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<pre>

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Snow-Burner, by Henry Oyen

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
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with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: The Snow-Burner

Author: Henry Oyen

Release Date: May 16, 2011 [EBook #36121]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SNOW-BURNER ***




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Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net






</pre>

<div class='figcenter' style='padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
<a name='i001' id='i001'></a>
<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='THE SNOW-BURNER TOPPLED AND FELL FACE DOWNWARD ON THE GROUND' width='60%' title=''/><br />
<span class='caption'>THE SNOW-BURNER TOPPLED AND FELL FACE DOWNWARD ON THE GROUND</span>
</div>
<div class='title'>
<p class='fs16 mt20'>THE<br/>SNOW-BURNER</p>

<p class='mt20'>BY<br/>
<span class='fs12'>HENRY OYEN</span></p>

<p class='mt20'>AUTHOR OF<br/>
THE MAN-TRAIL</p>

<div style='margin: 20px auto; text-align: center;'>
<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg'/>
</div>

<p>NEW YORK<br/>
GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP<br/>
PUBLISHERS</p>

<p class='mt40'>Copyright, 1916,<br/>
By George H. Doran Company</p>

<p class='sm'>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p>

<p class='sm'>COPYRIGHT 1914, 1915, BY THE RIDGWAY COMPANY</p>
</div>
<p class='center fs14 mt40 mb20'>CONTENTS</p>

<p class='center fs12 mb20'>PART ONE: THE NATURAL MAN</p>

<table summary='' style='margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; table-layout:fixed; width:500px;'>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>I.</td>
  <td class='c2'>“Help!”</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chI'>9</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>II.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Girl</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chII'>16</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>III.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Toppy Gets A Job</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chIII'>21</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>IV.</td>
  <td class='c2'>“Hell-Camp” Reivers</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chIV'>31</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>V.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Toppy Overhears a Conversation</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chV'>39</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>VI.</td>
  <td class='c2'>“Nice Boy!”</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chVI'>44</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>VII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Snow-Burner’s Creed</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chVII'>51</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>VIII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Toppy Works</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chVIII'>62</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>IX.</td>
  <td class='c2'>A Fresh Start</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chIX'>67</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>X.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Duel Begins</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chX'>74</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XI.</td>
  <td class='c2'>“Hell-Camp” Court</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXI'>77</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Toppy’s First Move</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXII'>94</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XIII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Reivers Replies</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXIII'>100</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XIV.</td>
  <td class='c2'>“Joker and Deuces Wild”</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXIV'>106</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XV.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Way of the Snow-Burner</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXV'>115</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XVI.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Screws Tighten</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXVI'>131</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XVII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Tilly’s Warning</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXVII'>139</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XVIII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>“Canny by Nature”</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXVIII'>145</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XIX.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Fight</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXIX'>150</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XX.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Toppy’s Way</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXX'>162</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXI.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The End of the Boss</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXI'>165</a></td>
</tr>
</table>

