switch +engine from Tabernacle clanked to the mills for the make-up of its +daily stub-train of lumber cars. But the attention of Ba'tiste Renaud +was on none of these. Out in a safe portion of the lake was a boat, +and within it sat two persons, a man and a woman, their rods flashing +as they made their casts, now drawing slowly backward for another whip +of the fly, now bending with the swift leap of a captive trout. And he +watched them with the eyes of a father looking upon children who have +fulfilled his every hope, children deeply, greatly beloved. +</P> + +<P> +As for the man and the woman, they laughed and glanced at each other as +they cast, or shouted and shrilled with the excitement of the leaping +trout as the fly caught fair and the struggle of the rod and reel +began, to end with another flopping form in the creel, another delicacy +for the table at camp. But at last the girl leaned back, and her fly +trailed disregarded in the water. +</P> + +<P> +"Barry," she asked, "what day's to-morrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wednesday," he said, and cast again in the direction of a dead, +jutting tree, the home of more than one three-pounder. She pouted. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course it's Wednesday. But what else?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. Let me see. Twentieth, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +This time her rod flipped in mock anger. +</P> + +<P> +"Barry," she commanded. "What day is tomorrow?" +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her blankly. +</P> + +<P> +"I give it up," came after deep thought. "What day is to-morrow?" +</P> + +<P> +She pressed tight her lips, striving bravely for sternness. But in +vain. An upward curve made its appearance at the corners. The blue +eyes twinkled. She laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Foolish!" she chided. "I might have expected you to forget. It's our +first monthiversary!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> +<hr class="full" noshade> + +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE DESERT***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 20155-h.txt or 20155-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/5/20155">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/1/5/20155</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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