<p class='center fs12 mt20 mb20'>PART TWO: THE SUPER MAN</p>

<table summary='' style='margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; table-layout:fixed; width:500px;'>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Cheating of the River</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXII'>175</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXIII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Girl Who Was Not Afraid</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXIII'>183</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXIV.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Woman’s Way</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXIV'>193</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXV.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Gold!</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXV'>202</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXVI.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Look in a Woman’s Eyes</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXVI'>212</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXVII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>On the Trail of Fortune</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXVII'>219</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXVIII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Snow-Burner Hunts</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXVIII'>229</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXIX.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The White Man’s Will</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXIX'>233</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXX.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Any Means to an End</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXX'>238</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXXI.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Squaw-Man</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXXI'>241</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXXII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Scorn of a Pure Woman</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXXII'>245</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXXIII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Shanty Moir</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXXIII'>251</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXXIV.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Bargain</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXXIV'>256</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXXV.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Test of the Bottle</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXXV'>261</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXXVI.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Snow-Burner Begins To Weaken</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXXVI'>265</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXXVII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Into the Jaws of the Bear</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXXVII'>270</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXXVIII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>MacGregor Roy</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXXVIII'>277</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XXXIX.</td>
  <td class='c2'>James MacGregor’s Story</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXXXIX'>283</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XL.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The White Man’s Sentiment</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXL'>293</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XLI.</td>
  <td class='c2'>Shanty-Moir-Temperance Advocate</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXLI'>301</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XLII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Snow-Burner Works for Two</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXLII'>305</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XLIII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>"The Penalty of a White Man’s Mind"</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXLIII'>309</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XLIV.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Madness of “Hell-Camp” Reivers</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXLIV'>316</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XLV.</td>
  <td class='c2'>A Surprise for Shanty Moir</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXLV'>320</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XLVI.</td>
  <td class='c2'>A Fight that was a Fight</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXLVI'>327</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
  <td class='c1'>XLVII.</td>
  <td class='c2'>The Snow-Burner Pays</td>
  <td class='c3'><a href='#chXLVII'>332</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<h1><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9'></a>9</span><a name='title' id='title'></a>THE SNOW BURNER</h1>
<p class='center fs12'>PART ONE: THE NATURAL MAN</p>
<h2><a name='chI' id='chI'></a>CHAPTER I—HELP</h2>
<p>
The brisk November sunrise, breaking over the
dark jack-pines, lighted up the dozen snow-covered
frame buildings comprising the so-called town
of Rail Head, and presently reached in through the
uncurtained windows of the Northern Light saloon,
where it shone upon the curly head of young Toppy
Treplin as, pillowed on his crossed forearms, it lay
in repose on one of the saloon tables.
</p>
<p>
It was a sad, strange place to find Toppy Treplin,
one-time All-American halfback, but for the last four
years all-around moneyed loafer and waster. Rail
Head was far from the beaten path. It lay at the
end of sixty miles of narrow-gauge track that rambled
westward into the Big Woods from the Iron
Range Railroad line, and it consisted mainly of a
box-car depot, an alleged hotel and six saloons—none
of the latter being in any too good repute with
the better element round about.
</p>
<p>
The existence of the saloons might have explained
Toppy’s presence in Rail Head had their character
and wares been of a nature to attract one of his
critical tastes; but in reality Toppy was there because
the Iron Range Limited, bearing Harvey Duncombe’s
private hunting-car, had stopped for a moment the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10'></a>10</span>
night before out where the narrow-gauge met the
Iron Range Railroad tracks.
</p>
<p>
Toppy, at that fated moment, was out on the observation
platform alone. There had been a row and
Toppy had rushed out in a black rage. Within, the
car reeked with the mingled odours of cigarette-smoke
and spilled champagne. Out of doors the first snowfall
of the season, faintly tinted by a newly risen
moon, lay unmarked, undefiled.
</p>
<p>
A girl—small, young, brisk and business-like—alighted
from the car ahead and walked swiftly across
the station platform to the narrow-gauge train that
stood waiting. The anger and champagne raging in
him had moved Toppy to one of those wild pranks
which had made his name among his fellows synonymous
with irresponsibility.
</p>
<p>
He would get away from it all, away from Harvey
Duncombe and his champagne, and all that sort of
thing. He would show them!
</p>
<p>
Toppy had stepped off. The Limited suddenly
glided away. Toppy lurched over to the narrow
gauge, and that was the last thing he had remembered
of that memorable night.
</p>
<p>
As the sun now revealed him, Mr. Robert Lovejoy
Treplin, in spite of his deplorable condition, was a
figure to win attention of a not entirely unfavourable
sort. Still clad in mackinaw and hunting-clothes, his
two hundred pounds of bone and muscle and just
a little too much fat were sprawled picturesquely over
the chair and table, the six-foot gracefulness of him
being obvious despite his rough apparel and awkward
position.
</p>
<p>
His cap had fallen off and the sun glinted on a
head of boyish brown curls. It was only in the lazy,
good-natured face, puffy and loose-lipped, that one
might read how recklessly Toppy Treplin had lived
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11'></a>11</span>
since achieving his football honours four years before.
</p>
<p>
The sun crept up and found his eyes, and Toppy
stirred. Slowly, even painfully, he raised his head
from the table and looked around him. The crudeness
of his surroundings made him sit up with a start.
He looked first out of the window at the snow-covered
“street.” Across the way he saw a small, unpainted
building bearing a scraggly sign, “Hotel.” Beyond
this the jack-pines loomed in a solid wall.
</p>
<p>
Toppy shuddered. He turned his face toward the
man behind the bar, who had been regarding him
for some time with a look of mingled surprise and
amusement. Toppy shuddered again.
</p>
<p>
The man was a half-breed, and he wore a red woollen
shirt. Worse, there was not a sign of a mirror
behind the bar. It was distressing.
</p>
<p>
“Good morning, brother,” said Toppy, concealing
his repugnance. “Might I ask you for a little information
this pleasant morning?”
</p>
<p>
The half-breed grinned appreciatively but sceptically.
</p>
<p>
“Little drink, I guess you mean, don’t you?” said
he. “Go ’head.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy bowed courteously.
</p>
<p>
“Thank you, brother, thank you. I am sorely
puzzled about two little matters—where am I anyway,
and if so, how did I get here?”
</p>
<p>
The grin on the half-breed’s face broadened. He
pointed at the table in front of Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“You been sleeping there since ‘bout midnight las’
night,” he exclaimed.
</p>
<p>
Toppy waved his left hand to indicate his displeasure
at the inadequacy of the bartender’s reply.
</p>
<p>
“Obvious, my dear Watson, obvious,” he said. “I
know that I’m at this table, because here I am; and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12'></a>12</span>
I know I’ve been sleeping here because I just woke
up. Let’s broaden the range of our information.
What town is this, if it is a town, and if it is, how
did I happen to come here, may I ask?”
</p>
<p>
The half-breed’s grin disappeared, gradually to give
place to an expression of amazement.
</p>
<p>
“You mean to say you come to this town and don’t
know what town it is?” he demanded. “Then why
you come? What you do here?”
</p>
<p>
Toppy’s brow corrugated in an expression of deep
puzzlement.
</p>
<p>
“That’s another thing that’s rather puzzling, too,
brother,” he replied. “Why did I come? I’d like
to know that, too. Like very, very much to know that.
Where am I, how did I come here, and why? Three
questions I’d like very, very much to have answered.”
</p>
<p>
He sat for a moment in deep thought, then turned
toward the bartender with the pleased look of a man
who has found an inspiration.
</p>
<p>
“I tell you what you do, brother—you answer the
first two questions and in the light of that information
I’ll see if I can’t ponder out the third.”
</p>
<p>
The half-breed leaned heavily across the single-plank
bar and watched Toppy closely.
</p>
<p>
“This town is Rail Head,” he said slowly, as if
speaking to some one of whose mental capacity he had
great doubts. “You come here by last night’s train.
You bring the train-crew over to have a drink; then
you fall asleep. You been sleeping ever since. Now
you remember?”
</p>
<p>
“Ah!”
</p>
<p>
The puzzled look went out of Toppy’s eyes.
</p>
<p>
“Now I remember. Row with Harvey Duncombe.
Wanted me to drink two to his one. Stepped outside.
Saw little train. Saw little girl. Stepped off
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13'></a>13</span>
big train, got on little train, and here I am. Fine
little business.”
</p>
<p>
“You went to sleep in the train coming up, the
conductor told me,” volunteered the half-breed. “You
told them you wanted to go as far as you could, so
they took you up here to the end of the line. You
remember now, eh, why you come here?”
</p>
<p>
“Only too well, brother,” replied Toppy wearily.
“I—I just came to see your beautiful little city.”
</p>
<p>
The bartender laughed bitterly.
</p>
<p>
“You come to a fine place. Didn’t you ever hear
‘bout Rail Head?” he asked. “I guess not, or you
wouldn’t have come. This town’s the jumping-off
place, that’s what she is. It’s the most God-forsaken,
hopeless excuse for a town in the whole North Country.
There’s only two kind of business here—shipping
men out to Hell Camp and skinning them when they
come back. That’s all. What you think of that for
a fine town you’ve landed in, eh?”
</p>
<p>
“Fine,” said Toppy. “I see you love it dearly, indeed.”
</p>
<p>
The half-breed nodded grimly.
</p>
<p>
“It’s all right for me; I own this place. Anybody
else is sucker to come here, though. You ain’t a
Bohunk fool, so I don’t think you come to hire out
for Hell Camp. You just got too drunk, eh?”
</p>
<p>
“I suppose so,” said Toppy, yawning. “What’s this
Hell Camp thing? Pleasant little name.”
</p>
<p>
“An’ pleasant little place,” supplemented the man
mockingly. “Ain’t you never heard ‘bout Hell Camp?
‘Bout its boss—Reivers—the ‘Snow-Burner’? Huh!
Perhaps you want hire out there for job?”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps,” agreed Toppy. “What is it?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, it ain’t nothing so much. Just big log-camp
run by man named Reivers—that’s all. Indians call
him Snow-Burner. Twenty-five, thirty miles out in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14'></a>14</span>
the bush, at Cameron Dam. That’s all. Very big
camp. Everybody who comes to this town is going
out there to work, or else hiding out.”
</p>
<p>
“I see. But why the name?”
</p>
<p>
“Hell Camp?” The bartender’s grin appeared again;
then, as if a second thought on the matter had occurred
to him, he assumed a noncommittal expression
and yawned. “Oh, that’s just nickname the boys
give it. You see, the boys from camp come to town
here in the Spring. Then sometimes they raise ——.
That’s why some people call it Hell Camp. That’s
all. Cameron Dam Camp is the right name.”
</p>
<p>
“I see.” Toppy was wondering why the man should
take the trouble to lie to him. Of course he was
lying. Even Toppy, with his bleared eyes, could see
that the man had started to berate Hell Camp even as
he had berated Rail Head and had suddenly switched
and said nothing. It hurt Toppy’s head. It wasn’t
fair to puzzle him this morning. “I see. Just—just
a nickname.”
</p>
<p>
“That’s all,” said the bartender. Briskly changing
the subject he said: “Well, how ’bout it, stranger?
You going to have eye-opener this morning?”
</p>
<p>
“I suppose so,” said Toppy absently. He again
turned his attention to the view from the window.
On the low stairs of the hotel were seated half a
dozen men whose flat, ox-like faces and foreign clothing
marked them for immigrants, newly arrived, of
the Slavic type. Some sat on wooden trunks oddly
marked, others stood with bundles beneath their arms.
They waited stolidly, blankly, with their eyes on the
hotel door, as oxen wait for the coming of the man
who is going to feed them. Toppy looked on with
idle interest.
</p>
<p>
“I didn’t think you could see anything like that this
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15'></a>15</span>
far away from Ellis Island,” he said. “What are
those fellows, brother?”
</p>
<p>
“Bohunks,” said the bartender with a contemptuous
jerk of the head. “They waiting to hire out for
the Cameron Dam Camp. The agent he comes to the
hotel. Well, what you going to have?”
</p>
<p>
“Bring me a whisky sour,” said Toppy, without
taking his eyes off the group across the street. The
half-breed grinned and placed before him a bottle of
whisky and a glass. Toppy frowned.
</p>
<p>
“A whisky sour, I said,” he protested.
</p>
<p>
“When you get this far in the woods,” laughed the
man, “they all come out of one bottle. Drink up.”
</p>
<p>
Once more Toppy shuddered. He was bored by
this time.
</p>
<p>
“Your jokes up here are worse than your booze,” he
said wearily.
</p>
<p>
He poured out a scant drink and sat with the glass
in his hand while his eyes were upon the group across
the street. He was about to drink when a stir among
the men drew his attention. The door of the hotel
opened briskly. Toppy suddenly set down his glass.
</p>
<p>
The girl who had got on the narrow-gauge out at
the junction the night before had come out and was
standing on the stairs, looking about her with an expression
which to Toppy seemed plainly to spell,
“Help!”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16'></a>16</span><a name='chII' id='chII'></a>CHAPTER II—THE GIRL</h2>
<p>
Toppy sat and stared across the street at her
with a feeling much like awe. The girl was
standing forth in the full morning sunlight, and
Toppy’s first impulse was to cross the street to her, his
second to hide his face. She was small and young,
the girl, and beautiful. She was a blonde, such a
blonde as is found only in the North. The sun lighted
up the aureole of light hair surrounding her head,
so that even Toppy behind the windows of the Northern
Light caught a vision of its fineness. Her cheeks
bore the red of perfect health showing through a perfect,
fair complexion, and even the thick red mackinaw
which she wore did not hide the trimness of the figure
beneath.
</p>
<p>
“What in the dickens is she doing here?” gasped
Toppy. “She doesn’t belong in a place like this.”
</p>
<p>
But if this were true the girl apparently was entirely
unconscious of it. Among that group of ox-like
Slavs she stood with her little chin in the air, as
much at home, apparently, as if those men were all
her good friends. Only she looked about her now
and then as if anxiously seeking a way out of a
dilemma.
</p>
<p>
“What can she be doing here?” mused Toppy. “A
little, pretty thing like her! She ought to be back
home with mother and father and brother and sister,
going to dancing-school, and all the rest of it.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17'></a>17</span>
</p>
<p>
Toppy was no stranger to pretty girls. He had met
pretty girls by the score while at college. He had
been adored by dozens. After college he had met
still more. None of them had interested him to any
inconvenient extent. After all, a man’s friends are
all men.
</p>
<p>
But this girl, Toppy admitted, struck him differently.
He had never seen a girl that struck him like
this before. He pushed his glass to one side. He
was bored no longer. For the first time in four years
the full shame of his mode of living was driven home
to him, for as he feasted his eyes on the sun-kissed
vision across the street his decent instincts whispered
that a man who squandered and swilled his life away
just because he had money had no right to raise his
eyes to this girl.
</p>
<p>
“You’re a waster, that’s what you are,” said Toppy
to himself, “and she’s one of those sweet——”
</p>
<p>
He was on his feet before the sentence was completed.
In her perplexity the girl had turned to the
men about her and apparently had asked a question.
At first their utter unresponsiveness indicated that
they did not understand.
</p>
<p>
Then they began to smile, looking at one another
and at the girl. The brutal manner in which they
fixed their eyes upon her sent the blood into Toppy’s
throat. White men didn’t look at a woman that way.
</p>
<p>
Then one of the younger men spoke to the girl.
Toppy saw her start and look at him with parted
lips. The group gathered more closely around. The
young man spoke again, grimacing and smirking
bestially, and Toppy waited for no more. He was a
waster and half drunk; but after all he was a white
man, of the same breed as the girl on the stairs, and
he knew his job.
</p>
<p>
He came across the snow-covered street like Toppy
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18'></a>18</span>
Treplin of old bent upon making a touchdown. Into
the group he walked, head up, shouldering and elbowing
carelessly. Toppy caught the young speaker by
both shoulders and hurled him bodily back among his
fellows. For an instant they faced Toppy, snarling,
their hands cautiously sliding toward hidden knives.
Then they grovelled, cringing instinctively before the
better breed.
</p>
<p>
Toppy turned to the girl and removed his cap.
She had not cried out nor moved, and now she looked
Toppy squarely in the eye. Toppy promptly hung his
head. He had been thinking of her as something
of a child. Now he saw his mistake. She was young,
it is true—little over twenty perhaps—but there was
an air of self-reliance and seriousness about her as
if she had known responsibilities beyond her years.
And her eyes were blue, Toppy saw—the perfect blue
that went with her fair complexion.
</p>
<p>
“I beg pardon,” stammered Toppy. “I just happened
to see—it looked as if they were getting fresh—so
I thought I’d come across and—and see if there was
anything—anything I could do.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you,” said the girl a little breathlessly.
“Are—are you the agent?”
</p>
<p>
Toppy shook his head. The look of perplexity
instantly returned to the girl’s face.
</p>
<p>
“I’m sorry; I wish I was,” said Toppy. “If you’ll
tell me who the agent is, and so on—” he included
most of the town of Rail Head in a comprehensive
glance—“I’ll probably be able to find him in a hurry.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I couldn’t think of troubling you. Thank
you ever so much, though,” she said hastily. “They
told me in the hotel that he was outside here some
place. I’ll find him myself, thank you.”
</p>
<p>
She stepped off the stairs into the snow of the
street, every inch and line of her, from her solid tan
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19'></a>19</span>
boots to her sensible tassel cap, expressing the self-reliance
and independence of the girl who is accustomed
and able to take care of herself under trying
circumstances.
</p>
<p>
The bright sun smote her eyes and she blinked,
squinting deliciously. She paused for a moment, threw
back her head and filled her lungs to the full with
great drafts of the invigorating November air. Her
mackinaw rose and fell as she breathed deeply, and
more colour came rushing into the roses of her cheeks.
Apparently she had forgotten the existence of the
Slavs, who still stood glowering at her and Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“Isn’t it glorious?” she said, looking up at Toppy
with her eyes puckered prettily from the sun. “Doesn’t
it just make you glad you’re alive?”
</p>
<p>
“You bet it does!” said Toppy eagerly. He saw his
opportunity to continue the conversation and hastened
to take advantage. “I never knew air could be as
exciting as this. I never felt anything like it. It’s
my first experience up here in the woods; I’m an utter
stranger around here.”
</p>
<p>
Having volunteered this information, he waited
eagerly. The girl merely nodded.
</p>
<p>
“Of course. Anybody could see that,” she said
simply.
</p>
<p>
Toppy felt slightly abashed.
</p>
<p>
“Then you—you’re not a stranger around here?” he
asked.
</p>
<p>
She shook her head, the tassels of her cap and her
aureole of light hair tossing gloriously.
</p>
<p>
“I’m a stranger here in this town,” she said, “but
I’ve lived up here in the woods, as you call it, all my
life except the two years I was away at school. Not
right in the woods, of course, but in small towns
around. My father was a timber-estimator before
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20'></a>20</span>
he was hurt, and naturally we had to live close to the
woods.”
</p>
<p>
“Naturally,” agreed Toppy, though he knew nothing
about it. He tried to imagine any of the girls
he knew back East accepting a stranger as a man and
a brother who could be trusted at first hand, and he
failed.
</p>
<p>
“I say,” he said as she stepped away. “Just a
moment, please. About this agent-thing. Won’t you
please let me go and look for him?” He waved
his hands at the six saloons. “You see, there aren’t
many places here that a lady can go looking for a
man in.”
</p>
<p>
She hesitated, frowning at the lowly groggeries that
constituted the major part of Rail Head’s buildings.
</p>
<p>
“That’s so,” she said with a smile.
</p>
<p>
“Of course it is,” said Toppy eagerly. “And the
chances are that your man is in one of them, no matter
who he is, because that’s about the only place he
can be here. You tell me who he is, or what he is,
and I’ll go hunt him up.”
</p>
<p>
“That’s very kind of you.” She hesitated for a
moment, then accepted his offer without further
parley. “It’s the employment agent of the Cameron
Dam Company that I’m looking for. I am to meet him
here, according to a letter they sent me, and he is to
furnish a team and driver to take me out to the Dam.”
</p>
<p>
Then she added calmly, “I’m going to keep books
out there this Winter.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21'></a>21</span><a name='chIII' id='chIII'></a>CHAPTER III—TOPPY GETS A JOB</h2>
<p>
Toppy gasped. In the first place, he had not
been thinking of her as a “working girl.” None
of the girls that he knew belonged to that class. The
notion that she, with the childish dimple in her chin
and the roses in her cheeks, was a girl who made her
own living was hard to assimilate; the idea that she
was going out to a camp in the woods—out to Hell
Camp—to work was absolutely impossible!
</p>
<p>
“Keep books?” said Toppy, bewildered. “Do they
keep books in a—in a logging-camp?”
</p>
<p>
It was her turn to look surprised.
</p>
<p>
“Do you know anything about Cameron Dam?”
she asked.
</p>
<p>
“Nothing,” admitted Toppy. “It’s a logging-camp,
though, isn’t it?”
</p>
<p>
“Rather more than that, as I understand it,” she
replied. “They are building a town out there, according
to my letter. There are over two hundred people
there now. At present they’re doing nothing but logging
and building the dam; but they say they’ve found
ore out there, and in the Spring the railroad is coming
and the town will open up.”
</p>
<p>
“And—and you’re going to keep books there this
Winter?”
</p>
<p>
She nodded. “They pay well. They’re paying me
seventy-five dollars a month and my board.”
</p>
<p>
“And you don’t know anything about the place?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22'></a>22</span>
</p>
<p>
“Except what they’ve written in the letter engaging
me.”
</p>
<p>
“And still you’re going out there—to work?”
</p>
<p>
“Of course,” she said cheerfully. “Seventy-five-dollar
jobs aren’t to be picked up every day around
here.”
</p>
<p>
“I see,” said Toppy. He remembered Harvey Duncombe’s
champagne bill of the night before and grew
thoughtful. He himself had shuddered a short while
before, at waking in a bar where there was no mirror,
and he had planned to wire Harvey for five hundred
to take him back to civilisation. And here was this
delicate little girl—as delicate to look upon as any of
the petted and pampered girls he knew back East—cheerfully,
even eagerly, setting her face toward the
wilderness because therein lay a job paying the colossal
sum of seventy-five dollars a month! And she was
going alone!
</p>
<p>
A reckless impulse swayed Toppy. He decided not
to wire Harvey.
</p>
<p>
“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll go find this
agent. You’d better wait inside the hotel.”
</p>
<p>
He crossed the street and systematically began to
search through the six saloons. In the third place he
found his man shaking dice with an Indian. The agent
was a lean, long-nosed individual who wore thick
glasses and talked through his nose.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, I’m the Cameron Dam agent,” he drawled,
curiously eying Toppy from head to toe. “Simmons is
my name. What can I do for you?”
</p>
<p>
“I want a job,” said Toppy. “A job out at Hell
Camp.”
</p>
<p>
The agent laughed shortly at the name.
</p>
<p>
“You’re wise, are you?” he said. “And still you
want a job out there? Well, I’m sorry. That load of
Bohunks across the street fills me up. I can’t use
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23'></a>23</span>
any more rough labour just at present. I’m looking
for a blacksmith’s helper, but I guess that ain’t you.”
</p>
<p>
“That’s me,” said Toppy resolutely. “That’s the
job I want—blacksmith’s helper. That’s my job.”
</p>
<p>
The agent looked him over with the critical eye
of a man skilfully appraising bone and muscle.
</p>
<p>
“You’re big enough, that’s sure,” he drawled.
“You’ve got the shoulders and arms, too, but—let’s
see your hands.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy held up his hands, huge in size, but entirely
innocent of callouses or other signs of wear. The
agent grinned.
</p>
<p>
“Soft as a woman’s,” he said scornfully. “When
did you ever do any blacksmithing? Long time ago,
wasn’t it? Before you were born, I guess.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy’s right hand shot out and fell upon the
agent’s thin arm. Slowly and steadily he squeezed
until the man writhed and grimaced with pain.
</p>
<p>
“Wow! Leggo!” The agent peered over his thick
glasses with something like admiration in his eyes.
“Say, you’re there with the grip, all right, big fellow.
Where’d you get it?”
</p>
<p>
“Swinging a sledge,” lied Toppy solemnly. “And
I’ve come here to get that job.”
</p>
<p>
Simmons shook his head.
</p>
<p>
“I can’t do it,” he protested. “If I should send you
out and you shouldn’t make good, Reivers would be
sore.”
</p>
<p>
“Who’s this man Reivers?”
</p>
<p>
The agent’s eyes over his glasses expressed surprise.
</p>
<p>
“I thought you were wise to Hell Camp?” he said.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I’m wise enough,” said Toppy impatiently. “I
know what it is. But who’s this Reivers?”
</p>
<p>
“He’s the boss,” said Simmons shortly. “D’you
mean to say you never heard about Hell-Camp Reivers,
the Snow-Burner?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24'></a>24</span>
</p>
<p>
“No, I haven’t,” replied Toppy impatiently. “But
that doesn’t make any difference. You send me out
there; I’ll make good, don’t worry.” He paused and
sized his man up. “Come over here, Simmons,” he
said with a significant wink, leading the way toward
the door. “I want that job; I want it badly.” Toppy
dived into his pockets. Two bills came to light—two
twenties. He slipped them casually into Simmons’
hand. “That’s how bad I want it. Now how about
it?”
</p>
<p>
The fashion in which Simmons’ thin fingers closed
upon the money told Toppy that he was not mistaken
in the agent’s character.
</p>
<p>
“You’ll be taking your own chances,” warned Simmons,
carefully pocketing the money. “If you don’t
make good—well, you’ll have to explain to Reivers,
that’s all. You must have an awful good reason for
wanting to go out.”
</p>
<p>
“I have.”
</p>
<p>
“Hiding from something, mebbe?” suggested Simmons.
</p>
<p>
“Maybe,” said Toppy. “And, say—there’s a young
lady over at the hotel who’s looking for you. Said
you were to furnish her with a sleigh to get out to
Cameron Dam.”
</p>
<p>
An evil smile broke over the agent’s thin face as he
moved toward the door.
</p>
<p>
“The new bookkeeper, I suppose,” he said, winking
at Toppy. “Aha! Now I understand why you——”
</p>
<p>
Toppy caught him two steps from the door. His
fingers sank into the man’s withered biceps.
</p>
<p>
“No, you don’t understand,” he hissed grimly.
“Get that? You don’t understand anything about it.”
</p>
<p>
“All right,” snapped the cowed man. “Leggo my
arm. I was just joshing. You can take a joke, can’t
you? Well, then, come along. As long as you’re
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25'></a>25</span>
going out you might as well go at once. I’ve got to
get a double team, anyhow, for the lady, and you’ve
got to start now to make it before dark. Ready to
start now?”
</p>
<p>
“All ready,” said Toppy.
</p>
<p>
At the door the agent paused.
</p>
<p>
“Say, you haven’t said anything about wages yet,”
he said quizzically.
</p>
<p>
“That’s so,” said Toppy, as if he had forgotten.
“How much am I going to get?”
</p>
<p>
“Sixty a month.”
</p>
<p>
The agent couldn’t understand why the new man
should laugh. It struck Toppy as funny that a little
girl with a baby dimple in her chin should be earning
more money than he. Also, he wondered what Harvey
Duncombe and the rest of the bunch would have
thought had they known.
</p>
<p>
Toppy followed the agent to the stable behind the
hotel, where Simmons routed out an old hunchbacked
driver who soon brought forth a team of rangy bays
drawing a light double-seated sleigh.
</p>
<p>
“Company outfit,” explained Simmons. “Have to
have a team; one horse can’t make it. You can ride
in the front seat with the driver. The lady will ride
behind.”
</p>
<p>
As Toppy clambered in Simmons hurriedly whispered
something in the ear of the driver, who was
fastening a trace. The hunchback nodded.
</p>
<p>
“I got this job because I can keep my mouth shut,”
he muttered. “Don’t you worry about anybody pumping
me.”
</p>
<p>
He stepped in beside Toppy; and the bays, prancing
in the snow, went around to the front of the hotel
on the run. There was a wait of a few minutes; then
Simmons came out, followed by the girl carrying her
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26'></a>26</span>
suitcase. Toppy sprang out and took it from her
hand.
</p>
<p>
“You people are going to be together on a long
drive, so I’d better introduce you,” said Simmons.
“Miss Pearson, Mr. ——”
</p>
<p>
“Treplin,” said Toppy honestly.
</p>
<p>
“Treplin,” concluded Simmons. “New bookkeeper,
new blacksmith’s helper. Get in the back seat, Miss
Pearson. Cover yourself well up with those robes.
Bundle in—that’s right. Put the suitcase under your
feet. That’s right. All right, Jerry,” he drawled to
the driver. “You’d better keep going pretty steady
to make it before dark.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t nobody need to tell me my business,” said
the surly hunchback, tightening the lines; and without
any more ado they were off, the snow flying from
the heels of the mettlesome bays.
</p>
<p>
For the first few miles the horses, fresh from the
stable and exhilarated to the dancing-point by the sun,
air and snow, provided excitement which prevented
any attempt at conversation. Then, when their dancing
and shying had ceased and they had settled down
to a steady, long-legged jog that placed mile after
mile of the white road behind them with the regularity
of a machine, Toppy turned his eyes toward the girl
in the back seat.
</p>
<p>
He quickly turned them to the front again. Miss
Pearson, snuggled down to her chin in the thick sleigh-robes,
her eyes squinting deliciously beneath the sharp
sun, was studying him with a frankness that was disconcerting,
and Toppy, probably for the first time in
his life, felt himself gripped by a great shyness and
confusion. There was wonderment in the girl’s eyes,
and suspicion.
</p>
<p>
“She’s wise,” thought Toppy sadly. “She knows
I’ve been hitting it up, and she knows I made up my
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27'></a>27</span>
mind to come out here after I talked with her. A
fine opinion she must have of me! Well, I deserve
it. But just the same I’ve got to see the thing through
now. I can’t stand for her going out all alone to a
place with a reputation like Hell Camp. I’m a dead
one with her, all right; but I’ll stick around and see
that she gets a square deal.”
</p>
<p>
Consequently the drive, which Toppy had hoped
would lead to more conversation and a closer acquaintance
with the girl, resolved itself into a silent,
monotonous affair which made him distinctly uncomfortable.
He looked back at her again. This time also
he caught her eyes full upon him, but this time after
an instant’s scrutiny she looked away with a trace of
hardness about her lips.
</p>
<p>
“I’m in bad at the start with her, sure,” groaned
Toppy inwardly. “She doesn’t want a thing to do
with me, and quite right at that.”
</p>
<p>
His tentative efforts at opening a conversation with
the driver met instant and convincing failure.
</p>
<p>
“I hear they’ve got quite a place out here,” began
Toppy casually.
</p>
<p>
“None of my business if they have,” grunted the
driver.
</p>
<p>
Toppy laughed.
</p>
<p>
“You’re a sociable brute! Why don’t you bark
and be done with it?”
</p>
<p>
The driver viciously pulled the team to a dead stop
and turned upon Toppy with a look that could come
only from a spirit of complete malevolence.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t try to talk to me, young feller,” he snapped,
showing old yellow teeth. “My job is to haul you out
there, and that’s all. I don’t talk. Don’t waste your
time trying to make me. Giddap!”
</p>
<p>
He cut viciously at the horses with his whip, pulled
his head into the collar of his fur coat with the motion
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28'></a>28</span>
of a turtle retiring into its shell, and for the rest of
the drive spoke only to the horses.
</p>
<p>
Toppy, snubbed by the driver and feeling himself
shunned, perhaps even despised, by Miss Pearson, now
had plenty of time to think over the situation calmly.
The crisp November air whipping his face as the
sleigh sped steadily along drove from his brain the remaining
fumes of Harvey Buncombe’s champagne.
He saw the whole affair clearly now, and he promptly
called himself a great fool.
</p>
<p>
What business was it of his if a girl wanted to go
out to work in a place like Hell Camp? Probably
it was all right. Probably there was no necessity,
no excuse for his having made a fool of himself by
going with her. Why had he done it, anyhow?
Getting interested in anything because of a girl was
strange conduct for him. He couldn’t call to mind
a single tangible reason for his actions. He had
acted on the impulse, as he had done scores of times
before; and, as he had also done scores of times before,
he felt that he had made a fool of himself.
</p>
<p>
He tried to catch the girl’s eyes once more, to read
in them some sign of relenting, some excuse for opening
a conversation. But as he turned his head Miss
Pearson also turned and looked away with uncompromising
severity. Toppy studied the purity of her
profile, the innocence of the baby dimple in her chin,
out of the corner of his eye. And as he turned and
glanced at the evil face of the hunchback driver he
settled himself with a sigh, and thought—
</p>
<p>
“Nevertheless, and notwithstanding the fact that
I’ve been a fool, I am glad that I’m here.”
</p>
<p>
At noon the road plunged out of the scant jack-pine
forest into the gloom of a hemlock swamp. Toppy
shuddered as he contemplated what the fate of a man
might be who should be unfortunate enough to get
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29'></a>29</span>
lost in that swamp. A mile in the swamp, on a slight
knoll, they came to a tiny cabin guarding a gate across
the road. An old, bearded woodsman came out of the
cabin and opened the gate, and the hunchback pulled
up and proceeded to feed his team.
</p>
<p>
“Dinner’s waiting inside,” called the gate-tender.
“Come in and eat, miss—and you, too; I suppose
you’re hungry?” he added to Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“And hurry up, too,” growled the hunchback. “I
give you twenty minutes.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you very much,” said the girl, diving into
her suitcase. “I’ve brought my own lunch.”
</p>
<p>
She brought out some sandwiches and proceeded
to nibble at them without moving from the sleigh.
Toppy tumbled into the cabin in company with the
hunchback driver. A rough meal was on the table
and they fell to without a word. Toppy noticed that
the old woodsman sat on a bench near the door where
he could keep an eye on the road. Above the bench
hung a pair of field-glasses, a repeating shotgun and a
high-power Winchester rifle.
</p>
<p>
“Any hunting around here?” asked Toppy cheerily.
</p>
<p>
“Sometimes,” said the old watcher with a smile that
made Toppy wonder.
</p>
<p>
He did not pursue the subject, for there was something
about the lonely cabin, the bearded old man,
and the rifle on the wall that suggested something much
more grim than sport.
</p>
<p>
The driver soon bolted his meal and went back to
the sleigh. Toppy followed, and twenty minutes
after pulling up they were on the road again. With
each mile that they passed now the swamp grew wilder
and the gloom of the wilderness more oppressive. To
right and left among the trees Toppy made out
stretches of open water, great springs and little creeks
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30'></a>30</span>
which never froze and which made the swamp even
in Winter a treacherous morass.
</p>
<p>
Toward the end of the short afternoon the swamp
suddenly gave way to a rough, untimbered ridge. Red
rocks, which Toppy later learned contained iron ore,
poked their way like jagged teeth through the snow.
The sleigh mounted the ridge, the runners grating on
bare rock and dirt, dipped down into a ravine between
two ridges, swung off almost at right angles in a cleft
in the hills—and before Toppy realised that the end
of the drive had come, they were in full view of a
large group of log buildings on the edge of a dense
pine forest and were listening to the roar of the waters
of Cameron Dam.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31'></a>31</span><a name='chIV' id='chIV'></a>CHAPTER IV—“HELL-CAMP” REIVERS</h2>
<p>
In the face of things there was nothing about the
place to suggest that it deserved the title of Hell
Camp. The Cameron Dam Camp, as Toppy saw it
now, consisted of seven neat log buildings. Of these
the first six were located on the road which led into
the camp, three on each side. These buildings were
twice as large as the ordinary log buildings which
Toppy had seen in the woods; but they were thoroughly
dwarfed and overshadowed by the seventh,
which lay beyond them, and into the enormous doorway
of which the road seemed to disappear. This
building was larger than the other six combined—was
built of huge logs, apparently fifteen feet high; and
its wall, which stretched across the road, seemed to
have no windows or openings of any kind save a great
double door.
</p>
<p>
Toppy had no time for a careful scrutiny of the
place, as the hunchback swiftly pulled up before the
first building of the camp, a well-built double-log affair
with large front windows and a small sign, “Office and
Store.” Directly across the road from this building
was one bearing the sign, “Blacksmith Shop,” and
Toppy gazed with keen curiosity at a short man with
white hair and broad shoulders who, with a blacksmith’s
hammer in his hand, came to the door of
the shop as they drove up. Probably this was the man
for whom he was to work.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32'></a>32</span>
</p>
<p>
“Hey, Jerry,” greeted the blacksmith with a burr
in his speech that labelled him unmistakably as a Scot.
</p>
<p>
“Hey, Scotty,” replied the hunchback.
</p>
<p>
“Did ye bring me a helper?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” grunted Jerry.
</p>
<p>
“Good!” said the blacksmith, and returned to his
anvil.
</p>
<p>
The hunchback turned to the girl as soon as the
team had come to a standstill.
</p>
<p>
“This is where you go,” he said, indicating the
office with a nod. “You,” he grunted to Toppy, “sit
right where you are till we go see the boss.”
</p>
<p>
An Indian squaw, nearly as broad as she was tall,
came waddling out of the store as Miss Pearson
stepped stiffly from the sleigh. Toppy wished for
courage to get out and carry the girl’s suitcase, but
he feared that his action would be misinterpreted;
so he sat still, eagerly watching out of the corner
of his eyes.
</p>
<p>
“I carry um,” said the squaw as the girl dragged
forth her baggage. “You go in.”
</p>
<p>
Then the sleigh drove abruptly ahead toward the
great building at the end of the road, and Toppy’s
final view of the scene was Miss Pearson stumping
stiffly into the office-building with the squaw, the suitcase
held in her arms, waddling behind. Miss Pearson
did not look in his direction.
</p>
<p>
And now Toppy had his first shock. For he saw
that the building toward which they were hurrying was
not a building at all, but merely a stockade-wall, which
seemed to surround all of the camp except the six
buildings which were outside. What he had thought a
huge doorway was in reality a great gate.
</p>
<p>
This gate swung open at their approach, and Toppy’s
second shock came when he saw that the two hard-faced
men who opened it carried in the crooks of their
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33'></a>33</span>
arms wicked-looking, short-barrelled repeating shotguns.
One of the men caught the horses by the head
as soon as they were through the gate, and brought
them to a dead stop, while the other closed the gate
behind them.
</p>
<p>
“Can’t you see the boss is busy?” snapped the man
who had stopped the team. “You wait right here till
he’s through.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy now saw that they had driven into a quadrangle,
three sides of which were composed of long,
low, log buildings with doors and windows cut at
frequent intervals, the fourth side being formed by
the stockade-wall through which they had just passed.
The open space which thus lay between four walls of
solid logs was perhaps fifty yards long by twenty-five
yards wide. In his first swift sight of the place Toppy
saw that, with the stockade-gate closed and two men
with riot-guns on guard, the place was nothing more
nor less than an effective prison. Then his attention
was riveted spellbound by what was taking place in
the yard.
</p>
<p>
On the sunny side of the yard a group of probably
a dozen men were huddled against the log wall. Two
things struck Toppy as he looked at them—their similarity
to the group of Slavs he had seen back in Rail
Head, and the complete terror in their faces as they
cringed tightly against the log wall. Perhaps ten feet
in front of them, and facing them, stood a man alone.
And Toppy, as he beheld the terror with which the
dozen shrank back from the one, and as he looked at
the man, knew that he was looking upon Hell-Camp
Reivers, the man who was called The Snow-Burner.
</p>
<p>
Toppy Treplin was not an impressionable young
man. He had lived much and swiftly and among
many kinds of men, and it took something remarkable
in the man-line to surprise him. But the sight of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34'></a>34</span>
Reivers brought from him a start, and he sat staring,
completely fascinated by the Manager’s presence.
</p>
<p>
It was not the size of Reivers that held him, for
Toppy at first glance judged correctly that Reivers
and himself might have come from the same mold so
far as height and weight were concerned. Neither was
it the terrible physical power which fairly reeked
from the man; for though Reivers’ rough clothing
seemed merely light draperies on the huge muscles
that lay beneath, Toppy had played with strong men,
professionals and amateurs, enough to be blasé in the
face of a physical Colossus. It was the calm, ghastly
brutality of the man, the complete brutality of an
animal, dominated by a human intelligence, that held
Toppy spellbound.
</p>
<p>
Reivers, as he stood there alone, glowering at the
poor wretches who cowered from him like pygmies,
was like a tiger preparing to spring and carefully calculating
where his claws and fangs might sink in with
most damage to his victims. He stood with his feet
close together, his thumbs hooked carelessly in his
trousers pockets, his head thrust far forward. Toppy
had a glimpse of a long, thin nose, thin lips parted
in a sneer, heavily browed eyes, and, beneath the
back-thrust cap, a mass of curly light hair—hair as
light as the girl’s! Then Reivers spoke.
</p>
<p>
“Rosky!” he said in a voice that was half snarl,
half bellow.
</p>
<p>
There was a troubled movement among the dozen
men huddled against the wall, but there came no
answer.
</p>
<p>
“Rosky! Step out!” commanded Reivers in a tone
whose studied ferocity made Toppy shudder.
</p>
<p>
In response, a tall, broad-shouldered Slav, the oldest
and largest man in the group, stepped sullenly out
and stood a yard in front of his fellows. He had
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35'></a>35</span>
taken off his cap and held it tightly in his clenched
right hand, and the expression on his flat face as
he stood with hanging head and scowled at Reivers
was one half of fear and half of defiance.
</p>
<p>
“You no can hit me,” he muttered doggedly. “I
citizen; I got first papers.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers’s manner underwent a change.
</p>
<p>
“Hit you?” he repeated softly. “Who wants to
hit you? I just want to talk with you. I hear you’re
thinking of quitting. I hear you’ve planned to take
these fellows with you when you go. How about it,
Rosky?”
</p>
<p>
“I got papers,” said the man sullenly. “I citizen; I
quit job when I want.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes?” said Reivers gently. It was like a tiger
playing with a hedgehog, and Toppy sickened. “But
you signed to stay here six months, didn’t you?”
</p>
<p>
The gentleness of the Manager had deceived the
thick-witted Slav and he grew bold.
</p>
<p>
“I drunk when I sign,” he said loudly. “All these
fellow drunk when they sign. I quit. They quit. You
no can keep us here if we no want stay.”
</p>
<p>
“I can’t?” Still Reivers saw fit to play with his
victim.
</p>
<p>
“No,” said the man. “And you no dare hit us again,
no.”
</p>
<p>
“No?” purred Reivers softly. “No, certainly not; I
wouldn’t hit you. You’re quite right, Rosky. I won’t
hit you; no.”
</p>
<p>
He was standing at least seven feet from his man,
his feet close together, his thumbs still hooked in
his trousers pockets. Suddenly, and so swiftly that
Rosky did not have time to move, Reivers took a step
forward and shot out his right foot. His boot seemed
barely to touch the shin-bone of Rosky’s right leg, but
Toppy heard the bone snap as the Slav, with a shriek
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36'></a>36</span>
of pain and terror, fell face downward, prone in the
trampled snow at Reivers’ feet.
</p>
<p>
And Reivers did not look at him. He was standing
as before, as if nothing had happened, as if he had not
moved. His eyes were upon the other men, who,
appalled at their leader’s fate, huddled more closely
against the log wall.
</p>
<p>
“Well, how about it?” demanded Reivers icily after
a long silence. “Any more of you fellows think you
want to quit?”
</p>
<p>
Half of the dozen cried out in terror:
</p>
<p>
“No, no! We no quit. Please, boss; we no quit.”
</p>
<p>
A smile of complete contempt curled Reivers’ thin
upper lip.
</p>
<p>
“You poor scum, of course you ain’t going to quit,”
he sneered. “You’ll stay here and slave away until I’m
through with you. And don’t you even dare think
of quitting. Rosky thought he’d kept his plans mighty
secret—thought I wouldn’t know what he was planning.
You see what happened to him.
</p>
<p>
“I know everything that’s going on in this camp.
If you don’t believe it, try it out and see. Now pick
this thing up—” he stirred the groaning Rosky contemptuously
with his foot—“and carry him into his
bunk. I’ll be around and set his leg when I get ready.
Then get back to the rock-pile and make up for the
time it’s taken to teach you this lesson.”
</p>
<p>
The brutality of the thing had frozen Toppy motionless
where he sat in the sleigh. At the same time
he was conscious of a thrill of admiration for the
dominant creature who had so contemptuously crippled
a fellow man. A brute Reivers certainly was, and well
he deserved the name of Hell-Camp Reivers; but a
born captain he was, too, though his dominance was
of a primordial sort.
</p>
<p>
Turning instantly from his victim as from a piece of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37'></a>37</span>
business that is finished, Reivers looked around and
came toward the sleigh. Some primitive instinct
prompted Toppy to step out and stretch himself leisurely,
his long arms above his head, his big chest
inflated to the limit. At the sight of him a change
came over Reivers’ face. The brutality and contempt
went out of it like a flash. His eyes lighted up with
pleasure at the sight of Toppy’s magnificent proportions,
and he smiled a quick smile of comradeship, such
as one smiles when he meets a fellow and equal, and
held out his hand to Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“University man, I’ll wager,” he said, in the easy
voice of a man of culture. “Glad to see you; more
than glad! These beasts are palling on me. They’re
so cursed physical—no mind, no spirit in them. Nothing
but so many pounds of meat and bone. Old Campbell,
my blacksmith, is the only other intelligent being
in camp, and he’s Scotch and believes in predestination
and original sin, so his conversation’s rather trying
for a steady diet.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy shook hands, amazed beyond expression. Except
for his shaggy eyebrows—brows that somehow
reminded Toppy of the head of a bear he had once
shot—Reivers now was the sort of man one would
expect to meet in the University Club rather than in
a logging-camp. The brute had vanished, the gentleman
had appeared; and Toppy was forced to smile
in answer to Reivers’ genial smile of greeting. And
yet, somewhere back in Reivers’ blue eyes Toppy saw
lurking something which said, “I am your master—doubt
it if you dare.”
</p>
<p>
“I hired out as blacksmith’s helper,” he explained.
“My name’s Treplin.”
</p>
<p>
He did not take his eyes from Reivers’. Somehow
he had the sensation that Reivers’ will and his own
had leaped to a grapple.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38'></a>38</span>
</p>
<p>
Reivers laughed aloud in friendly fashion.
</p>
<p>
“Blacksmith’s helper, eh?” he said. “That’s good;
that’s awfully good! Well, old man, I don’t care what
you hired out for, or what your right name is; you’re
a developed human being and you’ll be somebody to
talk to when these brutes grow too tiresome.” He
turned to Jerry, the driver. “Well?” he said curtly.
</p>
<p>
“She’s in the office now,” he said.
</p>
<p>
“All right.” Reivers turned and went briskly toward
the gate. “Turn Mr. Treplin over to Campbell. You’ll
live with Campbell, Treplin,” he called over his
shoulder, as he went through the gate. “And you hit
the back trail, Jerry, right away.”
</p>
<p>
As Jerry swung the team around Toppy saw that
Reivers was going toward the office with long, eager
strides.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39'></a>39</span><a name='chV' id='chV'></a>CHAPTER V—TOPPY OVERHEARS A CONVERSATION</h2>
<p>
Old Campbell, the blacksmith, had knocked off
from the day’s work when, a few minutes later,
Toppy stepped from the sleigh before the door of the
shop.
</p>
<p>
“Go through the shop to that room in the back,”
said Jerry. “You’ll find him in there.” And he drove
off without another word.
</p>
<p>
Toppy walked in and knocked at a door in a partition
across the rear of the shop.
</p>
<p>
“Come in,” spluttered a moist, cheery voice, and
Toppy entered. The old blacksmith, naked to the
waist and soaped from shoulders to ears, looked up
from the steaming tub in which he was carefully removing
every trace of the day’s smut. He peered
sharply at Toppy, and at the sight of the young man’s
good-natured face he smiled warmly through the suds.
</p>
<p>
“Come in, come in. Shut the door,” he cried, plunging
back into the hot water. “I tak’ it that you’re my
new helper? Well—” he wiped the suds from his eyes
and looked Toppy over—“though it’s plain ye never
did a day’s blacksmithing in your life, I bid ye welcome,
nevertheless. Ye look like an educated man.
Well, ’twill be a pleasure and an honour for me to teach
ye something more important than all ye’ve learned before—and
that is, how to work.
</p>
<p>
“I see ye cam’ withoot baggage of any kind. Go
ye now across to the store before it closes and draw
yerself two blankets for yer bunk. By the time you’re
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40'></a>40</span>
back I’ll have our supper started and then we’ll proceed
to get acqua’nted.”
</p>
<p>
“Tell me!” exploded Toppy, who could hold in
no longer. “What kind of a man or beast is this
Reivers? Why, I just saw him deliberately break a
man’s leg out there in the yard! What kind of a place
is this, anyhow—a penal colony?”
</p>
<p>
Campbell turned away and picked up a towel before
replying.
</p>
<p>
“Reivers is a great man who worships after strange
gods,” he said solemnly. “But you’ll have plenty of
time to learn about that later. Go ye over to the store
now without further waiting. Ye’ll find them closed
if ye dally longer; and then ye’ll have a cold night,
for there’s no blankets here for your bunk. Hustle,
lad; we’ll talk about things after supper.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy obeyed cheerfully. It was growing dark
now, and as he stepped out of the shop he saw the
squaw lighting the lamps in the building across the
street. Toppy crossed over and found the door open.
Inside there was a small hallway with two doors, one
labelled “Store,” the other “Office.” Toppy was about
to enter the store, when he heard Miss Pearson’s voice
in the office, and her first words, which came plainly
through the partition, made him pause.
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Reivers,” she was saying in tones that she
struggled to make firm, “you know that if I had
known you were running this camp I would never have
come here. You deceived me. You signed the name
of Simmons to your letter. You knew that if you
had signed your own name I would not be here. You
tricked me.
</p>
<p>
“And you promised solemnly last Summer when I
told you I never could care for you that you would
never trouble me again. How could you do this?
You’ve got the reputation among men of never breaking
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41'></a>41</span>
your word. Why couldn’t you—why couldn’t you
keep your word with me—a woman?”
</p>
<p>
Toppy, playing the role of eavesdropper for the first
time, scarcely breathed as he caught the full import of
these words. Then Reivers began to speak, his deep
voice rich with earnestness and feeling.
</p>
<p>
“I will—I am keeping my word to you, Helen,” he
said. “I said I would not trouble you again; and I
will not. It’s true that I did not let you know that I
was running this camp; and I did it because I wanted
you to have this job, and I knew you wouldn’t come if
you knew I was here. You wouldn’t let me give you,
or even loan you, the three hundred dollars necessary
for your father’s operation.
</p>
<p>
“I know you, Helen, and I know that you haven’t
had a happy day since you were told that your father
would be a well man after an operation and you
couldn’t find the money to pay for it. I knew you
were going to work in hopes of earning it. I had
this place to fill in the office here; I was authorised to
pay as high as seventy-five dollars for a good bookkeeper.
Naturally I thought of you.
</p>
<p>
“I knew there was no other place where you could
earn seventy-five dollars a month, and save it. I
knew you wouldn’t come if I wrote you over my own
name. So I signed Simmons’ name, and you came. I
said I would not trouble you any more, and I keep
my word. The situation is this: you will be in charge
of this office—if you stay; I am in charge of the camp.
You will have little or nothing to do with me; I will
manage so that you will need to see me only when absolutely
necessary. Your living-rooms are in the rear
of the office. I live in the stockade. Tilly, the squaw,
will cook and wash for you, and do the hard work in
the store. In four months you will have the three
hundred dollars that you want for your father.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42'></a>42</span>
</p>
<p>
“I had much rather you would accept it from me as
a loan on a simple business basis; but as you won’t,
this is the next best thing. And you mustn’t feel
that you are accepting any favour from me. On the
contrary, you will, if you stay, be solving a big problem
for me. I simply can not handle accounts. A
strange bookkeeper could rob me and the company
blind, and I’d never know it. I know you won’t
do that; and I know that you’re efficient.
</p>
<p>
“That’s the situation. I am keeping my word; I will
not trouble you. If you decide to accept, go in and
take off your hat and coat and tell Tilly to prepare
supper for you. She will obey your orders blindly;
I have told her to. If you decide that you don’t
want to stay, say the word and I will have one of the
work-teams hooked up and you can go back to Rail
Head to-night.
</p>
<p>
“But whichever you do, Helen, please remember
that I have not broken—and never will break—my
promise to you.”
</p>
<p>
Before Reivers had begun to speak Toppy had hated
the man as a contemptible sneak guilty of lying to get
the girl at his mercy. The end of the Manager’s speech
left him bewildered. One couldn’t help wanting to
believe every word that Reivers said, there were so
much manliness and sincerity in his tone. On the
other hand, Toppy had seen his face when he was
handling the unfortunate Rosky, and the unashamed
brute that had showed itself then did not fit with this
remarkable speech. Then Toppy heard Reivers coming
toward the door.
</p>
<p>
“I will leave you; you can make up your mind
alone,” he said. “I’ve got to attend to one of the men
who has been hurt. If you decide to go back to Rail
Head, tell Tilly, and she’ll hunt me up and I’ll send a
team over right away.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43'></a>43</span>
</p>
<p>
He stepped briskly out in the hallway and saw
Toppy standing with his hand on the door of the store.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, hello, there!” he called out cheerily. “Campbell
tell you to draw your blankets? That’s the first
step in the process of becoming a—guest at Hell Camp.
Get a pair of XX; they’re the warmest.”
</p>
<p>
He passed swiftly out of the building.
</p>
<p>
“I say, Treplin,” he called back from a distance,
“did you ever set a broken leg?”
</p>
<p>
“Never,” said Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“I’ll give you ‘Davis on Fractures’ to read up on,”
said Reivers with a laugh. “I think I’ll appoint you
M.D. to this camp. ‘Doctor Treplin.’ How would
that be?”
</p>
<p>
His careless laughter came floating back as he made
his way swiftly to the stockade.
</p>
<p>
For a moment Toppy stood irresolute. Then he
did something that required more courage from him
than anything he had done before in his life. He
stepped boldly across the hallway and entered the
office, closing the door behind him.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44'></a>44</span><a name='chVI' id='chVI'></a>CHAPTER VI—“NICE BOY!”</h2>
<p>
“Miss Pearson!” Toppy spoke as he crossed
the threshold; then he stopped short.
</p>
<p>
The girl was sitting in a big chair before a desk
in the farther corner of the room. She was dressed
just as she had been on the drive; she had not removed
cap, coat or gloves since arriving. Her hands lay
palms up in her lap, her square little shoulders sagged,
and her face was pale and troubled. A tiny crease of
worry had come between her wonderful blue eyes, and
her gaze wandered uncertainly, as if seeking help in
the face of a problem that had proved too hard for her
to handle alone. At the sight of Toppy, instead of
giving way to a look of relief, her troubled expression
deepened. She started. She seemed even to shrink
from him. The words froze in Toppy’s mouth and he
stood stock-still.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t!” he groaned boyishly. “Please don’t look
at me like that, Miss Pearson! I—I’m not that sort.
I want to help you—if you need it. I heard what
Reivers just said. I——What do you take me for,
anyhow? A mucker who would force himself upon
a lady?”
</p>
<p>
The anguish in his tone and in his honest, good-natured
countenance was too real to be mistaken. He
had cried out from the depths of a clean heart which
had been stirred strangely, and the woman in the girl
responded with quick sympathy. She looked at him
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45'></a>45</span>
with a look that would have aroused the latent manhood
in a cad—which Toppy was not—and Toppy, in
his eagerness, found that he could look back.
</p>
<p>
“Why did you come out here?” she asked plaintively.
“Why did you decide to follow me, after you had
heard that I was coming here? I know you did that;
you hadn’t intended coming here until you heard.
What made you do it?”
</p>
<p>
“Because you came here,” said Toppy honestly.
</p>
<p>
“But why—why——”
</p>
<p>
Toppy had regained control of himself.
</p>
<p>
“Why do you think I did it, Miss Pearson?” he
asked quietly.
</p>
<p>
“I—I don’t want to think—what I think,” she stammered.
</p>
<p>
“And that is that I’m a cad, the sort of a mucker
who forces his attentions upon women who are alone.”
</p>
<p>
“Well—” she looked up with a challenge in her eyes—“you
had been drinking, hadn’t you? Could you
blame me if I did?”
</p>
<p>
“Not a bit,” said Toppy. “I’m the one whose to
blame. I’m the goat. I don’t suppose I had a right
to butt in. Of course I didn’t. I’m a big fool; always
have been. I—I just couldn’t stand for seeing you
start out for this Hell Camp alone; that’s all. It’s
no reason, I know, but—there you are. I’d heard
something of the place in the morning and I had a
notion it was a pretty tough place. You—you didn’t
look as if you were used to anything of the sort——Well,”
he wound up desperately, “it didn’t look right,
your going off alone among all these roughnecks; and—and
that’s why I butted in.”
</p>
<p>
She made no reply, and Toppy continued:
</p>
<p>
“I didn’t have any right to do it, I know. I deserve
to be suspected——”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46'></a>46</span>
</p>
<p>
“No!” she laughed. “Please, Mr. Treplin! That
was horrid of me.”
</p>
<p>
“Why was it?” he demanded abruptly. “Especially
after you knew—after this morning. But—here’s the
situation: I thought you might need a side-kicker
to see you through, and I appointed myself to the job.
You won’t believe that, I suppose, but that’s because
you don’t know how foolish I can be.”
</p>
<p>
He stopped clumsily, abashed by the wondering
scrutiny to which she was subjecting him. She arose
slowly from the chair and came toward him.
</p>
<p>
“I believe you, Mr. Treplin,” she said. “I believe
you’re a decent sort of boy. I want to thank you;
but why—why should you think this necessary?”
</p>
<p>
She looked at him, smiling a little, and Toppy, wincing
from her “boy,” grew flustered.
</p>
<p>
“Well, you’re not sorry I came?” he stammered.
</p>
<p>
For reply she shook her head. Toppy took a long
breath.
</p>
<p>
“Thanks!” he said with such genuine relief that she
was forced to smile.
</p>
<p>
“But I’m a perfect stranger to you,” she said uncertainly.
“I can’t understand why you should feel
prompted to sacrifice yourself so to help me.”
</p>
<p>
“Sacrifice!” cried Toppy. “Why, I’m the one——”
He stopped. He didn’t know just what he had intended
to say. Something that he had no business saying,
probably. “Anybody would have done it—anybody
who wasn’t a mucker, I mean. You can’t have any use
for me, of course, knowing what kind of a dub I’ve
been, but if you’ll just look on me as somebody you
can trust and fall back on in case of need, and who’ll
do anything you want or need, I—I’ll be more than
paid.”
</p>
<p>
“I do trust you, Mr. Treplin,” she said, and held out
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47'></a>47</span>
her hand. “But—do I look as if I needed a chaperon?”
</p>
<p>
Toppy trembled at the firm grip of the small, gloved
fingers.
</p>
<p>
“I told you I’d heard what Reivers said,” he said
hastily. “I didn’t mean to; I was just coming in to
get some blankets. I don’t suppose you’re going to
stay here now, are you?”
</p>
<p>
She began to draw off her gloves.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Mr. Reivers is a gentleman
and can be depended upon to keep his word.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy winced once more. She had called him a
“decent boy”; she spoke of Reivers as a “gentleman.”
</p>
<p>
“But—good gracious, Miss Pearson! Three hundred
dollars——if that’s all——”
</p>
<p>
He stopped, for her little jaw had set with something
like a click.
</p>
<p>
“Are you going to spoil things by offering to lend
me that much money?” she asked. “Didn’t you hear
that Mr. Reivers had offered to do it? And Mr.
Reivers isn’t a complete stranger to me—as you are.”
</p>
<p>
She placed her gloves in a pocket and proceeded to
unbutton her mackinaw.
</p>
<p>
“I don’t think you could mean anything wrong by
it,” she continued. “But please don’t mention it again.
You don’t wish to humiliate me, do you?”
</p>
<p>
“Miss Pearson!” stammered Toppy, miserable.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t, please don’t,” she said. “It’s all right.”
Her natural high spirits were returning. “Everything’s
all right. Mr. Reivers never breaks his word, and
he’s promised—you heard him, you say? And you’ve
promised to be my—what did you call it?—‘side-kicker,’
so everything’s fine. Except—” a look of disgust
passed over her eyes—“your drinking. Oh,” she
cried as she saw the shame flare into Toppy’s face,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48'></a>48</span>
“I didn’t mean to hurt you—but how can nice boys
like you throw themselves away?”
</p>
<p>
Nice boy! Toppy looked at his toes for a long time.
So that was what she thought of him! Nice boy!
</p>
<p>
“Do you know much about Reivers?” he asked at
last, as if he had forgotten her words. “Or don’t you
want to tell me about him?” He had sensed that he
was infinitely Reivers’ inferior in her estimation, and
it hurt.
</p>
<p>
“Certainly I do,” she said. “Mr. Reivers was a foreman
for the company that my father was estimator
for. When father was hurt last Summer Mr. Reivers
came to see him on company business. It’s father’s
spine; he couldn’t move; Reivers had to come to him.
He saw me, and two hours after our meeting he—he
asked me to marry him. He asked me again a
week later, and once after that. Then I told him that
I never could care for him and he went away and
promised he’d never trouble me again. You heard
our conversation. I hadn’t seen or heard of him
since, until he walked into this room. That’s all I
know about him, except that people say he never breaks
his word.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy winced as he caught the note of confidence
in her voice and thought of the sudden deadly treachery
of Reivers in dealing with Rosky. The girl with
a lithe movement threw off her mackinaw.
</p>
<p>
“By Jove!” Toppy exploded in boyish admiration.
“You’re the bravest little soul I ever saw in my life!
Going against a game like this, just to help your
father!”
</p>
<p>
“Well, why shouldn’t I?” she asked. “I’m the
only one father has got. We’re all alone, father and
I; and father is too proud to take help from any one
else; and—and,” she concluded firmly, “so am I. As
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49'></a>49</span>
for being brave—have you anything against Mr.
Reivers personally?”
</p>
<p>
Thoroughly routed, Toppy turned to the door.
“Good night, Miss Pearson,” he said politely.
</p>
<p>
“Good night, Mr. Treplin. And thank you for—going
out of your way.” But had she seen the flash in
Toppy’s eye and the set of his jaw she might not
have laughed so merrily as he flung out of the room.
</p>
<p>
In the store on the other side of the hallway Toppy
was surprised to find Tilly, the squaw, waiting patiently
behind a low counter on which lay a pair of
blankets bearing a tag “XX.” As he entered, the
woman pushed the blankets toward him and pointed to
a card lying on the counter.
</p>
<p>
“Put um name here,” she said, indicating a dotted
line on the card and offering Toppy a pencil tied on
a string.
</p>
<p>
Toppy saw that the card was a receipt for the blankets.
As he signed, he looked closely at the squaw.
He was surprised to see that she was a young woman,
and that her features and expression distinguished
her from the other squaws he had seen by the intelligence
they indicated. Tilly was no mere clod in a
red skin. Somewhere back of her inscrutable Indian
eyes was a keen, strong mind.
</p>
<p>
“How did you know what I wanted?” Toppy asked
as he packed the blankets under his arm.
</p>
<p>
The squaw made no sign that she had heard. Picking
up the card, she looked carefully at his signature
and turned to hang the card on a hook.
</p>
<p>
“So you were listening when Reivers was talking
to me, were you?” said Toppy. “Did you listen after
he went out?”
</p>
<p>
“Mebbe,” grunted Tilly. “Mebbe so; mebbe no.”
And with this she turned and waddled back into the
living-quarters in the rear of the store.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50'></a>50</span>
</p>
<p>
Toppy looked after her dumbfounded.
</p>
<p>
“Huh!” he said to himself. “I’ll bet two to one
that Reivers knows all about what we said before
morning. I suppose that will mean something doing
pretty quick. Well, the quicker the better.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51'></a>51</span><a name='chVII' id='chVII'></a>CHAPTER VII—THE SNOW-BURNER’S CREED</h2>
<p>
When Toppy returned to the room in the rear
of the blacksmith-shop he found Campbell
waiting impatiently.
</p>
<p>
“Eh, lad, but you’re the slow one!” greeted the
gruff old Scot as Toppy entered. “You’re set a record
in this camp; no man yet has been able to consume so
much time getting a pair of blankets from the wannigan.
Dump ’em in yon bunk in the corner and set
the table. I’ll have supper in a wink and a half.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy obediently tossed his blankets into the bunk
indicated and turned to help to the best of his ability.
The place now was lighted generously by two large
reflector-lamps hung on the walls, and Toppy had his
first good view of the room that was to be his home.
</p>
<p>
He was surprised at its neatness and comfort. It
was a large room, though a little low under the roof,
as rooms have a habit of being in the North. In the
farthest corner were two bunks, the sleeping-quarters.
Across the room from this, a corner was filled with
well filled bookshelves, a table with a reading-lamp,
and two easy chairs, giving the air of a tiny library.
In the corner farthest from this was the cook-stove,
and in the fourth corner stood an oilcloth-covered
table with a shelf filled with dishes hung above it.
Though the rough edges of hewn logs shown here and
there through the plaster of the walls, the room was as
spick and span as if under the charge of a finicky
housewife. Old Campbell himself, bending over the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52'></a>52</span>
cook stove, was as astonishing in his own way as the
room. He had removed all trace of the day’s smithing
and fairly shone with cleanliness. His snow-white
hair was carefully combed back from his wide forehead,
his bushy chin-whiskers likewise showed signs
of water and comb, and he was garbed from throat to
ankles in a white cook’s apron. He was cheerfully
humming a dirge-like tune, and so occupied was he
with his cookery that he scarcely so much as glanced
at Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“Now then, lad; are you ready?” he asked presently.
</p>
<p>
“All ready, I guess,” said Toppy, giving a final
look at the table.
</p>
<p>
“You’ve forgot the bread,” said Campbell, also looking.
“You’ll find it in yon tin box on the shelf. Lively,
now.” And before Toppy had dished out a loaf from
the bread-box the old man had a huge platter of steak
and twin bowls of potatoes and turnips steaming on
the table.
</p>
<p>
“We will now say grace,” said Campbell, seating
himself after removing the big apron, and Toppy sat
silent and amazed as the old man bowed his head and
in his deep voice solemnly uttered thanks for the meal
before him.
</p>
<p>
“Now then,” he said briskly, raising his head and
reaching for a fork as he ended, “fall to.”
</p>
<p>
The meal was eaten without any more conversation
than was necessary. When it was over, the blacksmith
pushed his chair leisurely back from the table
and looked across at Toppy with a quizzical smile.
</p>
<p>
“Well, lad,” he rumbled, “what would ye say was
the next thing to be done by oursel’s?”
</p>
<p>
“Wash the dishes,” said Toppy promptly, taking his
cue from the conspicuous cleanliness of the room.
</p>
<p>
“Aye,” said Campbell, nodding. “And as I cook the
meal——”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53'></a>53</span>
</p>
<p>
“I’m elected dish-washer,” laughed Toppy, springing
up and taking a large dish-pan from the wall. He
had often done his share of kitchen-work on hunting-trips,
and soon he had the few dishes washed and dried
and back on the shelf again. Campbell watched critically.
</p>
<p>
“Well enough,” he said with an approving jerk of
his head when the task was completed. “Your conscience
should be easier now, lad; you’ve done something
to pay for the meal you’ve eaten, which I’ll warrant
is something you’ve not often done.”
</p>
<p>
“No,” laughed Toppy, “it just happens that I haven’t
had to.”
</p>
<p>
“‘Haven’t had to!’” snorted Campbell in disgust.
“Is that all the justification you have? Where’s your
pride? Are you a helpless infant that you’re not
ashamed to let other people stuff food into your mouth
without doing anything for it? I suppose you’ve got
money. And where came your money from? Your
father? Your mother? No matter. Whoever it came
from, they’re the people who’ve been feeding you,
but by the great smoked herring! If you stay wi’
David Campbell you’ll have a change, lad. Aye,
you’ll learn what it is to earn your bread in the sweat
of your brow. And you’ll bless the day you come
here—no matter what the reason that made you come,
and which I do not want to hear.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy bowed courteously.
</p>
<p>
“I’ve got no come-back to that line of conversation,
Mr. Campbell,” he said good-naturedly. “Whenever
anybody accuses me of being a bum with money I
throw up my hands and plead guilty; you can’t get
an argument out of me with a corkscrew.”
</p>
<p>
Old Campbell’s grim face cracked in a genial smile
as he rose and led the way to the corner containing
the bookshelves.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54'></a>54</span>
</p>
<p>
“We will now step into the library,” he chuckled.
“Sit ye down.”
</p>
<p>
He pushed one of the easy chairs toward Toppy, and
from a cupboard under the reading-table drew a bottle
of Scotch whisky of a celebrated brand. Toppy’s
whole being suddenly cried out for a drink as his eyes
fell on the familiar four stars.
</p>
<p>
“Say when, lad,” said Campbell, pouring into a
generous glass. “Well?” He looked at Toppy in surprise
as the glass filled up. Something had smitten
Toppy like a blow between the eyes——“How can
nice boys like you throw themselves away?” And the
pity of the girl as she had said it was large before
him.
</p>
<p>
“Thanks,” said Toppy, seating himself, “but I’m
on the wagon.”
</p>
<p>
The old smith looked up at him shrewdly from the
corners of his eyes.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, aye!” he grunted. “I see. Well, by the puffs
under your eyes ye have overdone it; and for fleeing
the temptations of the world I know of no better
place ye could go to than this. For it’s certain neither
temptations nor luxuries will be found in Hell Camp
while the Snow-Burner’s boss.”
</p>
<p>
“Now you interest me,” said Toppy grimly. “The
Snow-Burner—Hell-Camp Reivers—Mr. Reivers—the
boss. What kind of a human being is he, if he is
human?”
</p>
<p>
Campbell carefully mixed his whisky with hot
water.
</p>
<p>
“You saw him manhandle Rosky?” he asked, seating
himself opposite Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“Yes; but it wasn’t manhandling; it was brute-handling,
beast-handling.”
</p>
<p>
“Aye,” said the Scot, sipping his drink. “So think
I, too. But do you know what Reivers calls it? An
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55'></a>55</span>
enlightened man showing a human clod the error of his
ways. Oh, aye; the Indians were smart when they
named him the Snow-Burner. He does things that
aren’t natural.”
</p>
<p>
“But who is he, or what is he? He’s an educated
man, obviously—’way above what a logging-boss
ought to be. What do you know about him?”
</p>
<p>
“Little enough,” was the reply. “Four year ago I
were smithing in Elk Lake Camp over east of here,
when Reivers came walking into camp. That was
the first any white men had seen of him around these
woods, though afterward we learned he’d lived long
enough with the Indians to earn the name of the Snow-Burner.
</p>
<p>
“It were January, and two feet of snow on the level,
and fifty below. Reivers came walking into camp,
and the nearest human habitation were forty mile
away. ‘Red Pat’ Haney were foreman—a man-killer
with the devil’s own temper; and him Reivers deeliberately
set himself to arouse. A week after his
coming, this same Reivers had every man in camp
looking up to him, except Red Pat.
</p>
<p>
“And Reivers drove Pat half mad with that contemptuous
smile of his, and Pat pulled a gun; and
Reivers says, ‘That’s what I was waiting for,’ and
broke Pat’s bones with his bare hands and laid him up.
Then, says he, ‘This camp is going on just the same as
if nothing had happened, and I’m going to be boss.’
That was all there was to it; he’s been a boss ever
since.”
</p>
<p>
“And you don’t know where he came from? Or
anything else about him?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, he’s from England—an Oxford man, for that
matter,” said Campbell. “He admitted that much once
when we were argufying. He’ll be here soon; he
comes to quarrel with me every evening.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56'></a>56</span>
</p>
<p>
“Why does an Oxford man want to be ’way out here
bossing a logging-camp?” grumbled Toppy.
</p>
<p>
Campbell nodded.
</p>
<p>
“Aye, I asked that of him once,” he said. “‘Though
it’s none of your business,’ says he, ‘I’ll tell you. I got
tired of living where people snivel about laws concerning
right and wrong,’ says he, ‘instead of acknowledging
that there is only one law ruling life—that the
strong can master the weak.’ That is Mr. Reivers’
religion. He was only worshipping his strange gods
when he broke Rosky’s leg, for he considers Rosky a
weaker man than himself, and therefore ’tis his duty
to break him to his own will.”
</p>
<p>
“A fine religion!” snapped Toppy. “And how
about his dealings with you?”
</p>
<p>
The Scot smiled grimly.
</p>
<p>
“I’m the best smith he ever had,” he replied, “and
I’ve warned him that I’d consider it a duty under my
religion to shoot him through the head did he ever
attempt to force his creed upon me.” He paused and
held up a finger. “Hist, lad. That’s him coming
noo. He’s come for his regular evening’s mouthfu’
of conversation.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy found himself sitting up and gripping the
arms of his chair as Reivers came swinging in. He
eagerly searched the foreman’s countenance for a sign
to indicate whether Tilly, the squaw, had communicated
the conversation she had heard between Toppy
and Miss Pearson, but if she had there was nothing to
indicate it in Reivers’ expression or manner. His self-mastery
awoke a sullen rage in Toppy. He felt himself
to be a boy beside Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“Good evening, gentlemen,” greeted Reivers lightly,
pulling a chair up to the reading-table. “It is a pleasure
to find intelligent society after having spent the
last hour handling the broken leg of a miserable brute
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57'></a>57</span>
on two legs. Bah! The whisky, Scotty, please. I
wonder what miracles of misbreeding have been necessary
to turn out alleged human beings with bodies so
hideous compared to what the human body should be.
Treplin, if you or I stripped beside those Hunkies the
only thing we’d have in common would be the number
of our legs and arms.”
</p>
<p>
He drew toward him a tumbler which Campbell had
pushed over beside the bottle and, filling the glass
three-quarters full, began to drink slowly at the powerful
Scotch whisky as another man might sip at beer
or light wine. Old Campbell rocked slowly to and
fro in his chair.
</p>
<p>
“‘He that taketh up the sword shall perish by
the sword,’” he quoted solemnly. “No man is a
god to set himself up, lord over the souls and bodies
of his fellows. They will put out your light for you
one of these days, Mr. Reivers. Have care and treat
them a little more like men.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers smiled a quick smile that showed a mouthful
of teeth as clean and white as a hound’s.
</p>
<p>
“Let’s have your opinion on the subject, Treplin,”
he said. “New opinions are always interesting, and
Scotty repeats the same thing over and over again.
What do you think of it? Do you think I can maintain
my rule over those hundred and fifty clods out
there in the stockade as I am ruling them, through the
law of strength over weakness? Do you think one
superior mind can dominate a hundred and fifty inferior
organisms? Or do you think, with Scotty here,
that the dregs can drag me down?”
</p>
<p>
Toppy shook his head. He was in no mood to debate
abstract problems with Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“Count me out until I’m a little acquainted with
the situation,” he said. “I’m a stranger in a strange
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58'></a>58</span>
land. I’ve just dropped in—from almost another
world you might say.”
</p>
<p>
In a vain attempt to escape taking sides in what was
evidently an old argument he hurriedly rattled off the
story of his coming to Rail Head and thence to Hell
Camp, omitting to mention, however, that it was Miss
Pearson who was responsible for the latter part of his
journey. Reivers smote his huge fist upon the table
as Toppy finished.
</p>
<p>
“That’s the kind of a man for me!” he laughed.
“Got tired of living the life of his class, and just
stepped out of it. No explanations; no acknowledgement
of obligations to anybody. Master of his own
soul. To —— with the niceties of civilisation! Treplin,
you’re a man after my own scheme of life; I did
the same thing once—only I was sober.
</p>
<p>
“But let’s get back to our subject. Here’s the situation:
This camp is on a natural town-site. There’s
water-power, ore and timber. To use the water-power
we must build a dam; to use the timber we must get it
to the saws. That takes labour, lots of it—muscle-and-bone
labour. Labour is scarce up here. It is too far
from the pigsties of towns. Men would come, work a
few days, and go away. The purpose of the place
would be defeated—unless the men are kept here at
work.
</p>
<p>
“That’s what I do. I keep them here. To do it I
keep them locked up at night like the cattle they are.
By day I have them guarded by armed man-killers—every
one of my guards is a fugitive from man’s silly
laws, principally from the one which says, ‘Thou shalt
not kill.’
</p>
<p>
“But my best guard is Fear—by which I rule alike
my guards and the poor brutes who are necessary to
my purpose. There you are: a hundred and fifty of
them, fearing and hating me, and I’m making them do
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59'></a>59</span>
as I please. No foolishness about laws, about order,
about right or wrong. Just a hundred and fifty half-beasts
and myself out here in the woods. As a man
with a trained mind, do you think I can keep it up?
Or do you think there is mental energy enough in
that mess of human protoplasm to muster up nerve
enough to put out my light, as Scotty puts it? It’s a
problem that furnishes interesting mental gymnastics.”
</p>
<p>
He propounded the problem with absolutely no trace
of personal interest. To judge by his manner, the matter
of his life or death meant nothing to him. It was
merely an interesting question on which to expend the
energy fulminating in his mind. In his light-blue eyes
there seemed to gleam the same impersonal brutality
which had shown out when he so casually crippled
Rosky.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, it’s an impossible proposition, Reivers!” exploded
Toppy, with the picture of the writhing Slav
in his mind’s eye. “You’ve got to consider right and
wrong when dealing with human beings. It isn’t
natural; Nature won’t stand it.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah!” Reivers’ eyes lighted up with intellectual delight.
“That’s an idea! Scotty, you hear? You’ve
been talking about my perishing by the sword, but
you haven’t given any reason why. Treplin does.
He says Nature will revolt, because my system is unnatural.”
He threw back his head and laughed coldly.
“Rot, Treplin—silly, effeminate, bookish rot!” he
roared. “Nature has respect only for the strong. It
creates the weaker species merely to give the stronger
food to remain strong on.”
</p>
<p>
Old Scotty had been rocking furiously. Now he
stopped suddenly and broke out into a furious Biblical
denunciation of Reivers’ system. When he stopped
for breath after his first outbreak, Reivers with a
few words and a cold smile egged him on. Toppy
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60'></a>60</span>
gladly kept his mouth shut. After an hour he yawned
and arose from his chair.
</p>
<p>
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll turn in,” he said. “I’m
too sleepy to listen or talk.”
</p>
<p>
Without looking at him Reivers drew a book from
his pocket and tossed it toward him.
</p>
<p>
“‘Davis on Fractures’,” he grunted. “Cram up on
it to-morrow. There will be need of your help before
long. Go on, Scotty; you were saying that a just
retribution was Nature’s law. Go on.”
</p>
<p>
And Toppy rolled into his bunk, to lie wide awake,
listening to the argument, marvelling at the character
of Reivers, and pondering over the strange situation
he had fallen into. He scarcely thought of what
Harvey Duncombe and the bunch would be thinking
about his disappearance. His thoughts were mainly
occupied with wondering why, of all the women he
had seen, a slender little girl with golden hair should
suddenly mean so much to him. Nothing of the sort
ever had happened to him before. It was rather annoying.
Could she ever have a good opinion of him?
</p>
<p>
Probably not. And even if she could, what about
Reivers? Toppy was firmly convinced that the speech
which Reivers had made to Miss Pearson was a false
one. Reivers might have a great reputation for always
keeping his word, but Toppy, after what he had
seen and heard, would no more trust to his morals than
those of a hungry bear. If Tilly, the squaw, told
Reivers what she had heard, what then? Well, in that
case they would soon know whether Reivers meant
to keep his promise not to bother Miss Pearson with
his attentions. Toppy set his jaw grimly at the
thought of what might happen then. The mere
thought of Reivers seemed to make his fists clench
hard.
</p>
<p>
He lay awake for a long time with Reivers’ voice,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61'></a>61</span>
coldly bantering Campbell, constantly in his ears.
When Reivers finally went away he fell asleep. Before
his closed eyes was the picture of the girl as, in the
morning, she had kicked up the snow and looked up at
him with her eyes deliciously puckered from the sun;
and in his memory was the stinging recollection that
she had called him a “nice boy.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62'></a>62</span><a name='chVIII' id='chVIII'></a>CHAPTER VIII—TOPPY WORKS</h2>
<p>
At daylight next morning began Toppy’s initiation
as a blacksmith’s helper. For the next
four days he literally earned his bread in the sweat
of his brow, as Campbell had warned him he would.
The dour old Scot took it as his religious duty to give
his helper a severe introduction to the world of manual
labour, and circumstances aided him in his aim.
</p>
<p>
Two dozen huge wooden sleighs had come from
the “wood-butcher”—the camp carpenter-shop—to be
fitted with cross-rods, brace-irons and runners. Out
in the woods the ice-roads, carefully sprinkled each
night, were alternately freezing and thawing, gradually
approaching the solid condition which would mean
a sudden call for sleighs to haul the logs, which lay
mountain-high at the rollways, down to the river.
One cold night and day now, and the call would
come, and David Campbell was not the man to be
found wanting—even if handicapped by a helper with
hands as soft as a woman’s.
</p>
<p>
Toppy had no knowledge or skill in the trade, but
he had strength and quickness, and the thoughts of
Reivers’ masterfulness, and the “nice boy” in the
mouth of the girl, spurred him to the limit. The
heavy sledgework fell to his lot as a matter of course.
A twenty-pound sledge was a plaything in Toppy’s
hand—for the first fifteen minutes.
</p>
<p>
After that the hammer seemed to increase
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63'></a>63</span>
progressively in weight, until at the end of the first day’s
work Toppy would gladly have credited the statement
that it weighed a ton. Likewise the heavy runner-irons,
which he lifted with ease on the anvil in the
morning, seemed to grow heavier as the day grew
older. Had Toppy been in the splendid condition
that had helped him to win his place on the All-American
eleven four years before, he might have
gone through the cruel period of breaking-in without
faltering. But four years of reckless living had taken
their toll. The same magnificent frame and muscles
were there; the great heart and grit and sand likewise.
But there was something else there, too; the
softening, weakening traces of decomposed alcohol
in organs and tissues, and under the strain of the
terrific pace which old Campbell set for Toppy, abused
organs, fibres and nerves began to creak and groan,
and finally called out, “Halt!”
</p>
<p>
It was only Toppy’s grit—the “great heart” that
had made him a champion—and the desire to prove
his strength before Reivers that kept him at work
after the first day. His body had quit cold. He had
never before undergone such expenditure of muscular
energy, not even in the fiercest game of his career.
That was play; this was torture. On the second morning
his body shrank involuntarily from the spectacle
of the torturing sledge, anvil and irons, but pride and
grit drove him on with set jaw and hard eyes. Quit?
Well, hardly. Reivers walked around the camp and
smiled as he saw Toppy sweating, and Toppy swore
and went on.
</p>
<p>
On the third day old Campbell looked at him with
curiosity.
</p>
<p>
“Well, lad, have ye had enough?” he asked, smiling
pityingly. “Ye can get a job helping the cookee
if you find man’s work too hard for ye.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64'></a>64</span>
</p>
<p>
Toppy, between clenched teeth, swore savagely. He
was so tired that he was sick. The toxins of fatigue,
aided and abetted by the effects of hard living, had
poisoned him until his feet and brain felt as heavy
as lead. It hurt him to move and it hurt him to
think. He was groggy, all but knocked out; but something
within him held him doggedly at the tasks which
were surely mastering him.
</p>
<p>
That night he dragged himself to bed without waiting
for supper. In the morning Campbell was amazed
to see him tottering toward his accustomed place in
the shop; for old Campbell had set a pace that had
racked his own iron, work-tried body, and he had
allowed Toppy two days in which to cry enough.
</p>
<p>
“Hold up a little, lad,” he grumbled. “We’re away
ahead of our job. There’s no need laying yourself
up. Take you a rest.”
</p>
<p>
“You go to ——!” exploded the overwrought
Toppy. “Take a rest yourself if you need one; I
don’t.”
</p>
<p>
He was working on his nerve now, flogging his
weary arms and body to do his bidding against their
painful protests; and he worked like a madman, fearing
that if he came to a halt the run-down machinery
would refuse to start afresh.
</p>
<p>
It was near evening when a teamster drove up with
a broken sleigh from which Campbell and the man
strove in vain to tear the twisted runner. Reivers
from the steps of the store looked on, sneering.
Toppy, his lips drawn back with pain and weariness,
laughed shrilly at the efforts of the pair.
</p>
<p>
“Yank it off!” he cried contemptuously. “Yank it
off—like this.”
</p>
<p>
He drove a pry-iron under the runner and heaved.
It refused to budge. Toppy gathered himself under
the pry and jerked with every ounce of energy in
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65'></a>65</span>
him. The runner did not move. His left ankle felt
curiously weak under the awful strain. Across the
way he heard Reivers laugh shortly. Furiously Toppy
jerked again; the runner flew into the air. Toppy
felt the weak ankle sag under him in unaccountable
fashion, and he fell heavily on his side and lay
still.
</p>
<p>
“Sprained his ankle,” grunted the teamster, as they
bore him to his bunk. “I knew something had to give.
No man ever was made to stand up under that lift.”
</p>
<p>
“But I yanked it off!” groaned Toppy, half wild
with pain. “I didn’t quit—I yanked the darn thing
off!”
</p>
<p>
“Aye,” said old Campbell, “you yanked it off, lad.
Lay still now till we have off your shoe.”
</p>
<p>
“And holy smoke!” said the teamster. “What a
yank! Hey! Whoap! Holy, red-roaring—he’s gone
and fainted!”
</p>
<p>
This latter statement was not precisely true. Toppy
had not fainted; he had suddenly succumbed to the
demands of complete exhaustion. The overdriven,
tired-out organs, wrenched and abused tissues, and
fatigue-deadened nerves suddenly had cried, “Stop!”
in a fashion that not all of Toppy’s will-power could
deny. One instant he lay flat on his back on the
blankets of his bunk, wide awake, with Campbell tugging
at the laces of his shoes; the next—a mighty sigh
of peace heaved his big chest. Toppy had fallen
asleep.
</p>
<p>
It was not a natural sleep, nor a peaceful one. The
racked muscles refused to be still; the raw nerve-centres
refused to soothe themselves in the peace of
complete senselessness. His whole body twitched.
Toppy tossed and groaned. He awoke some time in
the night with his stomach crying for food.
</p>
<p>
“Drink um,” said a voice somewhere, and a sturdy
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66'></a>66</span>
arm went under his head and a bowl containing something
savoury and hot was held against his lips.
</p>
<p>
“Hello, Tilly,” chuckled Toppy deliriously. It was
quite in keeping with things that Tilly, the squaw,
should be holding his head and feeding him in the
middle of the night. He drank with the avidity of
a man parched and starving, and the hot broth pleasantly
soothed him as it ran down his throat.
</p>
<p>
“More!” he said, and Tilly gave him more.
</p>
<p>
“Good fellow, Tilly,” he murmured. “Good medicine.
Who told you?”
</p>
<p>
“Snow-Burner,” grunted Tilly, laying his head on
the pillow. “He send me. Sleep um now.”
</p>
<p>
“Sure,” sighed Toppy, and promptly fell back into
his moaning, feverish slumber.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67'></a>67</span><a name='chIX' id='chIX'></a>CHAPTER IX—A FRESH START</h2>
<p>
When he awoke again to clear consciousness,
it was morning. The sun which came in
through the east window shone in his eyes and lighted
up the room. Toppy lay still. He was quite content
to lie so. An inexplicable feeling of peace and comfort
ruled in every inch of his being. The bored,
heavy feeling with which for a long time past he had
been in the custom of facing a new day was absolutely
gone. His tongue was cool; there was none of the
old heavy blood-pressure in his head; his nerves were
absolutely quiet. Something had happened to him.
Toppy was quite conscious of the change, though he
was too comfortable to do more than accept his peaceful
condition as a fact.
</p>
<p>
“Ho, hum! I feel like a new man,” he murmured
drowsily. “I wonder—ow!”
</p>
<p>
He had stretched himself leisurely and thus became
conscious that his left ankle was bandaged and
sore. His cry brought old Campbell into the room—Campbell
solemnly arrayed in a long-tailed suit
of black, white collar, black tie, spick and span, with
beard and hair carefully washed and combed.
</p>
<p>
“Hello!” gasped Toppy sleepily. “Where you going—funeral?”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis the Sabbath,” said Campbell reverently, as
he came to the side of the bunk. “And how do ye
feel the day, lad?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68'></a>68</span>
</p>
<p>
“Fine!” said Toppy. “Considering that I had my
ankle sprained last evening.”
</p>
<p>
The Scot eyed him closely.
</p>
<p>
“So ’twas last evening ye broke your ankle, was
it?” he asked cannily.
</p>
<p>
“Why, sure,” said Toppy. “Yesterday was Saturday,
wasn’t it? We were cleaning up the week’s
work. Why, what are you looking at me like that
for?”
</p>
<p>
“Aye,” said Campbell, his Sunday solemnity forbidding
the smile that strove to break through. “Yesterday
was Saturday, but ’twas not the Saturday you
sprained your leg. A week ago Saturday that was,
lad, and ye’ve lain here in a fever, out of your head,
ever since. Do you mind naught of the whole week?”
</p>
<p>
Toppy looked up at Campbell in silence for a long
time.
</p>
<p>
“Scotty, if you have to play jokes——”
</p>
<p>
“Jokes!” spluttered Campbell, aghast. “Losh, mon!
Didna I tell ye ’twas the Sabbath? No, ’tis no joke,
I assure you. You did more than sprain your ankle
when ye tripped that Saturday. You collapsed completely.
Lad, you were in poor condition when you
came to camp, and had I known it I would not have
broken you in so hard. But you’re a good man, lad;
the best man I ever saw, if you keep in condition.
And do you really feel good again?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, I feel like a new man,” said Toppy. “I feel
as if I’d had a course of baths at Hot Springs.”
</p>
<p>
Campbell nodded.
</p>
<p>
“The Snow-Burner said ye would. It’s Tilly he’s
had doctoring ye. She’s been feeding you some Indian
concoction and keeping ye heated till your blankets
were wet through. Oh, you’ve had scandalous
good care, lad; Reivers to set your ankle, Tilly to doctor
ye Indian-wise, and Miss Pearson and Reivers to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69'></a>69</span>
drop in together now and anon to see how ye were
standing the gaff. No wonder ye came through all
right!”
</p>
<p>
The room seemed suddenly to grow dark for Toppy.
Reivers again—Reivers dropping in to look at him
as he lay there helpless on his back. Reivers in the
position of the master again; <i>and the girl with him</i>!
Toppy impatiently threw off his covering.
</p>
<p>
“Gimme my clothes, Scotty,” he demanded, swinging
himself to the edge of the bunk. “I’m tired of
lying here on my back.”
</p>
<p>
Campbell silently handed over his clothing. Toppy
was weak, but he succeeded in dressing himself and in
tottering over to a chair.
</p>
<p>
“So Miss Pearson came over here, did she?” he
asked thoughtfully. “And with Reivers?”
</p>
<p>
“Aye,” said Scotty drily. “With Reivers. He has
a way with the women, the Snow-Burner has.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy debated a moment; then he broke out and
told Campbell all about how Reivers had deceived
Miss Pearson into coming to Hell Camp. The old
man listened with tightly pursed lips. As Toppy concluded
he shook his head sorrowfully.
</p>
<p>
“Poor lass, she’s got a hard path before her then,”
he said. “If, as you say, she does not wish to care
for Reivers.”
</p>
<p>
“What do you mean?”
</p>
<p>
“Well,” said Campbell slowly, “ye’ll be understanding
by this time that the Snow-Burner is no ordinar’
man?”
</p>
<p>
“He’s a fiend—a savage with an Oxford education!”
exploded Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“He is—the Snow-Burner,” said Campbell with finality.
“You know what he is toward men. Toward
women—he’s worse!”
</p>
<p>
“Good Heavens!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70'></a>70</span>
</p>
<p>
“Not that he is a woman-chaser. No; ’tis not his
way. But—yon man has the strongest will in him
I’ve ever seen in mortal man, and ’tis the will women
bow to.” He pulled his whiskers nervously and looked
away. “I’ve known him four year now, and no
woman in that time that he has set his will upon but
in the end has—has followed him like a slave.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy’s fists clenched, and he joyed to find that in
spite of his illness his muscles went hard.
</p>
<p>
“Ye’ve seen Tilly,” continued Scotty with averted
eyes. “Ye’ll not be so blind that ye’ve not observed
that she’s no ordinar’ squaw. Well, three years ago
Tilly was teacher in the Chippewa Indian School—thin
and straight—a Carlisle graduate and all. She met
Reivers, and shunned him—at first. Reivers did not
chase her. ’Tis not his way. But he bent his will
upon her, and the poor girl left her life behind her
and followed him, and kept following him, until ye
see her as she is now. She would cut your throat or
nurse ye as she did, no matter which, did he but
command her. And she’s not been the only one, either.
</p>
<p>
“Nor have the rest of them been red.”
</p>
<p>
“The swine!” muttered Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“More wolf than swine, lad. Perhaps more tiger
than wolf. I don’t think Reivers intends to break
his word to yon lass. But I suspect that he won’t
have to. No; as it looks now, he won’t. Given the
opportunity to put his will upon her and she’ll change
her mind—like the others.”
</p>
<p>
“He’s a beast, that’s what he is!” said Toppy angrily.
“And any woman who would fall for him
would get no more than she deserves, even if she’s
treated like Tilly. Why, anybody can see that the
man’s instincts are all wrong. Right in an animal
perhaps, but wrong in a human being. The right
kind of women would shun him like poison.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71'></a>71</span>
</p>
<p>
“I dunno,” said Campbell, rubbing his chin. “Yon
lass over in the office is as sweet and womanly a
little lass as I’ve seen sin’ I was a lad. And yet—look
ye but out of the window, lad!”
</p>
<p>
Toppy looked out of the window in the direction
in which Campbell pointed. The window commanded
a view of the gate to the stockade. Reivers was standing
idly before the gate. Miss Pearson was coming
toward him. As she approached he carelessly turned
his head and looked her over from head to foot. From
where he sat Toppy could see her smile. Then Reivers
calmly turned his back upon her, and the smile on
the girl’s face died out. She stood irresolute for a
moment, then turned and went slowly back toward
the office, glancing occasionally over her shoulder
toward the gate. Reivers did not look, but when she
was out of sight he began to walk slowly toward the
blacksmith-shop.
</p>
<p>
“Bah!” Toppy turned his eyes from the window
in mingled anger and disgust. He sat for a moment
with a multitude of emotions working at his heart.
Then he laughed bitterly.
</p>
<p>
“Well, well, well!” he mocked. “You’d expect that
from a squaw, but not from a white woman.”
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Reivers is a remarkable man,” said Campbell,
shaking his head.
</p>
<p>
“Sure,” said Toppy, “and it’s a mistake to look for
a remarkable woman up here in the woods.”
</p>
<p>
“I dunno.” The smith looked a little hurt. “I
dunno about that, lad. Yon lass seems remarkably
sweet and ladylike to me.”
</p>
<p>
“Sure,” sneered Toppy, pointing his thumb toward
the gate. “That looked like it, didn’t it?”
</p>
<p>
“As for that, you’ve heard what I’ve told you about
the Snow-Burner and women,” said Campbell sorrowfully.
“He has a masterful way with them.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72'></a>72</span>
</p>
<p>
“A fine thing to be masterful over a little blonde
fool like that!”
</p>
<p>
Campbell scowled.
</p>
<p>
“Even though you have no respect for the lass,”
he said curtly, “I see no reason why you should put
it in words.”
</p>
<p>
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I, or any one else, put
it in words after that?” Toppy fairly shouted the
words. “She’s made the thing public herself. She
came creeping up to him right out where anybody
who was looking could see her, and there won’t be a
man in camp to-morrow but’ll have heard that she’s
fallen for Reivers. Apparently she doesn’t care; so
why should I, or you, or anybody else? Reivers has
got a masterful way with women! Ha, ha! Let it
go at that. It’s none of my business, that’s a cinch.”
</p>
<p>
“No,” agreed Campbell; “not if you talk that way,
it’s none of your business; that’s sure.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy could have struck him for the emphatic
manner in which he uttered the words. But Toppy
was beginning to learn to control himself and he
merely gritted his teeth. The sudden stab which
he had felt in his heart at the sight of the girl and
Reivers had passed. In one flash there had been overthrown
the fine structure which he had built about her
in his thoughts. He had placed her high above himself.
For some unknown reason he had looked up
to her from the first moment he had seen her. He
had not considered himself worthy of her good opinion.
And here she was flaunting her subservience to
Reivers—to a cold, sneering brute—before the eyes
of the whole camp!
</p>
<p>
The rage and pain at the sight of the pair had come
and gone, and that was all over. And now Toppy to
his surprise found that it didn’t make much difference.
The girl, and what she was, what she thought of him,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73'></a>73</span>
or of Reivers, no longer were of prime importance
to him. He didn’t care enough about that now to
give her room in his thoughts.
</p>
<p>
Reivers was what mattered now—Reivers, with
his air of contemptuous dominance; Reivers, who had
looked on and laughed when Toppy was tugging at
the runner of the broken sleigh. That laugh seemed
to ring in Toppy’s ears. It challenged him even as
it contemned him. It said, “I am your master; doubt
it if you dare”; even as Reivers’ cold smile had said
the same to Rosky and the huddled bunch of Slavs.
</p>
<p>
The girl—that was past. But Reivers had roused
something deeper, something older, something fiercer
than the feelings which had begun to stir in Toppy
at the sight of the girl. Man—raw, big-thewed, world-old
and always new man—had challenged unto man.
And man had answered. The petty considerations of
life were stripped away. Only one thing was of importance.
The world to Toppy Treplin had become
merely a place for Reivers, the Snow-Burner, and
himself to settle the question which had cried for settlement
since the moment when they first looked into
each other’s eyes: Which was the better man?
</p>
<p>
Toppy smiled as he stretched himself and noted
the new life that seemed to have come into his body.
He knew what it meant. That strenuous siege of
work and a week of fevered sweating had driven the
alcohol out of his system. He was making a fresh
start. A few weeks at the anvil now, and he would
be in better shape than at any time since leaving school.
He set his jaw squarely and heaved his big arms
high above his head.
</p>
<p>
“Well, Treplin,” came an unmistakable voice from
the doorway, “you’re looking strenuous for a man
just off the sickbed.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74'></a>74</span><a name='chX' id='chX'></a>CHAPTER X—THE DUEL BEGINS</h2>
<p>
“I’m feeling pretty good, thank you, Reivers,” said
Toppy quietly, though the voice of the man had
thrilled him with the challenge in it. He turned his
head slowly and looked up from his chair at Reivers
with an expression of great serenity. The Big Game
had begun between them, and Toppy was an expert
at keeping his play hidden.
</p>
<p>
“Much obliged for strapping up my ankle, Reivers,”
he said. “Silly thing, to sprain an ankle; but
thanks to your expert bandaging it’ll be ready to
walk on soon.”
</p>
<p>
“It wasn’t a bad sprain,” said Reivers, moving up
and standing in front of him. That was Reivers all
through. Toppy was sitting; Reivers was standing,
looking down on him, his favourite pose. The black
anger boiled in Toppy’s heart, but by his expression
one could read only that he was a grateful young
man.
</p>
<p>
“No, it wasn’t a bad sprain,” continued Reivers,
his upper lip lifting in its customary smile of scorn,
“but—a man who attempts such heavy lifts must
have no weak spot in him.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy twisted himself into a more comfortable position
in his chair and smiled.
</p>
<p>
“‘Attempts’ is hardly the right word there, Reivers.
Pardon me for differing with you,” he laughed.
“You may remember that the attempt was a success.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75'></a>75</span>
</p>
<p>
A glint of amusement in Reivers’ cold eyes showed
that he appreciated that something more weighty than
a mere question of words lay beneath that apparently
casual remark. For an instant his eyes narrowed,
as if trying to see beyond Toppy’s smile and read what
lay behind, but Toppy’s good poker-face now stood
him in good stead, and he looked blandly back at
Reivers’ peering eyes and continued to smile. Reivers
laughed.
</p>
<p>
“Quite right, Treplin; obliged to you for correcting
me,” he said. “A chap gets rusty out here, where
none of the laws of speech are observed. I’ll depend
upon you to bring me back to form again—later on.
Is your ankle really feeling strong?”
</p>
<p>
For answer Toppy rose and stood on it.
</p>
<p>
“Well, well!” laughed Reivers. “Then Miss Pearson’s
sympathy was all wasted. What’s the matter,
Treplin? Aren’t you glad to hear that charming young
lady is enough interested in you to hunt me up and
ask me to step in and see how you are this morning?”
</p>
<p>
“Not particularly,” replied Toppy, although he was
forced to admit to himself a glow at this explanation
of the girl’s conversation with Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“What are you interested in?” said Reivers suddenly.
</p>
<p>
Toppy looked up at him shrewdly.
</p>
<p>
“I tell you what I’d like to do, Reivers; I’d like
to learn the logging-business—learn how to run a
camp like this—run it efficiently, I mean.”
</p>
<p>
“Worthy ambition,” came the instant reply, “and
you’ve come to the right school. How fortunate for
you that you fell into this camp! You might have
got into one where the boss had foolish ideas. You
might even have fallen in with a humanitarian. Then
you’d never have learned how to make men do things
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76'></a>76</span>
for you, and consequently you’d never have learned
to run a camp efficiently.
</p>
<p>
“Thank your lucky stars, Treplin, that you fell in
with me. I’ll rid you of the silly little ideas about
right and wrong that books and false living have instilled
in your head. I believe you’ve got a good
head—almost as good as mine. If, for instance, you
were in a situation where it was your life or the other
fellow’s, you’d survive. That’s the proof of a good
head. Want to learn the logging-business, do you?
Good! Is your ankle strong enough for you to get
around on?”
</p>
<p>
Toppy took an ax-handle from the corner and, using
it as a cane, hobbled around the room.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, it will stand up all right,” he said. “What’s
the idea?”
</p>
<p>
“Come with me,” laughed Reivers, swinging toward
the door. “We’re just in time for lesson number
one on how to run a camp efficiently.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77'></a>77</span><a name='chXI' id='chXI'></a>CHAPTER XI—“HELL-CAMP” COURT</h2>
<p>
As Reivers led the way out of the shop Toppy saw
that Miss Pearson was standing in the door of
the office across the way. He saw also that she was
looking at him. He did not respond to her look nor
volunteer a greeting, but deliberately looked away
from her as he kept pace with Reivers, who was setting
the way toward the gate of the stockade.
</p>
<p>
It was a morning such as the one when, back in
Rail Head, the girl had kicked up the snow and said
to him, “Isn’t it glorious?” But since then Toppy
felt bitterly that he had grown so much older, so
disillusioned, that never again would he be guilty
of the tender feelings that the girl had evoked that
morning. The sun was bright, the crisp air invigorating,
and the blood bounded gloriously through his
young body. But Toppy did not wax enthusiastic.
</p>
<p>
He was grimly glad of the mighty stream of life
that he felt surging within him; he would have use
for all the might later on. But no more. The world
was a harder, a less pretty place than he, in his inexperience,
had fancied it before coming to Hell
Camp.
</p>
<p>
“What’s this lesson?” he asked gruffly of Reivers.
“What are you going to show me?”
</p>
<p>
“A little secret in the art of keeping brute-men satisfied
with the place in life which a superior mind
has allotted to them,” replied Reivers. “What is the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78'></a>78</span>
first need of the brute? Food, of course. And the
second is—fight. Give the lower orders of mankind,
which is the kind to use in running a camp efficiently,
plenty of food and fight, and the problem of restlessness
is solved.
</p>
<p>
“That’s history, Treplin, as you know. If these
foolish, timid capitalists and leaders of men who are
searching their petty souls for a remedy to combat
the ravages of the modern disease called Socialism
only would read history intelligently, they would find
the remedy made to order. Fight! War! Give the
lower brutes war; let ’em get out and slaughter one
another, and they’d soon forget their pitiful, clumsy
attempts to think for themselves. Give them guns
with a little sharp steel on the end of the barrel, turn
them loose on each other—any excuse would do—and
they’d soon be so busy driving said steel into one
another’s thick bodies that the leaders could slip the
yoke back on their necks and get ’em under hand
again, where they belong.
</p>
<p>
“And they’d be happier, too, because a man-brute
has got to have so much fighting, or what he calls
his brain begins to trouble him; and then he imagines
he has a soul and is otherwise unhappy. If there is
fighting, or the certain prospect of fighting, there’s
no alleged thinking. There’s the solution of all difficulties
with the lower orders. Of course you’ve noticed
how perfectly contented and happy the men in
this camp are?” he laughed, turning suddenly on
Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” said Toppy. “Especially Rosky and his
bunch.”
</p>
<p>
The Snow-Burner smiled appreciatively.
</p>
<p>
“Rosky, poor clod, hadn’t had any fighting. I’d
overlooked him. Had I known that thoughts had begun
to trouble his poor, half-ox brain, I’d have given
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79'></a>79</span>
him some fighting, and he’d have been as content for
the next few weeks as a man who—who’s just been
through delirium tremens.
</p>
<p>
“He had no object in life, you see. If he’d had
a good enemy to hate and fight, he wouldn’t have been
troubled by thoughts, and consequently he wouldn’t
now be lying in his bunk with his leg in splints.
</p>
<p>
“There is the system in a nutshell—give a man an
enemy to hate and wish to destroy, and he won’t be
any trouble to you during working-hours or after.
That’s what I do—pick out the ones who might get
restless and set them to hating each other. And now,”
he concluded, as they reached the gate and passed
through, “you’ll have a chance to see how it works
out.”
</p>
<p>
The big gate, opened for them by two armed guards,
swung shut behind them, and Toppy once more looked
around the enclosure in which he had had his first
glimpse of the Snow-Burner’s system of handling the
men under him. The place this morning, however,
presented a different, a more impressive scene. It
was all but filled with a mass of rough-clad, rough-moving,
rough-talking male humanity.
</p>
<p>
Perhaps a hundred and fifty men were waiting
in the enclosure. For the greater part they were
of the dark, thick and heavily clumsy type that Toppy
had learned to include under the general title of
Bohunk; but here and there over the dark, ox-like
faces rose the fair head of a tall man of some Northern
breed. Slavs comprised the bulk of the gathering;
the Scandinavians, Irish, Americans—the “white
men,” as they called themselves—were conspicuous
only by contrast and by the manner in which they
isolated themselves from the Slavs.
</p>
<p>
And between the two breeds there was not much
room for choice. For while the faces of the Slavs
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80'></a>80</span>
were heavy with brute stupidity and malignity, those
of the North-bred men reeked with fierceness, cruelty
and crime. The Slavs were at Hell Camp because they
were tricked into coming and forced to remain under
shotgun rule; the others were there mostly because
sheriffs found it unsafe and unprofitable to seek any
man whom the Snow-Burner had in his camp. They
were “hiding out.” Criminals, the majority of them,
they preyed on the stupid Slavs as a matter of course;
and this situation Reivers had utilised, as he put it,
“to keep his men content.”
</p>
<p>
Though there was a gulf of difference between the
extreme types of the crowd, Toppy soon realised that
just now their expressions were strangely alike. They
were all impatient and excited. The excitement
seemed to run in waves; one man moved and others
moved with him. One threw up his head and others
did likewise. Their faces were expectant and cruel.
It was like the milling of excited cattle, only worse.
</p>
<p>
“Come along, Treplin,” said Reivers, and led the
way toward the centre of the enclosure. The noises
of the crowd, the talking, the short laughter, the
shuffling, ceased instantly at his appearance. The
crowd parted before him as before some natural force
that brushed all men aside. It opened up even to
the centre of the yard, and then Toppy saw whither
Reivers was leading.
</p>
<p>
On the bare ground was roped off a square which
Toppy, with practised eye, saw was the regulation
twenty-four-foot prize-fight ring. Rough, unbarked
tamarack poles formed the corner-posts of the ring,
and the ropes were heavy wire logging-cable. A yard
from one side of the ring stood a table with a chair
upon it. Reivers, with a careless, “Take a seat on
the table and keep your eyes open,” stepped easily
upon the table, seated himself in the chair and looked
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81'></a>81</span>
amused as the men instinctively turned their faces up
toward him.
</p>
<p>
“Well, men,” he said in a voice which reached like
cold steel into the far corners of the enclosure, “court
is open. The first case is Jan Torta and his brother
Mikel against Bill Sheedy, whom they accuse of stealing
ninety-eight dollars from them while they slept.”
</p>
<p>
As he spoke the names two young Slavs, clumsy
but strongly built, their heavy faces for once alight
with hate and desire for revenge, pushed close to one
side of the ring, while on the other side a huge red-haired
Celt, bloated and evil of face, stepped free of
the crowd.
</p>
<p>
“Bill stole the money, all right,” continued Reivers,
without looking at any of them. “He had the chance,
and being a sneak thief by nature he took it. That’s
all right. The Torta boys had the money; now Bill’s
got it. The question is: Is Bill man enough to keep
it? That’s what we’re going to settle now. He’s got
to show that he’s a better man than the two fellows
he took the money from. If he isn’t, he’s got to give
up the money, or the two can have him to do what
they want to with him. All right, boys; get ’em
started there.”
</p>
<p>
At his brisk order four men whom Toppy had seen
around camp as guards stepped forward, two to
Sheedy, two to the Torta brothers, and proceeded first
to search them for weapons, next to strip them to the
waist. Sheedy hung back.
</p>
<p>
“Not two av um tuh wanst, Mr. Reivers?” he asked
humbly. “One after deh udder it oughta be; two
tuh wanst, that ain’t no way.”
</p>
<p>
“And why not, Bill?” asked Reivers gently. “You
took it from both of them, didn’t you? Then keep it
against both of ’em, Bill. Throw ’em in there, boys!”
</p>
<p>
Toppy looked around at the rows of eager faces
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82'></a>82</span>
that were pressing toward the ringside. Prize-fights
he had witnessed by the score. He had even participated
in one or two for a lark, and the brute lust
that springs into the eyes of spectators was no stranger
to him. But never had he seen anything like this.
There was none of the restraint imposed upon the
human countenance by civilisation in the fierce faces
that gathered about this ring.
</p>
<p>
Out of the dull eyes the primitive killing-animal
showed unrestrained, unashamed. No dilettante interest
in strength or skill here; merely the bare bloodthirsty
desire to see a fellow-animal fight and bleed.
Up above, the sky was clean and blue; the rough
log walls shut out the rest of the world; the breathing
of a mob of excited men was the only sound upon
the quiet Sunday air. It was the old arena again;
the merciless, gore-hungry crowd; the maddened
gladiators; and upon the chair on the table, Reivers,
lord of it all, the king-man, to whom it was all but
an idle moment’s play.
</p>
<p>
Reivers, above it all, untouched by it all, and yet
directing and swaying it all as his will listed. Laws,
rules, teachings, creeds—all were discarded. Primitive
force had for the nonce been given back its rule.
And over it, and controlling it, as well as each of the
maddened eight-score men around the ring—Reivers.
</p>
<p>
And so thoroughly did Reivers dominate the whole
affair that Toppy, sitting carelessly on the edge of
the table, was conscious of it, and knew that he, too,
felt instinctively inclined to do as the men did—to
look to Reivers for a sign before daring to speak or
make a move. The Snow-Burner was in the saddle.
It wasn’t natural, but every phase of the situation
emanated from his master-man’s will. It was even
his wish that Toppy should sit thus at his feet and
look on, and his wish was gratified.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83'></a>83</span>
</p>
<p>
But it was well that the visor of Toppy’s cap hid
his eyes, else Reivers might have wondered at the
look that flashed up at him from them.
</p>
<p>
“Throw ’em in!” snapped Reivers, and the handlers
thrust the three combatants, stripped to the waists
but wearing calked lumberjack shoes, through the
ropes.
</p>
<p>
A cry went up to the sky from a hundred and fifty
throats around the ringside—a cry that had close kinship
with the joyous, merciless “<i>Au-rr-ruh</i>” of a wolf
about to make its kill. Then an instant’s silence as
the rudely handled fighters came to their feet and
faced for action. Then another hideous yelp rent
the still air; the fighters had come together!
</p>
<p>
“Queer ring-costumes, eh, Treplin?” came Reivers’
voice mockingly. “Our own rules; the feet as well
as the hands. Lord, what oxen!”
</p>
<p>
The two Slavs had sprung upon their despoiler like
two maddened cattle. Sheedy, rushing to meet them,
head down, swung right and left overhand; and with
a mighty smacking of hard fist on naked flesh, one
Torta rolled on the ground while his brother stopped
in his tracks, his arms pressed to his middle. The
crowd bellowed.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, I knew Sheedy had been a pug,” said Reivers
judicially.
</p>
<p>
Sheedy deliberately took aim and swung for the jaw
of the man who had not gone down. The Slav instinctively
ducked his head, and the blow, slashing
along his jawbone, tore loose his ear. Half stunned,
he dropped to his knees, and Sheedy stepped back
to poise for a killing kick. But now the man who
had been knocked down first was on his feet, and
with the scream of a wounded animal he hurled himself
through the air and went down, his arms close-locked
around Sheedy’s right leg. Sheedy staggered.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84'></a>84</span>
The ring became a little hell of distorted human speech.
Sheedy bellowed horrible curses as he beat to a pulp
the face that sought to bury itself in his thigh; his
assailant screeched in Slavish terror; and the bull-like
roar of his brother, rising to his feet with cleared
senses and springing into the battle, intermingled with
both. Sheedy’s red face went pale.
</p>
<p>
Around the ringside the faces of the Slavs shone
with relief. The fight was going their way; they
roared encouragement and glee in their own guttural
tongue. The others—Irish, Americans, Scandinavians—rooting
for Sheedy only because he was of their
breed, were silent.
</p>
<p>
“Hang tough, Bill,” said one man quietly; and then
in a second the slightly superior brains in Sheedy’s
head had turned the battle. Like a flash he dropped
flat on his back as his fresh assailant reached out to
grip him. The furious Slav followed him helplessly
in the fall; and a single gruff, appreciative shout came
from the few “white men.”
</p>
<p>
For they had seen, even as the Slav stumbled, Bill
Sheedy’s left leg shoot up like a catapult, burying
the calked shoe to the ankle in the man’s soft middle
and flinging him to one side, a shuddering, senseless
wreck. The man with his arms around Sheedy’s leg
looked up and saw. He was alone now, alone against
the big man who had knocked him down with such
ease. Toppy saw the man’s mouth open and his face
go yellow.
</p>
<p>
“Na, na, na!” he cried piteously, as Sheedy’s blows
again rained upon him. “I give up, give up, give
up!”
</p>
<p>
He tried to bury his face in Bill’s thigh; and Bill,
mad with success, strove to pound him loose.
</p>
<p>
“Kill him, Bill!” said one of the Irishmen quietly.
“You got him now; kill him.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85'></a>85</span>
</p>
<p>
“Stop.” Reivers did not raise his voice. He
seemed scarcely interested. Yet the roars around the
ring died down. Sheedy stopped a blow half delivered
and dropped his arms. The Slav released his
clawlike hold and ran, sobbing, toward his prostrate
brother.
</p>
<p>
“All right, Bill; you keep the money—for all
them,” said Reivers. “Clear out the ring, boys, and
get that other pair in there.”
</p>
<p>
The guards, springing into the ring as if under a
lash, picked up the senseless man and thrust him like
a sack of grain through the ropes and on to the ground
at the feet of a group of his countrymen. Toppy
saw these pick the man up and bear him away. The
man’s head hung down limply and dragged on the
ground, and a thin stream of blood ran steadily out
of one side of his mouth. His brother followed, loudly
calling him by name.
</p>
<p>
“Very efficacious, that left leg of Bill’s; eh, Treplin?”
said Reivers lightly. “Bill was the superior
creature there. He had the wit and will to survive
in a crisis; therefore he is entitled to the rewards
of the superior over the inferior, which in this case
means the ninety-eight dollars which the Torta boys
once had. That’s justice—natural justice for you,
Treplin; and all the fumbling efforts of the lawmakers
who’ve tried through the ages to reduce life to a
pen-and-paper basis haven’t been able to change the
old rule one bit.
</p>
<p>
“I’ll admit that courts and all the fakery that goes
with them have reduced the thing to a battle of brains,
but after all it’s the same old battle; the stronger
win and hold. And,” he concluded, waving his hand
at the crowd, “you’ll admit that Bill, and those Torta
boys wouldn’t be at their best in a contest of intelligence.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86'></a>86</span>
</p>
<p>
Toppy refused Reivers the pleasure of seeing how
the brutality of the affair disgusted him.
</p>
<p>
“Why don’t you follow the thing out to its logical
conclusion?” he said carelessly. “The thing isn’t settled
as long as the Torta boys can possibly make reprisals.
To be a consistent savage you’d have to let
’em go to it until one had killed the other. But even
you don’t dare to do that, do you, Reivers?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers laughed, but the look that he bent on Toppy’s
bland face indicated that he was a trifle puzzled.
</p>
<p>
“Then you wouldn’t be running the camp efficiently,
Treplin,” he said. “It wouldn’t make any difference
if they were all Tortas; but Bill’s a valuable man.
He furnishes some one a bellyful of hating and fighting
every week. No; I wouldn’t have Bill killed for
less than two hundred dollars. He’s one of my best
antidotes for the disease of discontent.”
</p>
<p>
The guards now had pulled two other men up to
the ropes and were searching and stripping them.
Toppy stared at the disparity in the sizes of the men
as the clothes were pulled off them. One stood up
strong and straight, the muscles bulging big beneath
his dark skin, his neck short and heavy, his head
cropped and round. He wore a small, upturned moustache
and carried himself with a certain handy air
that indicated his close acquaintance with ring-events.
The other man was short and dark, obviously an Italian;
the skin of his body was a sickly white, his face
olive green. He stood crouched, and beneath his
ragged beard two teeth gleamed, like the fangs of a
snarling dog.
</p>
<p>
“Antonio, the Knife-Expert, and Mahmout, the
Strangling Bulgarian,” announced Reivers laughingly.
“Tony tried to stick Mahmout because of a little lady
back in Rail Head, and made such a poor job of
it that Mahmout has offered to meet him in the ring;
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87'></a>87</span>
Tony with his knife, Mahmout with his wrestling-tricks.
Start ’em off.”
</p>
<p>
The Bulgarian was under the ropes and upright in
the ring before the Italian had started. He was in
his stocking-feet, and despite the clumsiness of his
build he moved with a quickness and ease that told
of the fine co-ordination of the effective athlete.
When the Italian entered the ring he held his right
hand behind his back, and in the hand gleamed the
six-inch blade of a wicked-looking stiletto.
</p>
<p>
A shiver ran along Toppy’s spine, but he continued
to play the game.
</p>
<p>
“Evidently Mahmout isn’t a valuable man; you
don’t care what happens to him,” he said.
</p>
<p>
“Not particularly,” replied Reivers seriously. “He’s
a good man on the rollways—nothing extra. Still, I
hardly believe Tony can kill him—not this time, at
least.”
</p>
<p>
The faces around the ring grew fiercer now.
Growled curses and exclamations came through
clenched teeth. Here was the spectacle that the brute-spirit
hungered for—the bare, living flesh battling for
life against the merciless, gleaming steel.
</p>
<p>
The big Bulgarian moved neatly forward, bent over
at the waist, his strong arms extended, hands open
before him in the practised wrestler’s guard and attack.
His feet did not leave the ground as he sidled
forward, and his eyes never moved from the Italian’s
right arm. The latter, snarling and panting, retreated
slightly, then began to circle carefully, his small eyes
searching for the opening through which he could leap
in and drive home his steel.
</p>
<p>
The Bulgarian turned with him, his guard always
before him, as a bull turns its head to face the circling
wolf. Without a sound the knife-man suddenly
stopped and lunged a sweeping slash at the menacing
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88'></a>88</span>
hands. Mahmout, grasping for a hold on hand or
wrist, caught the tip of the blade in his palm, and a
slow bellow of rage shook him as he saw the blood
flow. But he did not lower his guard nor take his
eyes from his opponent.
</p>
<p>
The Italian retreated and circled again. A horrible
sneer distorted his face, and the knife flashed in
the sunlight as he slashed it to and fro before the
other’s hands. The crowd growled its appreciation.
Three times Antonio leaped forward, slashed, and
leaped back again; and each time the blood flowed
from Mahmout’s slashed fingers. But the wrestler’s
guard never lowered nor did he falter in his set plan
of battle. He was working to get his man into a
corner.
</p>
<p>
The Italian soon saw this and, leaping nimbly sidewise,
lunged for Mahmout’s ribs. The right arm of
the Bulgarian dropped in time to save his life, but
the knife, deflected from its fatal aim, ripped through
the top muscles of his back for six inches. The mob
roared at the fresh blood, but Mahmout was working
silently. In his spring the Italian had only leaped
toward another corner of the ring.
</p>
<p>
Mahmout leaped suddenly toward him. Antonio,
stabbing swiftly at the hands reached out for him,
jumped back. A cry from a countryman in the crowd
warned him. Swiftly he glanced over his shoulder,
saw that he was cornered, and with a low, sweeping
swing of the arm he threw the knife low at Mahmout’s
abdomen.
</p>
<p>
The blade glinted as it flashed through the air;
it thudded as it struck home; but the death-cry which
the mob yelped out died short. With the expert’s
quickness Mahmout had flung his huge forearms before
the speeding blade. Now he held his left arm
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89'></a>89</span>
up. The stiletto, quivering from the impact, had
pierced it through.
</p>
<p>
With a fierce roar Mahmout plucked out the knife,
hurled it from the ring and dived forward. The
Italian fought like a fury, feet, teeth and fingernails
making equal play. He sank his teeth in the injured
left arm. Mahmout groped with his one sound hand
and methodically clamped a hold on an ankle. He
made sure that the hold was a firm one; then he
wrenched suddenly—once. The Italian screamed and
stiffened straight up under the appalling pain. Then
he fell flat to the ground, and Toppy saw that his
right foot was twisted squarely around and that the
leg lay limp on the ground like a twisted rag.
</p>
<p>
“Stop,” said Reivers, and Mahmout stepped back.
“Take Tony’s knife away from him, boys. Mahmout
wins—for the time being.”
</p>
<p>
“Inconsistent again,” muttered Toppy. “Your
scheme is all fallacies, Reivers. You give Tony a
knife with which he may kill Mahmout at one stroke,
but you don’t let Mahmout finish him when he’s got
him down. Why don’t you carry your system to its
logical conclusion?”
</p>
<p>
“Why don’t I?” chuckled Reivers, stepping down
from the table. “Why, simply because Signor Antonio
is the camp cook, and cooks are too scarce to
be destroyed unnecessarily. Now come along, Treplin.
Court’s adjourned; a light docket to-day. I’ve
been thinking of your wanting to learn how to run
a logging-camp. I’m going to give you a change of
jobs. You’ll be no good in the blacksmith-shop till
your ankle’s normal again. Come along; I’ll show you
what I’ve picked out for you.”
</p>
<p>
He turned away from the ring as from a finished
episode in the day’s work. That was over. Whether
Torta or Antonio lived or died, were whole or
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90'></a>90</span>
crippled for the rest of their lives, had no room in his
thoughts. He strode toward the gate as if the yard
were empty, and the crowd opened a way far before
him. Outside the gate he led the way around
the stockade toward where the river roared and tumbled
through the chutes of Cameron Dam.
</p>
<p>
A cliff-like ledge, perhaps thirty feet in height,
situated close to one end of the dam, was Reivers’
objective, and he led Toppy around to the side facing
the river. Here the dirt had been scraped away
on the face of the ledge, and a great cave torn in
the exposed rock. The hole was probably fifty feet
wide, and ran from twelve to fifteen feet under the
brow of the ledge. Toppy was surprised to see no
timbers upholding the rocky roof, which seemed at
any moment likely to drop great masses of jagged
stone into the opening beneath.
</p>
<p>
“My little rock-pile,” explained Reivers lightly.
“When my brutes aren’t good I put ’em to work here.
The rock goes into the dam out there. Just at present
Rosky’s band of would-be malcontents are the
ones who are suffering for daring to be dissatisfied
with the—ah—simplicity, let us say, of Hell Camp.”
</p>
<p>
He laughed mirthlessly.
</p>
<p>
“I’m going to put you in charge of this quarry,
Treplin. You’re to see that they get one hundred
wheelbarrows of rock out of here per hour. You’ll
be here at daylight to-morrow.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy nodded quietly.
</p>
<p>
“What’s the punishment here?” he asked, puzzled.
“It looks like nothing more than hard work to me.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers smiled the same smile that he had smiled
upon Rosky.
</p>
<p>
“Look at the roof of that pit, Treplin,” he said.
“You’ve noticed that it isn’t timbered up. Occasionally
a stone drops down. Sometimes several stones.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91'></a>91</span>
But one hundred barrows an hour have to come out
of there just the same. And those rocks up there,
you’ll notice, are beautifully sharp and heavy.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy felt Reivers’ eyes upon him, watching to see
what effect this explanation would have, and consequently
he no more betrayed his feelings than he had
at the brutal scenes of the “court.”
</p>
<p>
“I see,” he said casually. “I suppose this is why
you made me read up on fractures?”
</p>
<p>
“Partly,” said Reivers. He looked up at the jagged
rocks in the roof of the pit and grinned. “And sometimes
an accident here calls for a job for a pick and
shovel. But I’m just, Treplin; only the malcontents
are put to work in here.”
</p>
<p>
“That is, those who have dared to declare themselves
something besides your helpless slaves.”
</p>
<p>
“Or dared to think of declaring themselves thus,”
agreed Reivers promptly.
</p>
<p>
“I see.” Toppy was looking blandly at the roof,
but his mind was working busily.
</p>
<p>
“Just why do you give me charge of this hole,
Reivers—if you don’t mind my asking? Isn’t it rather
an unusual honour for a green hand to be put over a
crew like this?”
</p>
<p>
“Unusual! Oh, how beastly banal of you, Treplin!”
laughed Reivers carelessly. “Surely you didn’t
expect me to do the usual thing, did you? You say
you want to learn how to handle a camp like this.
You’re an interesting sort of creature, and I’d like to
see you work out in the game of handling men, so I
give you this chance. Oh, I’ll do great things for you,
Treplin, before I’m done with you! You can imagine
all that I’ve got in store for you.”
</p>
<p>
The smile vanished and he turned away. He was
through with this incident, too. Without another
word or look at Toppy he went back to the stockade,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92'></a>92</span>
his mind already busy with some other project.
Toppy stood looking after him until Reivers’ broad
back disappeared around the corner of the stockade.
</p>
<p>
“No, you clever devil!” he muttered. “I can’t imagine.
But whatever it is, I promise I’ll hand it back
to you with a little interest, or furnish a job for a
pick and shovel.”
</p>
<p>
He walked slowly back to the blacksmith-shop. He
was glad to be left alone. Though he had permitted
no sign of it to escape him, Toppy had been enraged
and sickened at what he had seen in the stockade.
He admitted to himself that it was not the
fact that men had been disabled and crippled, nor
the brutal rules that had governed, nor that men had
been exposed to death at the hands of others before
his eyes, that had stirred him so. It was—Reivers.
Reivers sitting up there on the table playing with
men’s bodies and lives as with so many cards—Reivers,
the dominant, lord over his fellows.
</p>
<p>
The veins swelled in Toppy’s big neck as he thought
of Reivers, and his hitherto good-natured face took
on a scowl that might have become some ancestral
man-captain in the days of mace and mail, but which
never before had found room on Toppy’s countenance—not
even when the opposing half-backs were guilty
of slugging. But he was playing another game now,
an older one, a fiercer one, and one which called to
him as nothing had called before. It was the man-game
now; and out there in the old, stern forest,
spurred by the challenge of the man who was his natural
enemy, the primitive fighting-man in Toppy shook
off the restraint with which breeding, education and
living had cumbered him, and stood out in a fashion
that would have shocked Toppy’s friends back East.
</p>
<p>
Near the shop he met Miss Pearson. By her manner
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93'></a>93</span>
he saw that she had been waiting for him, but
Toppy merely raised his cap and made to pass on.
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Treplin!” There was astonishment at his
rudeness in her exclamation.
</p>
<p>
“Well?” said Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“Your ankle?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, yes. Pardon me for not expressing my thanks
before. It’s almost well—thanks to you and Mr.
Reivers.”
</p>
<p>
She made a slight shrinking movement and stood
looking at him for a moment. She opened her lips,
but no words came.
</p>
<p>
“Old Scotty told me about your kindness in coming
to see me, you and Mr. Reivers together,” said
Toppy. “It was a relief to learn that your confidence
in Reivers was justified.”
</p>
<p>
She looked up quickly, straight into his eyes. A
troubled look swept over her face. Then with a toss
of the head she turned and crossed the road, and
Toppy swung on his way to the room in the rear of
the shop and closed the door behind him with a vicious
slam.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94'></a>94</span><a name='chXII' id='chXII'></a>CHAPTER XII—TOPPY’S FIRST MOVE</h2>
<p>
Next morning, in the cold stillness which precedes
the coming of daylight in the North,
Toppy stood leaning on his axe-handle cane and
watched his crew of a dozen men file out of the stockade
gate and turn toward the stone-quarry. They
walked with the driven air of prisoners going to punishment.
In the darkness their squat, shapeless figures
were scarcely human. Their heads hung, their
steps were listless, as if they had just completed a
hard day’s work instead of having arisen from a
hearty breakfast.
</p>
<p>
The complete lack of spirit evinced by the men irritated
Toppy. Was Reivers right after all? Were
they nothing but clods, undeserving of fair and intelligent
treatment?
</p>
<p>
“Hey! Wake up there! You look like a bunch
of corpses. Show some life!” cried Toppy, in whom
the bitter morning air was sending the red blood
tingling.
</p>
<p>
The men did not raise their heads. They quickened
their stumbling steps a little, as a heavy horse
shambles forward a little under the whip. One or
two looked back, beyond where Toppy was walking
at the side of the line. Treplin with curiosity followed
their glances. A grim-lipped shotgun guard
with a hideous hawk nose had emerged from the darkness,
and with his short-barrelled weapon in the crook
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95'></a>95</span>
of his arm was following the line at a distance of
fifty or sixty feet. Toppy halted abruptly. So did
the guard.
</p>
<p>
“What’s the idea?” demanded Toppy. “Reivers
send you?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” said the guard gruffly.
</p>
<p>
“Does it take two of us to make this gang work?”
Toppy was irritated. Reivers, he knew, would have
handled the gang alone.
</p>
<p>
“The boss sent me,” said the guard, with a finality
that indicated that for him that ended the discussion.
</p>
<p>
The daylight now came wanly up the gap made
in the forest by the brawling river, and the men stood
irresolute before the quarry and peered up anxiously
at the roof of the pit.
</p>
<p>
“Grab your tools,” said Toppy. “Get in there and
get to it.”
</p>
<p>
The men, some of them taking picks and crowbars,
some wheelbarrows, were soon ready to begin the
day’s work. But there was a hitch somewhere. They
stood at the entrance to the pit and did not go in.
They looked up at the threatening roof; then they
looked anxiously, pleadingly, at Toppy. But Toppy
was thinking savagely of how Reivers would have
handled the gang alone and he paid no attention.
</p>
<p>
“Get in there!” he roared. “Come on; get to
work!”
</p>
<p>
Accustomed to being driven, they responded at once
to his command. Between two fears, fear of the dropping
rocks and fear of the man over them, they entered
the quarry and began the day’s work. The guard
took up a position on a slight eminence, where he was
always in plain sight of the men, whether in the cave
or wheeling the rock out to the dam. He held his
gun constantly in the hollow of his arm, like a hunter.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96'></a>96</span>
</p>
<p>
Ten minutes after the first crowbar had clanged
against rock in the quarry there was a rumbling sound,
a crash, a scream; and the men came scrambling out
in terror. Their rush stopped abruptly just outside
the cave. Toppy was standing directly before them;
the man with the gun had noisily cocked his weapon
and brought the black barrel to bear on the heads
of the men. Half of them slunk at once back into
the cave. One of the others held up a bleeding hand
to Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, pleess, bahss, pleess,” he pleaded. “Rock kill
us next time. Pleess, bahss!”
</p>
<p>
There was a moment of silence while Toppy looked
at the men’s terror-stricken faces. The shotgun guard
rattled the slide on his gun. The men began to retreat
into the cave, their helplessness and hopelessness
writ large upon their flat faces.
</p>
<p>
“Hold on there!” said Toppy suddenly. After all,
a fellow couldn’t do things like that—drive helpless
cattle like these to certain injury, even possible death.
“I’ll take a look in there.”
</p>
<p>
He hobbled and shouldered his way through the men
and entered the pit. A few rocks had dropped from
the roof, luckily falling in a far corner beyond where
the men were working. But Toppy saw at once how
serious this petty accident was; for the whole roof
of the cave now was loosened, and as sure as the
men pounded and pried at the rocks beneath they
would bring a shower of stone down upon their heads.
</p>
<p>
“Like rats in a trap,” he thought. “Hi!” he called.
“Get out of here. Get out!”
</p>
<p>
Down near the dam he had noticed a huge pile
of old timbers which probably had been used for piling
while the dam was being put in. Thither he now
led his men, and shouldering the largest piece himself
he hobbled back to the cave followed by the gang,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97'></a>97</span>
each bearing a timber. A sudden change had come
over the men as he indicated what he was going to
do. They moved more rapidly. Their terror was
gone. Some of them smiled, and some talked excitedly.
Under Toppy’s direction they went to work
with a vim shoring up the loosened roof of the cave.
It was only a half-hour’s work to place the props so
that the men working beneath were free of any serious
danger from above. Toppy could sense the
change of feeling toward him that had come over the
men as they saw the timbers go into place, and he
was forced to admit that it warmed him comfortably.
They sprang eagerly to obey his slightest behest, and
the gratitude in their faces was pitiful to behold.
</p>
<p>
“Now jump!” said Toppy when the roof was safely
propped. “Hustle and make up the time we’ve lost.”
</p>
<p>
As he came out of the cave the place fairly rang
with noise as the men furiously tore loose the rock
and dumped it in the barrows. Toppy took a long
breath and wiped his brow. The hawk-nosed guard
spat in disgust.
</p>
<p>
“Will you do me a favour?” said Toppy, suddenly
swinging toward him.
</p>
<p>
“What is it?” asked the man.
</p>
<p>
“Take a message to Mr. Reivers from me. Tell him
your services are no longer required at this spot. Tell
him I said you looked like a fool, standing up there
with your bum gun. Tell him—” Toppy, despite his
sore ankle, had swung up the rise and was beside
the guard before the latter thought of making a
move—“that I said I’d throw you and your gun in
the river if you didn’t duck. And for your own information—”
Toppy was towering over the man—“I’ll
do it right now, unless you get out of here—quick!”
</p>
<p>
The guard’s shifty eyes tried to meet Toppy’s and
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98'></a>98</span>
failed. Against the Slavs he would have dared to
use his gun; they were his inferiors. Against Toppy
he did not dare even so much as to think of the
weapon, and without it he was only a jail-rat, afraid
of men who looked him in the eyes.
</p>
<p>
“The boss sent me here,” he said sullenly.
</p>
<p>
Toppy leaned forward until his face was close to
the guard’s. The man shrank.
</p>
<p>
“Duck!” said Toppy. That was all. The guard
moved away with an alacrity that showed how uncomfortable
the spot had become to him.
</p>
<p>
“You’ll hear about this!” he whined from a distance.
</p>
<p>
And Toppy laughed, laughed carelessly and loudly,
rampant with the sensation of power. The men, scurrying
past with barrows of rock, noted the retreat
of the guard and smiled. They looked up at Toppy
with slavish admiration, as lesser men look up to
the champion who has triumphed before their eyes.
One or two of the older men raised their hats as they
passed him, their Old-World serf-like way of showing
how they felt toward him.
</p>
<p>
“Jump!” ordered Toppy gruffly. “Get a move on
there; make up that lost time.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers had said that a hundred barrows an hour
must be dumped into the dam. With a half hour
lost in shoring up the roof, there were fifty loads to
be caught up during the day if the average was to
be maintained. Carefully timing each load and keeping
tally for half an hour, Toppy saw that a hundred
loads per hour was the limit of his gang working
at a normal pace. To get out the hundred loads they
must keep steadily at work, with no time lost because
of the falling rocks from above.
</p>
<p>
He began to see the method of Reivers’ apparent
madness in placing him in charge of the gang. With
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99'></a>99</span>
the gang working in the dead, terrorised fashion that
had characterised their movements before the timbers
were in place, Toppy knew that he would have
failed; he could not have got out the hundred loads
per hour. Reivers would have proved him to be his
inferior; for Reivers, with his inhumanity, would have
driven the gang as if no lives nor limbs hung on the
tissue.
</p>
<p>
Toppy smiled grimly as he looked at his watch and
marked new figures on the tally sheet. The men, pitifully
grateful for the protecting timbers, had taken
hold of their work with such new life that the rock
was going into the dam at the rate of one hundred and
twenty loads an hour.
</p>
<p>
“Move number one!” muttered Toppy, snapping
shut his watch. “I wonder what the Snow-Burner’s
come-back will be when he knows. Hey, you roughnecks!
Keep moving, there; keep moving!”
</p>
<p>
The men responded cheerfully to his every command.
They could gladly obey his will; they were
safe under him; he had taken care of them, the helpless
ones. That evening, when they filed back into
the stockade under Toppy’s watchful eye, one of the
older men, a swarthy old fellow with large brass rings
in his ears, sank his hat low as he passed in.
</p>
<p>
“Buna nopte, Domnule,” he said humbly.
</p>
<p>
“What did he say?” demanded Toppy of one of
the young men who knew a little English.
</p>
<p>
“Plees, bahss; old man, he Magyar,” was the reply.
“He say, ‘Good night, master.’”
</p>
<p>
Toppy stood dumfounded while the line passed
through the gate.
</p>
<p>
“Well,” he said with a grin, “what do you know
about that?”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100'></a>100</span><a name='chXIII' id='chXIII'></a>CHAPTER XIII—REIVERS REPLIES</h2>
<p>
Reivers did not come to the shop that night for
his evening diversion, nor did Toppy see him
at all during the next day. But in the morning following
he saw that Reivers had taken cognizance in
his own peculiar way of Toppy’s action in driving
the shotgun guard away from the quarry. As the
line of rock men filed out of the stockade in the chill
half light Toppy saw that the best worker of his gang,
a cheerful, stocky man called Mikal, was missing. In
his place, walking with the successful plug-ugly’s insolent
swagger, was none other than Bill Sheedy, the
appointed trouble-maker of Hell Camp; and Toppy
knew that Reivers had made another move in his tantalising
game.
</p>
<p>
He went hot despite the raw chilliness at the thought
of it. Reivers was playing with him, too, playing even
as he had played with Rosky! And Toppy knew that,
like Rosky, the Snow-Burner had selected him, too,
to be crushed—to be marked as an inferior, to be
made to acknowledge Reivers as his master.
</p>
<p>
Reivers had read the challenge which was in Toppy’s
eyes and had, with his cold smile of complete
confidence and contempt, taken up the gauge. The
substitution of Bill Sheedy, Reivers’ pet troublemaker,
for an effective workman was a definite move
toward Toppy’s humiliation.
</p>
<p>
There was nothing in Toppy’s manner, however,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101'></a>101</span>
to indicate his feelings as he followed the line to
the quarry. Toppy allowed Sheedy’s swagger, by
which he plainly indicated that he was hunting for
trouble, to go as if unobserved. Sheedy, being extremely
simple of mind, leaped instantly to the conclusion
that Toppy was afraid of him and swaggered
more insolently than ever. He was in an irritable
mood this morning, was Bill Sheedy; and as soon
as the gang was out of sight of the stockade—and,
thought Toppy bitterly, therefore out of possible sight
of Reivers—he began to vent his irritation upon his
fellow-workmen.
</p>
<p>
He shouldered them out of his way, swore at them,
threatened them with his fists, kicked them carelessly.
There was no finesse in Bill’s method; he was mad
and showed it. When the daylight came up the river
sufficiently strong to begin the day’s work, Bill had
worked himself up to a proper frame of mind for
his purpose. He stood still while the other men willingly
seized their tools and barrows and tramped into
the quarry.
</p>
<p>
Toppy apparently did not notice. So far as he indicated
by his manner he was quite oblivious of Sheedy’s
existence. Bill stood looking at Toppy with
a scowl on his unpretty face, awaiting the order to
go in with the other men. The order did not come.
Toppy was busy directing the men where to begin their
work. He did not so much as look at Bill. Bill finally
was forced to call attention to himself.
</p>
<p>
“——!” he growled, spitting generously. “Yah
ain’t goin’ tuh git me tuh wurruk in no hole like that.”
</p>
<p>
“All right, Bill,” said Toppy instantly. “All right.”
</p>
<p>
Bill was staggered. His simple mind failed utterly
to comprehend that there might lie something behind
Toppy’s apparently humble manner. Bill could see
only one thing—the straw-boss was afraid of him.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102'></a>102</span>
</p>
<p>
“Yah —— know it, it’s all right!” he spluttered.
“If it ain’t I’d —— soon make it all right.”
</p>
<p>
“Sure,” said Toppy, and without looking toward
Bill he hurried into the quarry to see how the timbers
were standing the strain. Bill stood puzzled. He had
bluffed the straw-boss, sure enough; but still the thing
wasn’t entirely satisfactory. The boss didn’t seem to
care whether he worked or whether he loafed. Bill
refused to be treated with such little consideration.
He was of more importance than that.
</p>
<p>
“Hey, you!” he called as Toppy emerged from the
pit. “I’m going to wheel rock down to the dam, that’s
what I’m going tuh do. Going to wheel it; but yuh
ain’t goin’ tuh make me go in there and dig it. See?
I’m going to wheel rock.”
</p>
<p>
Now for the first time Toppy seemed to consider
Bill.
</p>
<p>
“What makes you think you are?” he said quietly.
He was looking at his watch, but Bill noticed that
in spite of his sore ankle and cane the boss had managed
to move near to him in uncannily swift fashion.
</p>
<p>
“You know you can’t work here now,” Toppy continued
before Bill’s thick wits had framed an answer.
“You won’t go into the quarry, so I can’t use you.”
</p>
<p>
Bill stared as if bereft of all of his faculties. The
boss had slipped his watch back into his pocket. He
had turned away.
</p>
<p>
“Can’t use me—can’t——Say! Who says I can’t
work here?” roared Bill, shaking his fists. He was
standing on the plank on which the wheelbarrows were
rolled out of the cave, blocking the way of the men
with the first loads of the day.
</p>
<p>
“Look out, Bill!” said Toppy softly, turning around.
Instinctively Bill threw up his guard—threw it up
to guard his jaw. Toppy’s left drove into his solar
plexus so hard that Bill seemed to be moulded on to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103'></a>103</span>
the fist, hung there until he dropped and rolled backward
on the ground.
</p>
<p>
“Get along there!” commanded Toppy to the wheel-barrowmen.
“The way’s clear. Jump!”
</p>
<p>
Grinning and snatching glances of ridicule at the
prostrate Sheedy, they hurried past. They dumped
their loads in the dam and came back with empty
barrows, and still Sheedy lay there, like a dumped
grain-sack, to one side of their path. The flat faces
of the men cracked with grins as they looked worshipfully
at Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“Jump!” said he. “Get a move on, you roughnecks”
</p>
<p>
And they grinned more widely in sheer delight at
his rough ordering.
</p>
<p>
Bill Sheedy lay for a long time as he had fallen.
The blow he had stopped would have done for a pugilist
in good condition, and Sheedy’s midriff was soft
and fat. Finally he raised his head and looked around.
Such surprise and wobegoneness showed in his expression
that the grinning Slavs laughed outright at
him. Bill slowly came to a sitting posture and drew
a hand across his puzzled brow while he looked dully
at the laughing men and at Toppy. Then he remembered
and he dropped his eyes.
</p>
<p>
“Get on your way, Bill,” said Toppy casually. “If
you’re not able to walk, I’ll have half a dozen of the
men help you. You’re through here.”
</p>
<p>
Bill lurched unsteadily to his feet and staggered
away a few steps. That terrific punch and the iron-calm
manner of the man who had dealt it had scared
him. His first thought was to get out of reach; his
second, one of anger at the Bohunks who dared to
laugh at him, Bill Sheedy, the fighting man!
</p>
<p>
But the fashion in which the men laughed took the
nerve out of Bill. They were laughing contemptuously
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104'></a>104</span>
at him; they looked down upon him; they were
no longer afraid. And there were a dozen of them,
and they laughed together; and Bill Sheedy knew that
his days as camp bully were over. The straw-boss
was looking at him coldly, and Bill moved farther
away. Fifteen minutes later the straw-boss, who had
apparently been oblivious of his presence, swung
around and said abruptly:
</p>
<p>
“What’s the matter, Bill? Why don’t you go back
to Reivers?”
</p>
<p>
Bill’s growled reply contained several indistinct but
definitely profane characterisations of Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“I can’t go back to him,” Sheedy said sullenly.
</p>
<p>
“Why not?” laughed Treplin. “He’s your friend,
isn’t he? He let you keep the money you’d stolen,
and all that.”
</p>
<p>
“Keep——!” growled Sheedy. “He’s got that himself.
Made me make him a present of it, or—or he’d
turn me over for a little trouble I had down in
Duluth.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy stiffened and looked at him carefully.
</p>
<p>
“Telling the truth, Bill?”
</p>
<p>
“Ask him,” replied Sheedy. “He don’t make no
bones about it; he gets something on you and then
he grafts on you till you’re dry.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy stood silent while he assimulated this information.
His scrutiny of Sheedy told him that
the man was telling the truth. He felt grateful to
Sheedy; through him he had got a new light on
Reivers’ character, light which he knew he could use
later on.
</p>
<p>
“Through making an ass of yourself here, Bill?” he
asked briskly. Bill’s answer was to hang his head
in a way that showed how thoroughly all the fight
was taken out of him.
</p>
<p>
“All right, then; grab a wheelbarrow and get into
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105'></a>105</span>
the pit. Keep your end up with the other men and
there’ll be no hard feelings. Try to play any of your
tricks, and it’s good night for you. Now get to it,
or get out.”
</p>
<p>
Sheedy’s rush for a wheelbarrow showed how relieved
he was. He had been standing between the
devil and the deep sea—between Reivers with his awful
displeasure and Toppy with his awful punch; and he
was eager to find a haven.
</p>
<p>
“I ain’t trying any tricks,” he muttered as he made
for the quarry. “The Snow-Burner—he’s the one.
He copped me dough and sent me down here and told
me to work off my mad on you.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, you’ve worked it off now, I guess,” said
Toppy curtly. “Dig in, now; you’re half a dozen
loads behind.”
</p>
<p>
Sheedy did not fill the place of the man he had
supplanted, for in his mixed-ale condition he was unable
to work a full day at a strong man’s pace. However,
he did so well that when Toppy checked up in
the evening he found that his tally again was well
over the stipulated average of a hundred loads of rock
per hour.
</p>
<p>
“Move two,” he thought. “I wonder what comes
next?”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106'></a>106</span><a name='chXIV' id='chXIV'></a>CHAPTER XIV—“JOKER AND DEUCES WILD”</h2>
<p>
When Toppy went back to the shop that evening
he found old Campbell cooking the evening
meal with only his right hand in use, the left being
wrapped in a neat bandage.
</p>
<p>
“That’s what comes of leaving me without a helper,”
grumbled the Scot as Toppy looked enquiringly at the
injured hand. “I maun have ye back, lad; I will not
be knocking my hands to pieces doing two men’s work
to please any man. And yet—” he cocked his head
on one side and looked fondly at the bandage—“I
dunno but what ’twas worth it. I’m an auld man, and
it’s long sin’ I had a pretty lass make fuss over me.”
</p>
<p>
“What?” snapped Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, go on with ye, lad,” teased Scotty, holding the
bandage up for his admiration. “Can not you see
that I’m by nature a fav’rite with the ladies? Yon
lass in the office sewed this bandage on my old meat
hook.
</p>
<p>
“‘Does it hurt, Mr. Campbell?’ says she. ‘Not
as much as something that’s heavy on my mind, lass,’
says I. ‘What’s that?’ she says. ‘Mr. Reivers and
you, lass,’ says I; and I told her as well as an old
man can tell a lass who’s little more than a child just
what the Snow-Burner is. ‘I can’t believe it,’ says
she. ‘He’s a gentleman.’ ‘More’s the pity,’ I says.
’That’s what makes him dangerous.’ ‘Were you not
afraid of him at first?’ says I. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Tell
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107'></a>107</span>
me honest, as you would your own father,’ says I, ‘are
you not afraid of him now?’
</p>
<p>
“With that she gave me a look like a little fawn
that has smelled the wolf circling ‘round it, but she
will not answer. ‘He can’t be what you say he is,’
she says, trembling. ‘Lass,’ says I, ‘a week ago you
would never have believed it possible that you’d ever
wish aught to do with him. Now you walk with him
and talk with him, and smile when he does.’ And
I told her of Tilly.
</p>
<p>
“‘It’s not so,’ says she. ‘It can’t be so. Mr.
Reivers is a gentleman, not a brute. He’s too strong
and fine,’ says she, ‘for such conduct.’ And the bandage
being done, I was dismissed with a toss of the head.
Aye, aye, lad; but ’twas fine to have her little fingers
sewing away around my old hand. Yon’s a fine, sweet
lass; but I fear me Reivers has set his will to win
her.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy made no reply. Campbell’s words aroused
only one emotion in him—a fresh flare of anger
against Reivers. For it was Reivers, and his strength
and dominance, that was responsible. Toppy already
was sorry for the swift judgment that he had passed
on the girl on Sunday, and for the rudeness which,
in his anger, he had displayed toward her. He knew
now the power that lay in Reivers’ will, the calm,
compelling fire that lurked in his eyes.
</p>
<p>
Men quailed before those eyes and did their bidding.
And a girl, a little girl who must naturally
feel grateful toward him for her position, could hardly
be expected to resist the Snow-Burner’s undeniable
fascinations. Why should she? Reivers was everything
that women were drawn to in men—kinglike in
his power of mind and body, striking in appearance,
successful in whatever he sought to do.
</p>
<p>
It was inevitable that the girl should fall under his
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108'></a>108</span>
spell, but the thought of it sent a chill up Toppy’s
spine as from the thought of something monstrous.
He raged inwardly as he remembered how clearly the
girl had let him see his own insignificance in her estimation
compared with Reivers. She had refused
to believe Campbell; Toppy knew that she would refuse
to listen to him if he tried to warn her against
Reivers.
</p>
<p>
The fashion in which he slammed the supper-dishes
on the table brought a protest from Scotty.
</p>
<p>
“Dinna be so strong with the dishes, lad; they’re not
iron,” said he.
</p>
<p>
“You ‘tend to your cooking,” growled Toppy. “I’ll
set this table.”
</p>
<p>
Campbell paused with a spoon in midair and gaped
at him in astonishment. He opened his mouth to
speak, but the black scowl on Toppy’s brow checked
his tongue. Silently he turned to his cooking. He
had seen that he was no longer boss in the room behind
the shop.
</p>
<p>
After supper Campbell brought forth a deck of
cards and began to play solitaire. Toppy threw himself
upon his bunk and lay in the darkness with his
troublesome thoughts. An unmistakable step outside
the door brought him to his feet, for he had an
instinctive dislike to meeting Reivers save face to
face and standing up. Reivers came in without speaking
and shut the door behind him. He stood with
his hand on the knob and looked over at Toppy and
shook his head.
</p>
<p>
“Treplin, how could you disappoint me so?” he
asked mockingly. “After I had reposed such confidence
in you, too! I’m sorely disappointed in you.
I never looked for you to be a victim of the teachings
of weak men and I find—ye gods! I find that
you’re a humanitarian!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109'></a>109</span>
</p>
<p>
By this and this only did Reivers indicate that he
had knowledge of how Toppy had protected his men.
</p>
<p>
Toppy looked steadily across the room at him, a
grim smile on his lips.
</p>
<p>
“Did Bill Sheedy call me that?” he asked drily.
“Shame on him if he did; I didn’t make him slip me
the Torta boys’ money as a present.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers’ laugh rang instantly through the room.
</p>
<p>
“So you’ve won Bill’s confidences already, have
you?” he said without the slightest trace of shame
or discomfiture. “Dear old Bill! He actually seemed
to be under the impression that he had a title to that
money—until I suggested otherwise. I ask you, Treplin,
as a man with a trained if not an efficient mind,
is Bill Sheedy a proper man to possess the title to
ninety-eight dollars?”
</p>
<p>
He swung across the room, laughing heartily, and
reached into the cupboard for Scotty’s whiskey. As
he did so his eyes fell upon the cards which Scotty
was placing upon the table, and for the first time
Toppy saw in his eyes the gleam of a human weakness.
Reivers stood, paused, for an instant, his eyes
feasting upon the cards. It was only an instant, but
it was enough to whisper to Toppy the secret of the
Snow-Burner’s passion for play. And Toppy exulted
at this chance discovery of the vulnerable joint in
Reivers’ armour; for Toppy—alas for his misspent
youth!—was a master-warrior when a deck of cards
was the field of battle.
</p>
<p>
“It’s none of my funeral, Reivers,” he said carelessly,
strolling over to the table where Campbell
went on playing, apparently oblivious to the conversation.
“I don’t know anything about Sheedy. Of
course, if you’re serious, the Torta boys are the only
ones in camp who’ve got any right to the money.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers stopped short in the act of pouring himself
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110'></a>110</span>
a drink. Campbell, with his back toward Reivers,
paused with a card in his hand. Toppy yawned and
dropped into a chair from which he could watch Campbell’s
game.
</p>
<p>
“But that’s none of my business,” he said as if
dropping the subject. “There’s a chance for your
black queen, Scotty.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers poured himself his tumbler full of Scotch
whiskey, drew up a third chair to the table and sat
down across from Toppy. The latter apparently was
absorbed in watching Campbell’s solitaire. Reivers
took a long, contented sip of his fiery tipple and
smiled pleasantly.
</p>
<p>
“You turned loose an idea there, Treplin,” he said.
“But can you make your premise stand argument?
Are you sure that the Torta boys are the ones who
have a right to that ninety-eight dollars? On what
grounds do you give them the exclusive title to the
money?”
</p>
<p>
“It’s theirs. Bill stole it from them. You said he
did. That’s all I know about it,” said Toppy, scarcely
raising his eyes from the cards.
</p>
<p>
“Why do you say it was theirs, Treplin?” persisted
Reivers smilingly. “Merely because they had it in
their possession! Isn’t that so? You don’t know
how they came by it, but because they had it in their
possession you speak of it as theirs. Very well. Bill
Sheedy took it away from them. It was in his possession,
so, following your line of logic, it was his—for
a short while.
</p>
<p>
“I took it from Bill. It’s in my possession now.
Therefore, if your premise is sound, the money is
mine. Why, Treplin, I’m really obliged to you for
furnishing me such a clear title to my loot. It was—ah—beginning
to trouble my conscience.” He
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111'></a>111</span>
laughed suddenly, punctuating his laughter with a
blow of his fist on the table.
</p>
<p>
“All rot, Treplin; all silly sophistry which weak
men have built up to protect themselves from the
strong! The infernal lie that because a man is in
possession of a certain thing it is his to the exclusion
of the rest of the world! Property-rights! I’ll tell
you the truth—why this money is mine, why I’m the
one who has the real title to it. I was able to take
it, and I am able to keep it. There’s the natural law
of property-rights, Treplin. What do you say to
that?”
</p>
<p>
“Fine!” laughed Toppy, throwing up his hands in
surrender. “You bowl me over, Reivers. The money
is yours; and—” he glanced at the cards “—and if
you and I should play a little game of poker, joker
and deuces wild, and I should take it away from you,
it would be mine; and there you are.”
</p>
<p>
The words had slipped out of him, apparently without
any aim; but Toppy saw by the sudden glance
which Reivers dropped to the cards that the gambling-hunger
in the Snow-Burner had been awakened.
</p>
<p>
“Joker and deuces wild,” he repeated as if fascinated.
“Yes, that ought to help make a two-handed
game fast.”
</p>
<p>
The whole manner of the man seemed for the moment
changed. For the first time since Toppy had
met him he seemed to be seriously interested. Previously,
when he played with the lives and bodies
of men or devilled their minds with his wiles, his
interest had never been deeper than that of a man
who plays to keep himself from being bored. He was
the master in all such affairs; they could furnish
him at their best but an idle sort of interest. But
not even the Snow-Burner was master of the inscrutable
laws of Chance. Nor was he master of himself
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112'></a>112</span>
when cards were flipping before his eyes. Toppy had
guessed right; Reivers had a weakness, and it was
to be “card-crazy.”
</p>
<p>
“Get over there on that other table with your solitaire,
Campbell!” he ordered. He reached into Campbell’s
liquor-cabinet and drew out a fresh pack of
cards, which he tossed to Toppy. “You started something,
Mr. Humanitarian,” he continued, clearing the
table. “Open the deck and cut for deal. Then show
me what you’ve got to stack up against this ninety-eight
dollars.” And he slapped a wad of crumpled
bills on the table.
</p>
<p>
Toppy nonchalantly reached into his pockets. Then
he grinned. The two twenty-dollar bills which he had
paid the agent back in Rail Head for the privilege
of hiring out to Hell Camp were all the money he
had with him. He was broke. He debated with himself
a moment, then unhooked his costly watch from
the chain and pushed it across to Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“You can sell that for five hundred—if you win it,”
he said. “I’ll play it even against your ninety-eight
bucks. Give me forty-nine to start with. If you win
them give me forty-nine more, and the watch is yours.
Right?”
</p>
<p>
“Right,” said Reivers, keeping the watch and dividing
his roll with Toppy. “Dollar jack-pots, table-stakes.
Deal ’em up.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy lost ten dollars on the first hand almost before
he realised that the game had begun. He called
Reivers’ bet and had three fours and nothing else
in his hand. Reivers had two of the wild deuces
and a king. Toppy shook his head, like a pugilist
clearing his wits after a knockdown. Why had he
called? He knew his three fours weren’t good. His
card-sense had told him so. He had called against
his judgment. Why?
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113'></a>113</span>
</p>
<p>
Suddenly, like something tangible pressing against
his brain, he felt Reivers’ will thrusting itself against
his. Then he knew. That was why he had called.
Reivers had willed that he do so, and, catching him off
his guard, had had his way.
</p>
<p>
“Good work!” said Toppy, passing the cards. He
was himself again; his wits had cleared. He allowed
Reivers to take the next three pots in succession without
a bet. Reivers looked at him puzzled. The fourth
pot Toppy opened for five dollars and Reivers
promptly raised him ten. After the draw Toppy bet
a dollar, and Reivers again raised it to ten more.
Toppy called. Reivers, caught bluffing without a single
pair, stared as Toppy laid down his hand and
revealed nothing but his original openers, a pair of
aces. A frown passed over Reivers’ face. He peered
sharply at Toppy from beneath his overhanging brows,
but Toppy was raking in the pot as casually as if such
play with a pair of aces was part of his system.
</p>
<p>
“Good work!” said Reivers, and gathered the cards
to him with a jerk.
</p>
<p>
Half a dozen hands later, on Reivers’ deal, Toppy
picked up his hand and saw four kings.
</p>
<p>
“I’ll pass,” said he.
</p>
<p>
“I open for five,” said Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“Take the money,” laughed Toppy carelessly throwing
his hand into the discard. For an instant Reivers’
eyes searched him with a look of surprise. The glance
was sufficient to tell Toppy that what he had suspected
was true.
</p>
<p>
“So he’s dealing ’em as he wants ’em!” thought
Toppy. “All right. He’s brought it on himself.”
</p>
<p>
An hour later Reivers arose from the table with
a smile. The money had changed hands. Toppy was
snapping his watch back on its chain, and stuffing the
bills into his pocket.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114'></a>114</span>
</p>
<p>
“Your money now, Treplin,” laughed Reivers.
“Until somebody takes it away from you.”
</p>
<p>
But there was a new note in his laughter. He had
been beaten, and his irritation showed in his laughter
and in the manner in which, after he had taken another
big drink of whiskey, he paused in the doorway
as he made to leave.
</p>
<p>
“Great luck, Treplin; great luck with cards you
have!” he said laughingly. “Too bad your luck ends
there, isn’t it? What’s that paraphrase of the old
saw? ‘Lucky with cards, unlucky with women.’
Good night, Treplin.”
</p>
<p>
He went out, laughing as a man laughs when he
has a joke on the other fellow.
</p>
<p>
“What did he mean by that?” asked Campbell,
puzzled.
</p>
<p>
“I don’t know,” said Toppy. But he knew now that
Tilly had told Reivers of his talk with Miss Pearson
the first evening in camp, and that Reivers had saved
it up against him.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115'></a>115</span><a name='chXV' id='chXV'></a>CHAPTER XV—THE WAY OF THE SNOW-BURNER</h2>
<p>
In the morning, before the time for beginning the
day’s work, Toppy went to the stockade; and with
one of his English-speaking Slavs acting an interpreter
hunted up the Torta brothers and returned to
them the stolen money which he had won from Reivers.
He did not consider it necessary to go into
the full details of how the money came to be in
his possession, or attempt to explain the prejudice
of his kind against keeping stolen goods.
</p>
<p>
“Just tell them that Sheedy gave up the money, and
that it’s theirs again; and they’d better hide it in
their shoes so they won’t lose it,” he directed the
interpreter.
</p>
<p>
Whereat the latter, a garrulous young man who
had been telling the camp all about the wonderful
new “bahss” in the quarry—a “bahss” who saved
men’s lives—whenever he could get any one to listen,
broke forth into a wonderful tale of how the money
came to be returned, and of the wonderful “bahss”
that stood before them, whom they should all take
off their caps to and worship.
</p>
<p>
For this was no ordinary man, this “bahss.” No,
he was far above all other men. It was an honour
to work under him. For instance, as to this money:
the “bahss” had heard how the red-haired one—Sheedy—had
stolen, how he oppressed many poor men and
broke the noses of those who dared to stand up against
him.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116'></a>116</span>
</p>
<p>
The “bahss” had the interests of poor men at heart.
What had he done? He had struck the red-haired one
such a mighty blow in the stomach that the red-haired
one had flown high in the air, and alighting on the
ground had been moved by the fear of death and disgorged
the stolen money that his conscience might be
easy.
</p>
<p>
The story of how Toppy had propped up the roof
of the stone quarry, and saved the limbs and possibly
lives of his workmen; how he had driven the
shotgun guard away, and how he had smitten Sheedy
and laid him low before all men, had circulated
through the camp by this time. Everybody knew that
the new straw-boss, though fully as big and strong
as the Snow-Burner himself, was a man who considered
the men under him as something more than
cattle and treated them accordingly. True, he drove
men hard; but they went willingly for him, whereas
under the Snow-Burner they hurried merely because
of the chill fear that his eyes drove into their hearts.
In short, Toppy was just such a boss as all men wished
to work under—strong but just, firm but not inhuman.
</p>
<p>
Even Sheedy was loyal to him.
</p>
<p>
“He laid me out, all right,” he grumbled to a group
of “white men,” “but, give him credit for it, he give
me a chanct to get up me guard. There won’t be
any breaking yer bones when yuh ain’t lookin’ from
him. And he wouldn’t graft on yuh, either. He’s
right. That other ——, he—he ain’t human.”
</p>
<p>
The fact that he had been humane enough, and
daring enough, to prop up the roof of the quarry
had no effect on the “white men” toward developing
a respect for Toppy. They despised the Slavs too
thoroughly to be conscious of any brotherhood with
them. But that he could put Bill Sheedy away with
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117'></a>117</span>
a single punch, that he could warn Bill to put up
his guard and then knock him out with one blow, that
was something to wring respect even from that hard-bitten
crew.
</p>
<p>
The Snow-Burner never had done anything like
that. He had laid low the biggest men in camp,
but it was usually with a kick or with a blow that
was entirely unexpected. The Snow-Burner never
warned any body. He smiled, threw them off their
guard, then smote like a flash of lightning. He had
whipped half a dozen men at once in a stand-up fight,
but they had been poor Bohunks, fools who couldn’t
fight unless they had knives in their hands. But to
tell a seasoned bruiser like Bill, the best man with
his fists in camp, to put up his hands and then beat
him to the knockout punch—that was something that
not even the Snow-Burner had attempted to do.
</p>
<p>
That was taking a chance, that was; and the Snow-Burner
never took chances. That was why these
cruel-fierce “white men,” though they admired and
applauded him for his dominance and his ruthlessness
toward the Slavs, hated Reivers with a hatred that
sprang from the Northern man’s instinctive liking for
fair play in a fight. They began naturally to compare
him with Toppy, who had played fair and yet
won. And, naturally, because such were the standards
they lived and died by, they began to predict
that some day the Snow-Burner and Toppy must fight,
and they hoped that they might be there to see the
battle.
</p>
<p>
So Toppy, this morning, as he came to the stockade,
was in the position of something of a hero to
most of the rough men who slouched past him in the
gloom to their day’s work. He had felt it before, this
hero-worship, and he recognised it again. Though the
surroundings were vastly different and the men about
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118'></a>118</span>
him of a strange breeding, the sense of it was much
the same as that he had known at school when, a
sweater thrown across his huge shoulders, he had
ploughed his way through the groups of worshipping
undergrads on to the gridiron. It was much the
same here. Men looked up to him. They nudged
one another as they passed, lowered their voices when
he was near, studied him appraisingly. Toppy had
felt it before, too often to be mistaken; and the youth
in his veins responded warmly. The respect of these
men was a harder thing to win than the other. He
thought of how he had arrived in camp, shaky from
Harvey Duncombe’s champagne, with no purpose in
life, no standing among men who were doing men’s
work. Grimly also he thought of how Miss Pearson,
that first evening, had called him a “nice boy.” Would
she call him that now, he wondered, if she could see
how these rough, tired men looked up to him? Would
Reivers treat him as a thing to experiment with after
this?
</p>
<p>
Thus it was a considerably elated Toppy, though
not a big-headed one, who led his men out of the
stockade, to the quarry—to the blow that Reivers
had waiting for him there. His first hint that something
was wrong was when the foremost men, whistling
and tool-laden, made for the pit in the first grey
light of day and paused with exclamations and curses
at its very mouth. Others crowded around them.
They looked within. Then, with fallen jaws, they
turned and looked to the “bahss” for an explanation,
for help.
</p>
<p>
Toppy shouldered his way through the press and
stepped inside. Then he saw what had halted his
men and made their faces turn white. To the last stick
the shoring-timbers had been removed from the pit,
and the roof, threatening and sharp-edged, hung ready
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119'></a>119</span>
to drop on the workmen below, as it had before Toppy
had wrought a change.
</p>
<p>
The daylight came creeping up the river and a wind
began to blow. So still was it there before the pit-mouth
that Toppy was conscious of these things as
he stepped outside. The men were standing about
with their wheelbarrows and tools in their hands.
They looked to him. His was the mind and will to
determine what they should do. They depended upon
him; they trusted him; they would obey his word
confidently.
</p>
<p>
Toppy felt a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
He wanted to take off his cap, to bare his
head to the chill morning wind, to draw his hand
across his eyes, to do something to ease himself and
gather his wits. He did none of these things. The
instinct of leadership arose strong within him. He
could not show these men who looked up to him as
their unquestioned leader that he had been dealt a blow
that had taken the mastery from him.
</p>
<p>
For Toppy, in that agonised second when he glanced
up at the unsupported roof and knew what those loose
rocks meant to any men working beneath, realised
that he could not drive his men in there to certain
injury for many, possibly death for some. It wasn’t
in him. He wasn’t bred that way. The unfeeling
brute had been removed from his big body and spirit
by generations of men and women who had played
fair with inferiors, and by a lifetime of training and
education.
</p>
<p>
He understood plainly the significance of the thing.
Reivers had done it; no one else would have dared.
He had lifted Toppy up to a tiny elevation above the
other men in camp; now he was knocking him down.
It was another way for Reivers to show his mastery.
The men who had begun to look up to Toppy would
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120'></a>120</span>
now see how easily the Snow-Burner could show himself
his superior. Miss Pearson would hear of it.
He would appear in the light of a “nice boy” whom
the Snow-Burner had played with.
</p>
<p>
These thoughts ran through Toppy’s mind as he
stood outside the pit, with his white-faced men looking
up to him, and groped for a way out of his dilemma.
Within he was sickened with the sense of a
catastrophe; outside he remained calm and confident
to the eye. He stepped farther out, to where he could
see the end of the dam where he had secured the props
for the roof. It was as he had expected; the big pile
of timbers that had lain there was gone to the last
stick. He turned slowly back, and then in the grey
light of coming day he looked into the playfully smiling
face of Reivers, who had emerged, it seemed,
from nowhere.
</p>
<p>
“Looking for your humanitarian props, Treplin?”
laughed the Snow-Burner. “Oh, they’re gone; they’re
valuable; they served a purpose which nothing else
would fill—quite so conveniently. I used them for a
corduroy road in the swamp. Between men and timbers,
Treplin, always save your timbers.” His manner
changed like a flash to one hurried and business-like.
“What’re you waiting for?” he snarled. “Why
don’t you get ’em in there? Mean to say you’re wasting
company money because one of these cattle might
get a broken back?”
</p>
<p>
They looked each other full in the eyes, but Toppy
knew that for the time being Reivers had the whiphand.
</p>
<p>
“I mean to say just that,” he said evenly. “I’m not
sending any men in there until I get that roof propped
up again.”
</p>
<p>
“Bah!” Reivers’ disgust was genuine. “I thought
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121'></a>121</span>
you were a man; I find you’re a suit of clothes full
of emotions, like all the rest!”
</p>
<p>
He seemed to drive away his anger by sheer will-force
and bring the cold, sneering smile back to his
lips.
</p>
<p>
“So we’re up against a situation that’s too strong
for us, are we, Mr. Humanitarian?” he laughed. “In
spite of our developed intelligence, we lay down cold
in the face of a little proposition like this! Good-bye
to our dreams of learning how to handle men!
It isn’t in us to do it; we’re a weak sister.”
</p>
<p>
His bantering mood fled with the swiftness of all
his changes. Toppy and his aspirations as a leader—that
was another incident of the day’s work that
was over and done with.
</p>
<p>
“Go back to the shop, to Scotty, Treplin,” he said
quietly. “You’re not responsible for your limitations.
Scotty says you make a pretty fair helper.
Be consoled. He’s waiting for you.”
</p>
<p>
He turned instantly toward the men. Toppy, with
the hot blood rushing in his throat, but helpless as
he was, swung away from the pit without a word.
As he did so he saw that the hawk-faced shotgun
guard had appeared and taken his position on the little
rise where his gun bore slantwise on the huddled
men before the pit, and he hurried to get out of
sight of the scene. His tongue was dry and his temples
throbbing with rage, but the cool section of his
mind urged him away from the pit in silence.
</p>
<p>
Between clenched teeth he cursed his injured ankle.
It was the ankle that made him accept without return
the shame which Reivers had put upon him. The
canny sense within him continued to whisper that
until the ankle was sound he must bide his time.
Reivers and he were too nearly a pair to give him
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122'></a>122</span>
the slightest chance for success if he essayed defiance
at even the slightest disadvantage.
</p>
<p>
Choking back as well as he could the anger that
welled up within him, he made his way swiftly to
the blacksmith-shop. Campbell, bending over the
anvil, greeted Toppy cheerily as he heard the heavy
tread behind him.
</p>
<p>
“The Snow-Burner promised he’d send you here,
and——Losh, mon!” he gasped as he turned around
and saw Toppy’s face. “What’s come o’er ye? You
look like you’re ripe for murder.”
</p>
<p>
“There’ll probably be murder done in this camp before
the day’s over, but I won’t do it,” replied Toppy.
</p>
<p>
As he threw off his mackinaw preparatory to starting
work he snapped out the story of the situation at
the quarry. Campbell, leaning on his hammer, grew
grim of lips and eyes as he listened.
</p>
<p>
“Aye; I thought at the time it were better for you
had ye lost at poker last night,” he said slowly. “He’s
taking revenge. But they will put out his light for
him. Human flesh and blood won’t stand it. The
Snow-Burner goes too far. He’ll——Hark! Good
Heavens! Hear that!”
</p>
<p>
For a moment they stood near the open doorway
of the shop staring at one another in horrified, mute
questioning. The crisp stillness of the morning rang
and echoed with the sharp roar of a shotgun. The
sound came from the direction of the quarry. Across
the street they heard the door of the office-building
open sharply. The girl, without hat or coat, her light
hair flying about her head, came running like a deer
to the door of the shop.
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Campbell, Mr. Campbell!” she called tremblingly,
peering inside. Then she saw Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” she gasped. She started back a little. There
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123'></a>123</span>
were surprise and relief in her exclamation, in her
eyes, in her movement.
</p>
<p>
“I was afraid—I thought maybe——” She drew
away from the door in confusion. “I only wanted
to know—to know—what that noise was.”
</p>
<p>
But Toppy had stepped outside the shop and followed
closely after her.
</p>
<p>
“What did you think it was, Miss Pearson?” he
asked. “What were you afraid of when you heard
that shot? That something had happened between
Reivers and myself?”
</p>
<p>
“I—I meant to warn you,” she said, greatly flustered.
“Tilly told me all about—a lot of things last
night. She told me that she had told Reivers all she
heard you say to me that first night here, and that
he—Mr. Reivers, she said, was your enemy, and that
he would—would surely hurt you.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes?”
</p>
<p>
“I didn’t want to see you get hurt, because I felt
it was because of me that you came here. I—I don’t
want any one hurt because of me.”
</p>
<p>
“That’s all?” he asked.
</p>
<p>
She looked surprised.
</p>
<p>
“Why, yes.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy nodded curtly.
</p>
<p>
“Then Tilly told you that Mr. Reivers had a habit
of hurting people?”
</p>
<p>
At this the red in her cheeks rose to a flush. Her
blue eyes looked at him waveringly, then dropped to
the ground.
</p>
<p>
“It isn’t true! It can’t be true!” she stammered.
</p>
<p>
“Did Tilly tell you—about herself?” he persisted
mercilessly.
</p>
<p>
The next instant he wished the words unsaid, for
she shrank as if he had struck her. She looked very
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124'></a>124</span>
small just then. Her proud, self-reliant bearing was
gone. She was very much all alone.
</p>
<p>
“Yes.” The word was scarcely more than a whisper
and she did not look up. “But it—it can not be
so; I know it can not.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy was no student of feminine psychology, but
he saw plainly that just then she was a woman who
did not wish to believe, therefore would not believe,
anything ill of the man who had fascinated her. He
saw that Reivers had fascinated her; that in spite
of herself she was drawn toward him, dominated by
him. Her mind told her that what she had heard of
the man was true, but her heart refused to let her
believe. Toppy saw that she was very unhappy and
troubled, and unselfishly he forgot himself and his
enmity toward Reivers in a desire to help her.
</p>
<p>
“Miss Pearson!—Miss Pearson!” he cried eagerly.
“Is there anything I can do for you—anything in
the world?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” she said slowly. “Tell me that it isn’t so—what
Mr. Campbell and Tilly have said about Mr.
Reivers.”
</p>
<p>
“I——” He was about to say that he could do
nothing of the sort, but something made him halt.
“Has Reivers broken his word to you—about leaving
you alone?”
</p>
<p>
“No, no! He’s—he’s left me alone. He’s scarcely
spoken to me half a dozen times.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy looked down at her for several seconds.
</p>
<p>
“But you’ve begun to care for Reivers, haven’t
you?” he said.
</p>
<p>
The girl looked up at him uncertainly.
</p>
<p>
“I don’t know. Oh, I don’t know! I don’t seem
to have any will of my own toward him. I seem
to see him as a different man. I know I shouldn’t;
but I can’t help it, I can help it! He—he looks at me,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125'></a>125</span>
and I feel as if—as if—” her voice died down to a
horrified whisper—“I were nothing, and his wishes
were the only things in the world.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy bowed his head.
</p>
<p>
“Then I guess there’s nothing for me to say.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t!” she cried, stretching out her hand to restrain
him as he turned away. “Don’t leave me—like
that. You’re so rude to me lately. I feel so
terribly alone when you—aren’t nice to me.”
</p>
<p>
“What difference can I make?” he said bitterly.
“I’m not Reivers.”
</p>
<p>
She looked up at him again.
</p>
<p>
“Oh!” she cried suddenly. “Won’t you help me,
Mr. Treplin? Can’t you help me?”
</p>
<p>
“Help you?” gasped Toppy. “May I? Can I?
What can I do?”
</p>
<p>
He leaned toward her eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“What can I do” he repeated.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I don’t know!” she murmured in anguish.
“But if you—if you leave me—Oh! What was that?”
</p>
<p>
From the direction of the quarry had come a great
scream of terror, as if many men suddenly had cried
out in fear of their lives. Then, almost ere the echoes
had died away, came another sound, of more sinister
significance to Toppy. There was a sudden low rumble;
the earth under their feet trembled; then the
noise of a crash and a thud. Then it was still again.
</p>
<p>
A chill seemed to pass over the entire camp. Men
began running toward the quarry with swift steps,
their faces showing that they dreaded what they expected
to see. Toppy and Campbell looked silently
at one another.
</p>
<p>
“Go into the office,” he said quietly to the girl.
“Come on, Scotty; that roof’s caved in.” And without
another word they ran swiftly toward the quarry.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126'></a>126</span>
As they reached the river-bank they heard Reivers’
voice quietly issuing orders.
</p>
<p>
“You guards pick those two fellows up and carry
them to their bunks. You scum that’s left, pick up
your tools and dig into that fallen rock. Hustle now!
Get right back to work!”
</p>
<p>
The first thing that Toppy saw as he turned the
shoulder of the ledge was that two of the older
Slavs were lying groaning on the ground to one side
of where the pit mouth had been. Then he saw what
was left of the pit. The entire side of the ledge had
caved down, and where the pit had been was only a
jumbled pile of jagged rock. Reivers stood in his
old position before the pile. The hawk-nosed shotgun
guard stood up on the little rise, his weapon
ready. The remaining workmen were huddled together
before the pile of fallen stone. The terror in their
faces was unspeakable. They were like lost, driven
cattle facing the butcher’s hammer.
</p>
<p>
“Grab those tools there! Get at it! The rock’s
right in front of you now! Get busy!”
</p>
<p>
Reivers’ voice in no way admitted that anything
startling had occurred. He glared at the cowering men,
and in terror they began hastily to resume their interrupted
work, filling their wheelbarrows from the pile
of stone before them. Reivers turned toward Toppy
who had bent over the injured men. “Hello, Dr.
Treplin,” he laughed lightly. “A couple of jobs there
for you to experiment on. Get ’em out of here—to
their bunks; they’re in the way. Patch ’em up if you
can. If you can’t they’re not much loss, anyhow.
They’re rather older than I like ’em.”
</p>
<p>
The last words came carelessly over his shoulder as
he turned back toward the men who were toiling at
the rock. A string of curses rolled coldly from his lips.
They leaped to obey him. He smiled contemptuously.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127'></a>127</span>
</p>
<p>
Toppy was relieved to see that the two men on the
ground were apparently not fatally hurt. With the aid
of Campbell and two guards who had run up he
hurried to have the men placed in their bunks in the
stockade. One of the guards produced a surgeon’s
kit. Toppy rolled up his sleeves. It wasn’t as bad as
he had feared it would be, apparently; only two injured,
where he had looked for some surely to be killed.
One of the men was growing faint from loss of blood
from a wound in his right leg. Toppy, turning his
attention to him first, swiftly slit open the trousers-leg
and bared the injured limb.
</p>
<p>
“What—what the devil?” he cried aghast. The
calf of the man’s leg was half torn away, and from
knee to ankle the flesh was sprinkled with buckshot-holes.
</p>
<p>
“They shot you?” he asked as he fashioned a tourniquet.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, bahass. Snow-Burner say, ‘Get t’ ‘ell in
there.’ Rocks fall; we no go in. Snow-Burner hold
up hand. Man with gun shoot. I fall. Other men
go in. Pretty soon rocks fall. Other men come out.
He shoot me. I no do anything; he shoot me.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy choked back the curse that rose to his lips,
dressed the man’s wound to the best of his slight ability,
and turned to the other, who had been caught in
the cave-in of the quarry-roof. His right leg and arm
were broken, and the side was crushed in a way that
suggested broken ribs. Toppy filled a hypodermic
syringe and went to work to make the two as comfortable
as he knew how. That was all he could pretend
to do. Yet when he left the stockade it was with a
feeling of relief that he looked back over the morning.
The worst had happened; the danger to the men
was over; and, so far as Toppy knew, the consequences
were represented in the two men whom he had
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128'></a>128</span>
treated and who, so far as he could see, were sure to
live. It hadn’t turned out as badly as he was afraid
it would.
</p>
<p>
As he passed the carpenter-shop he saw the “wood-butcher”
sawing two boards to make a cover for a
long, narrow box. Toppy looked at him idly, trying
to think of what such a box could be used for around
the camp. It was too narrow for its length to be of
ordinary use as a box.
</p>
<p>
“What are you making there?” asked Toppy carelessly.
</p>
<p>
The “wood-butcher” looked up from his sawing.
</p>
<p>
“Didn’t you ever see a logging-camp coffin?” he
asked. “We always keep a few ready. This one is
for that Bohunk that’s down there under the rocks.”
</p>
<p>
“Under the rocks!” cried Toppy. “You don’t mean
to say there was anybody under that cave-in!”
</p>
<p>
“Is yet,” was the laconic reply. “One of ’em was
caught ’way inside. Whole roof on top of him. Won’t
find him till the pit’s emptied.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy struggled a moment to speak quietly.
</p>
<p>
“Which one was it, do you know?” he asked.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, it was that old brown-complected fellow,”
said the carpenter. “That old Bohunk guy with the
big rings in his ears.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers came to the shop at his customary time in
the evening, nothing in his manner containing a hint
that anything unusual had happened during the day.
He found a solemn and silent pair, for Campbell had
sought relief from the day’s tragedy in his customary
manner and sat in the light of the student-lamp steadily
reading his Bible, while Toppy, in a dark corner, sat
with his great shoulders hunched forward, his folded
hands before him, and stared at the floor. Reivers
paused in the doorway, his cold smile broadening as
he surveyed the pair.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129'></a>129</span>
</p>
<p>
“Poker to-night—doctor?” he said softly, and the
slur in his tones was like blasphemy toward all that
men hold sacred.
</p>
<p>
“No, by ——, no!” growled Toppy.
</p>
<p>
Laughing lightly, Reivers closed the door and came
across the room.
</p>
<p>
“What? Aren’t you going to give me my revenge—doctor?”
The manner in which he accented “doctor”
was worse than an open insult.
</p>
<p>
Old Campbell peered over his thick glasses.
</p>
<p>
“The sword of judgment is sharpening for you,
Mr. Reivers,” he said solemnly. “You ha’ this day
sealed your own doom. A life for a life; and you
have taken a life to-day unnecessarily. It is the holy
law; you will pay. It is so written.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, yes, yes!” laughed Reivers in great amusement.
“But you’ve said that so many times before
in just that same way, Scotty. Can’t you evolve a
new idea? Or at least sing it in a different key?”
</p>
<p>
The old Scot looked at him without wavering or
changing his expression.
</p>
<p>
“You are the smartest man I have ever known, Mr.
Reivers, and the domdest fool,” he said in the same
tone. “Do you fancy yourself more than mortal?
Losh, man! A knife in the bowels, or a bullet or ax
in the head will as readily make you a bit of poor clay
as you’ve this day made yon poor old Bohunk.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers listened courteously to the end, waiting
even a moment to be sure that Campbell had had his
say.
</p>
<p>
“And you—doctor?” he said turning to Toppy.
“What melancholy thoughts have you to utter?”
</p>
<p>
Toppy said nothing.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, come, Treplin!” said Reivers lightly. “Surely
you’re not letting a little thing like that quarry-incident
give you a bad evening? Where’s your philosophy,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130'></a>130</span>
man? Consider the thing intelligently instead of
sentimentally. There was so much rock to go into that
dam in a day—and incidentally to-day finished the
job. That was a useful, necessary work.
</p>
<p>
“For that old man to continue in this life was not
useful or necessary. He was far down in the order
of human development; centuries below you and me.
Do you think it made the slightest difference whether
he returned to the old cosmic mud whence he came,
and from which he had not come far, in to-day’s
little cave-in, or in a dirty bed, say ten years from
now?
</p>
<p>
“He accomplished a tiny speck of useful work,
through my direction. He has gone, as the wood will
soon be gone that is heating that stove. There was no
spirit there; only a body that has ceased to stand upright.
And you grow moody over it! Well, well!
I’m more and more disappointed in you—doctor.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy said nothing. He was biding his time.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131'></a>131</span><a name='chXVI' id='chXVI'></a>CHAPTER XVI—THE SCREWS TIGHTEN</h2>
<p>
That night came the heavy snow for which the
loggers had been waiting, and a rush of activity
followed in Hell Camp. The logs which had lain in
the woods for want of sleighing now were accessible.
Following the snow came hard, freezing nights, and
the main ice-roads which Reivers had driven into the
timber for miles became solid beds of ice over which
a team could haul log loads to the extent of a carload
weight. It was ideal logging-weather, and the big
camp began to hum.
</p>
<p>
The mastery of Reivers once more showed itself in
the way in which he drove his great crew at top speed
and beyond. The feeling against him on the part of
the men had risen to silent, tight-lipped heat as the
news went around of how the old Magyar with the
ear-rings had met his death. Each man in camp knew
that he might have been in the old man’s shoes; each
knew that Reivers’ anger might fall on him next. In
the total of a hundred and fifty men in camp there was
probably not one who did not curse Reivers and rage
against his rule, and there were few who, if the opportunity
had offered, would not cheerfully have taken
his life.
</p>
<p>
The feeling against him had unified itself. Before,
the men had been split into various groups on the
subject of the boss. They remained divided now, but
on one thing they were unanimous: the Snow-Burner
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132'></a>132</span>
had gone too far to bear. Men sat on the bunk-edges
in the stockade and cursed as they thought of the
boss and the shotgun guards that rendered them helpless.
Reivers permitted no firearms of any kind in
camp save those that were carried by his gunmen.
</p>
<p>
The gunmen when not on guard kept to their quarters,
in the building just outside of the stockade gate,
where Reivers also lived. When armed, they were
ordered to permit no man to approach nearer than
ten feet to them—this to prevent a possible rushing
and wresting the weapons from their hands. So
long as the guards were there in possession of their
shotguns the men knew that they were helpless. Driven
to desperation now, they prayed for the chance to get
those guns into their own hands. After that they
promised themselves that the score of brutality would
be made even.
</p>
<p>
Then came the time for rush work, and under
the lash of Reivers’ will the outraged men, carried
off their feet, were driven with a ferocity that told
how completely Reivers ignored the spirit of revolt
which he knew was fomenting against him. He quit
playing with them, as he expressed it; he began to
drive.
</p>
<p>
Long before daylight began to grey the sky above
the eastern timber-line the men were out at their posts,
waiting for sufficient light to begin the day’s work.
Once the work began it went ahead with a fury that
seemed to carry all men with it. Reivers was everywhere
that a man dared to pause for a moment to
shirk his job. He used his hands now, for a broken
leg or rib laid a man up, and he had use for the present
for every man he could muster. He scarcely
looked at the men he hit, breaking their faces with
a sudden, treacherous blow, cursing them coldly until,
despite their injuries, they leaped at their work, then
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133'></a>133</span>
whirling away to fall upon some other luckless one
elsewhere.
</p>
<p>
He was a fury, a merciless elemental force, with
no consideration for the strength and endurance of
men; sparing no one any more than he spared himself,
and rushing his whole force along at top speed
by sheer power of the spirit of leadership that possessed
him. Men ceased for the time being to growl
and pray that the Snow-Burner would get his just
due. They had no thought nor energies for anything
but keeping pace in the whirlwind rush of work
through which the Snow-Burner drove them.
</p>
<p>
In the blacksmith-shop the same condition prevailed
as elsewhere in the camp. The extra hurry
of the work in the timber meant extra accidents,
which meant breakages. There were chain-links to
be forged and fitted to broken chains; sharp two-inch
calks to be driven into the horses’ shoes, peaveys and
cant-hooks to be repaired. Besides the regular blacksmith-work
of the camp, which was quite sufficient to
keep Campbell and one helper comfortably employed,
there was now added each day a bulk of extra work
due to the strain under which men, horses and tools
were working.
</p>
<p>
Old Campbell, grimly resolute that Reivers should
have no excuse to fall foul of him, drove himself
and his helper at a speed second only to that with
which he had so roughly greeted Toppy to the rough
world of bodily labour. But the Toppy who now hammered
and toiled at Campbell’s side was a different
man from the champagne-softened youth who had
come into camp a little while before. The puffiness
was gone from under his eyes, the looseness from his
lips and the fat from around the middle. Through
his veins the blood now surged with no taint of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134'></a>134</span>
cumbering poison; his tissues tingled with life and healthiness.
</p>
<p>
Day by day he did his share and more in the shop-work,
and instead of the old feeling of fatigue, which
before had followed any prolonged exertion, felt his
muscles spring with hardness and new life at each
demand made upon them. The old joy of a strong
man in his strength came back in him. Stripped to
the waist he stretched himself and filled his great lungs
with deep drafts, his arms like beams stretched out
and above his head. Under the clean skin, rosy and
moist from exertion, the muscles bunched and relaxed,
tautened instantly to iron hardness or rippled softly
as they were called upon, in the perfect co-ordination
which results in great athletes. Old Campbell,
similarly stripped, stared at the marvel of a giant’s
perfect torso, beside which his own work-wrought
body was ugly in its unequal development.
</p>
<p>
“Losh, man! But you’re full grown!” he growled
in admiration. “I’ve seen but one man who could
strip anywhere near to you.”
</p>
<p>
“Who was he?” asked Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“The Snow-Burner.”
</p>
<p>
Day by day Toppy hammered and laboured at
Campbell’s side, holding his end up against the grim
old smith, and day by day he felt his muscles growing
toward that iron condition in which there is no tiring.
Presently, to Scotty’s vexation, he was doing more
than his share, ending the day with a laugh and waking
up in the morning as fresh as if he had not taxed
his energies the day before.
</p>
<p>
At first he continued to favour his injured ankle,
lest a sudden strain delay its recovery. Each night
he massaged and bandaged it scientifically. Later on,
when he felt that it was stronger, he began to exercise
it, slowly raising and lowering himself on the balls
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135'></a>135</span>
of his feet. In a couple of weeks the old spring and
strength had largely come back, and Campbell snorted
in disgust at the antics indulged in by his helper when
the day’s work was done.
</p>
<p>
“Skipping a rope one, twa hundred times! What
brand o’ silliness do ye call that?” he grumbled. “Ha’
ye nothing useful to do wi’ them long legs of yourn,
that you have to make a jumping-jack out o’ yourself?”
</p>
<p>
At which Toppy smiled grimly and continued his
training.
</p>
<p>
The rush of work had its compensations. Reivers,
driving his force like mad, had no time to waste either
in bantering Toppy and Campbell in the evening or in
paying attention to Miss Pearson. All the power that
was in the Snow-Burner was concentrated upon the
problem of getting out every stick of timber possible
while the favourable weather continued. He spent
most of his time in the timber up-river where the
heaviest logging was going on.
</p>
<p>
By day he raged in the thick of the men with only
one thought or aim—to get out the logs as fast as
human and horse-power could do it. At night the
road-crews, repairing with pick and shovel and sprinkling-tanks
the wear and tear of the day’s hauling,
worked under Reivers’ compelling eyes. All night
long the sprinkling-tanks went up and down the ice-coated
roads, and the drivers, freezing on the seats,
were afraid to stop or nod, not knowing when the
Snow-Burner might step out from the shadows and
catch them in the act.
</p>
<p>
The number of accidents, always too plentiful in
logging-camps, multiplied, but Reivers permitted nothing
short of broken bones to send a man to his bunk.
Toppy, besides his work in the shop, cared as best he
could for the disabled. Reivers had no time to waste
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136'></a>136</span>
that way now. The two men hurt at the quarry were
recovering rapidly. One day a tall, lean “white man,”
a Yankee top-loader, came hobbling out of the woods
with his foot dangling at the ankle, and mumbling
curses through a smashed jaw.
</p>
<p>
“How did you get this?” asked Toppy, as he dressed
the cruelly crushed foot.
</p>
<p>
“Pinched between two logs,” mumbled the man.
“They let one come down the skids when I wasn’t
lookin’. No fault of mine; I didn’t have time to jump.
And then, when I’m standin’ there leanin’ against a
tree, that devil Reivers comes up and hands me this.”
He pointed to his cracked jaw. “He’ll teach me to get
myself hurt, he says. ——! That ain’t no man; he’s
a devil! By ——! I know what I’d ruther have
than the wages comin’ to me, and that’s a rifle with one
good cattridge in it and that —— standin’ afore me.”
</p>
<p>
Yet that evening, when Reivers came to the top-loader’s
bunk and demanded how long he expected to
lie there eating his head off, the man cringed and whimpered
that he would be back on the job as soon as his
foot was fit to stand on. In Reivers’ presence the
men were afraid to call their thoughts their own, but
behind his back the mumblings and grumblings of
hatred were growing to a volume which inevitably soon
must break out in the hell-yelp of a mob ripe for
murder.
</p>
<p>
Reivers knew it better than any man in camp. To
indicate how it affected him he turned the screws on
tighter than ever. Once, at least, “they had him dead,”
as they admitted, when he stood ankle-deep in the
river with the saw-logs thundering over the rollways
to the brink of the bluff above his head. One cunning
twist of a peavey would have sent a dozen logs tumbling
over the brink on his head. Reivers sensed his
danger and looked up. He smiled. Then he turned
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137'></a>137</span>
and deliberately stood with his back to the men. And
no man dared to give his peavey that one cunning twist.
</p>
<p>
During these strenuous days Toppy tried in vain to
muster up sufficient courage to reopen the conversation
with Miss Pearson which had been so suddenly interrupted
by the cave-in at the quarry. He saw her
every day. She had changed greatly from the high-spirited,
self-reliant girl who had stood on the steps
of the hotel back at Rail Head and told the whole
world by her manner that she was accustomed and able
to take care of herself. A stronger will than hers
had entered her scheme of life.
</p>
<p>
Although she knew now that Reivers had tricked
her into coming to Hell Camp because he was confident
of winning her, the knowledge made no difference.
The will of the man dominated and fascinated
her. She feared him, yet she was drawn toward him
despite her struggles. She fought hard against the inclination
to yield to the stronger will, to let her feelings
make her his willing slave, as she knew he wished.
The pain of the struggle shone in her eyes. Her
cheeks lost their bloom; there were lines about the
little mouth.
</p>
<p>
Toppy saw it, but an unwonted shyness had come
upon him. He could no longer speak to her with
the frank friendliness of their previous conversations.
Something which he could not place had, he felt, set
them apart.
</p>
<p>
Perhaps it was the fact that he saw the fascinations
which Reivers had for her. Reivers was his enemy.
They had been enemies from the moment when they
first had measured each other eye to eye. He felt
that he had one aim in life now, and one only; that was
to prove to himself and to Reivers that Reivers was
not his master.
</p>
<p>
Beyond that he had no plans. He knew that this
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138'></a>138</span>
meant a grapple which must end with one of them
broken and helpless. The unfortunate one might be
himself. In that case there would be no need to
think of the future, and it would be just as well not
to have spoken any more with the girl.
</p>
<p>
It might be Reivers. Then he would be guilty in her
eyes of having injured the man for whom the girl now
obviously had feelings which Toppy could construe in
but one way. She cared for Reivers, in spite of herself;
and she would not be inclined to friendliness
toward the man who had conquered him, if conquered
he should be.
</p>
<p>
The more Toppy thought it over the less enviable,
to his notion, became his standing with the girl. He
ended by resolutely determining to put her out of
his thoughts. After all, he was no girl’s man. He
had no business trying to be. For the present he saw
one task laid out before him as inevitable as a revealed
fate—to prove himself with Reivers, to get to grips
with the cold-blooded master-man who had made him
feel, with every man in camp, that the place veritably
was a Hell Camp.
</p>
<p>
Reivers’ brutal dominance lay like a tangible weight
upon Toppy’s spirit. He longed for only one thing—for
the opportunity to stand up eye to eye with him
and learn who was the better man. Beyond that
he did not see, nor care. He had given up any thought
that the girl might ever care for him.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139'></a>139</span><a name='chXVII' id='chXVII'></a>CHAPTER XVII—TILLY’S WARNING</h2>
<p>
November passed, and the first half of December.
The shortest days of the year were approaching,
and still the cold, crisp weather, ideal for
logging, continued without a break. Hell Camp continued
to hum with its abnormal activity. A thaw
which would spoil the sleighing and ice-roads for the
time being was long over-due. With the coming of
the thaw would come a temporary lull in the work of
the camp.
</p>
<p>
The men prayed for the thaw; Reivers asked that
the cold weather continue. It had continued now
longer than he had expected or hoped, and the output
of the camp already was double that of what would
have been successful logging at that season. But
Reivers was not satisfied. The record that he was
setting served only to spur his ambition to desperation.
</p>
<p>
The longer the cold spell hung on the harder he
drove. Each day, as he looked at the low, grey sky
and saw that there were no signs of a break-up, he
turned to and set the pace a little faster than the day
before. The madness of achievement, the passion to
use his powers to accomplish the impossible, the characteristics
which had won him the name of Snow-Burner,
were in possession. He was doing the impossible;
he was accomplishing what no other man could
do, what all men said was impossible; and the feat only
created a hunger to do more.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140'></a>140</span>
</p>
<p>
The men were past grumbling now, too tired of
body and too crushed of mind to give expression to
their feelings. So long as the rush of work continued
they were as harmless as harnessed and driven cattle,
incapable of anything more than keeping step in the
mad march that the Snow-Burner was leading. But
all men knew that with the coming of a thaw and the
cessation of work would come an explosion of the
murderous hatred which Reivers’ tactics had driven
into the hearts of the men. Now and then a man,
driven to a state of desperation which excluded the
possibility of fear, stopped and rebelled. One day a
young swamper, a gangling lad of twenty, raging and
weeping, threw himself upon Reivers like a cat upon a
bear. Reivers, with a laugh, thrust him off and kicked
him out of the way. Another time a huge Slav sprang
at him with his razor-edged ax up-raised, and, quailing
before Reivers’ calm look, hurled the ax away
with a scream and ran blindly away into the trackless
woods. Three days later, starving and with frozen
hands and feet, he came stumbling up to the stockade
and fell in a lump.
</p>
<p>
“Feed him up,” ordered Reivers, smiling. “I’ve
got a little use for him when he’s fixed up so he can
feel. You see, Treplin,” he continued to Toppy, who
had been called to bring the man back to life, “I’m not
all cruelty. When I want to save a man to amuse myself
with I’m almost as much of a humanitarian as
you are.”
</p>
<p>
He hurried on his way, but before he was out of
hearing he flung back——
</p>
<p>
“You remember how carefully I had Tilly nurse you,
don’t you—doctor?”
</p>
<p>
It was only the guards that Reivers did not make
enemies of. He knew that he had need of their
loyalty. At night the “white men” sat on the edges
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141'></a>141</span>
of their bunks and tried to concoct feasible schemes
for securing possession of the shotguns of the guards.
</p>
<p>
On the morning of the shortest day of the year
Toppy heard a scratching sound at the window near
his bunk and sprang up. It was still pitch dark, long
before any one should be stirring around camp save
the cook and cookees.
</p>
<p>
“Who’s there?” demanded Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“Me. Want talk um with you,” came the low response
from without. “You no come out. No make
noise. Hear through window. You can hear um
when I talk huh?”
</p>
<p>
“Tilly!” gasped Toppy. “What’s up?”
</p>
<p>
“You hear um what I talk?” asked the squaw
again.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, yes; I can hear you. What is it?”
</p>
<p>
“You like um li’l Miss Pearson, huh?” said Tilly
bluntly.
</p>
<p>
“What?” Toppy’s heart was pounding with sudden
excitement. “What—what’s up, Tilly? There
hasn’t anything happened to Miss Pearson, has there?”
</p>
<p>
“Uh! You like um Miss Pearson? Tell um Tilly
straight or Tilly go ’way and no talk um more with
you. You like her? Huh?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” said Toppy breathlessly, after a long pause.
“Yes, I like her. What is it?”
</p>
<p>
“You no like see um Miss Pearson get hurt?”
</p>
<p>
“No, no; of course not. Who’s going to hurt her?”
</p>
<p>
“Snow-Burner,” said Tilly. “Tilly tell you this
before she go ’way. Tilly going ’way now. Tilly going
’way far off to father’s tepee. Snow-Burner tell
um me go. Snow-Burner tell um me go last night.
Snow-Burner say he no want Tilly stay in camp
longer. Tilly know why Snow-Burner no want her
stay in camp. Snow-Burner through with Tilly. Snow-Burner
now want um Miss Pearson. So.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142'></a>142</span>
</p>
<p>
“Tilly! Hold on!” She had already turned away,
but she halted at his voice and came close to the window.
“What is this? Are you going away at once—because
the Snow-Burner says so?”
</p>
<p>
The squaw nodded, stoically submissive.
</p>
<p>
“Snow-Burner say ‘go’; Tilly go,” she said. “Snow-Burner
say go before any one see um me this morning.
I go now. Must go; Snow-Burner say so.”
</p>
<p>
“And Miss Pearson?” whispered Toppy frantically.
“Did he say anything about her?”
</p>
<p>
Tilly nodded heavily.
</p>
<p>
“Tell um me long ’go. Tell um me before Miss
Pearson come. Tell um me he going marry Miss
Pearson for um Christmas present. Christmas Day
come soon now. Snow-Burner no want Tilly here
then. Send Tilly ’way.”
</p>
<p>
The breath seemed to leave Toppy’s body for an
instant. He swayed and caught at the window-frame.
</p>
<p>
“Marry her—Christmas Day?” he whispered, horrified.
</p>
<p>
“Yes. He no tell um Miss Pearson yet. He tell me
no tell um her, no tell um anybody. I tell you. Now
go.”
</p>
<p>
Before Toppy had sufficiently recovered his wits
to speak again he heard the crunch of her moccasins
on the snow dying away in the darkness as the cast-off
squaw stolidly started on her journey into the
woods.
</p>
<p>
“Tilly!” called Toppy desperately, but there was no
answer.
</p>
<p>
“What’s matter?” murmured Campbell, disturbed
in his deep slumber, and falling to sleep again before
he received a reply.
</p>
<p>
Toppy stood for a long time with his face held
close to the window through which he had heard Tilly’s
startling news. The shock had numbed him.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143'></a>143</span>
Although he had been prepared to expect anything of
Reivers, he now realised that this was something more
than he had thought possible even from him. The
Snow-Burner—marry Miss Pearson—for a Christmas
present—Christmas Day! He seemed to hear Tilly
repeating the words over and over again. And Reivers
had not even so much as told Miss Pearson of what
he intended to do. He had not even told her that
he intended to marry her. So Tilly said, and Tilly
knew. What did Reivers intend to do then? How
did he know he was going to marry her? How did
he know she would have him?
</p>
<p>
Toppy shivered a little as his wits began to work
more clearly, and the full significance of the situation
began to grow clear to him. He understood now.
Reivers had good reason for making his plans so confidently.
He had studied the girl until he had seen
that his will had dominated hers; that though she
might not love him, might even fear him, she had not
the will-power against him to say nay to his wishes.
</p>
<p>
He knew that she was helplessly fascinated, that
she was his for the taking. He had been too busy to
take her until now; the serious duties of his position
had allowed no time for dalliance. So the girl had
been safe and unmolested—until now! And now
Reivers was secretly preparing to make her his own!
</p>
<p>
A sudden thought struck Toppy, and he tiptoed to
the door and looked out. Instead of the crisp coldness
of recent mornings there was a warm mugginess
in the air; and Toppy, bending down, placed his hand
on the snow and felt that it had begun to soften. The
thaw had come.
</p>
<p>
“I thought so,” he said to himself. “The work
will break up now, and he’s going to amuse himself.
Well, he made a mistake when he told Tilly. She’s
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144'></a>144</span>
been civilised just enough to make her capable of jealousy.”
</p>
<p>
He went back to his bunk and dressed.
</p>
<p>
“What are you stirring around so early for?”
grumbled Campbell. “Dinna ye get work enough during
the day, to be getting up in the dark?”
</p>
<p>
“The thaw’s come,” said Toppy, throwing on his
cap. “There’ll be something doing besides work now.”
</p>
<p>
He went out into the dark morning, crossed the
road and softly tried the door to the office. He felt
much better when he had assured himself that the door
was securely locked on the inside. Then he returned
to the shop and waited for the daylight to appear.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145'></a>145</span><a name='chXVIII' id='chXVIII'></a>CHAPTER XVIII—“CANNY BY NATURE”</h2>
<p>
Old Campbell arose at his usual time, surprised
and pleased to find that Toppy had breakfast already
cooked and on the table. Being a canny Scot,
he did not express his surprise or pleasure, but proceeded
to look about for signs to indicate the reason of
Toppy’s unwonted conduct. All that he could make
out was that Toppy’s eyes were bright with some sort
of excitement, and that the grim set of his mouth had
given way to an expression of relief. So the Scot
sat down to eat, shaking his grey head in puzzled
fashion.
</p>
<p>
“I dinna see that this thaw should be any reason
for your parading around before the night’s done,”
he grumbled. “Were you so tired of a little useful
work that ye maun greet a let-down with such early
rising?”
</p>
<p>
Toppy sat down and proceeded to breakfast without
venturing a reply. When they had finished the
meal he pushed back his chair and looked across at
Campbell. Huge and careless, he sprawled in his
chair, the tension and uncertainty gone now that he
had made his resolution; and Campbell, studying his
face, sensed that something was up and leaned forward
eagerly.
</p>
<p>
“I want to lay off to-day, Scotty,” said Toppy deliberately.
“I’ve got a little business that I want to
settle with Reivers.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146'></a>146</span>
</p>
<p>
Old Campbell did not start nor in any way indicate
surprise.
</p>
<p>
“Aye!” he said quietly after a pause. “I ha’ seen
from the first it would have to be that in the end. Ye
maun settle which is best man. But why to-day?”
</p>
<p>
“Because now that the thaw has spoiled the sleighing
Reivers will have time for deviltry.” And Toppy went
on and told all that he had heard from Tilly’s lips
that morning. Campbell shook his head angrily as
he heard.
</p>
<p>
“Many things has the Snow-Burner done ill,” he
said, “and his sins against men and women cry for
punishment; but that—to yon little lass—gi’n he did
that, that would be worst of all. What are your plans,
lad?”
</p>
<p>
“Nothing,” said Toppy. “I will go and find him,
and we’ll have it out.”
</p>
<p>
“Not so,” said Campbell swiftly. “Gi’n you did
that ‘twould cost you your life did you chance to
win o’er him. Do you think those devils with the
guns would not murder to win favour of the Snow-Burner,
him holding the lives and liberty of all of
them in his hands as he does? Nay, lad! Fight ye
must; you’re both too big and spirited to meet without
coming to grips; but you have aye the need of an
old head on your side if you’re to stand up with
Reivers on even terms.
</p>
<p>
“What think you he would fancy, did you go to
him with a confident bold challenge as you suggest?
That you had a trick up your sleeve, with the men
in on it, perhaps; and he’d have the guards there
with their guns to see he won as sure as we’re sitting
here talking. No; I ha’ seen for weeks ’twas coming
on, and I ha’ been using this auld head o’ mine. I may
even say I ha’ been doing more than thinking; I ha’
been talking. I have told Reivers that you were
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147'></a>147</span>
becoming unbearable in this shop, and that I could
not stand you much longer as my helper.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy looked across the table, amazed and pained.
</p>
<p>
“Why—what’s wrong, Scotty?” he stammered.
</p>
<p>
“Tush, lad!” snapped the old man. “Dinna think
I meant it. I only told Reivers so for the effect.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy was bewildered.
</p>
<p>
“I don’t see what you’re driving at, Scotty.”
</p>
<p>
“Listen, then; I ha’ told Reivers that you were getting
the swell head so bad there was no working you.
I ha’ told him you were at heart nothing but a fresh
young whiffet who needed taming, and gi’n he made
me keep you here I mysel’ would do the taming with
an ax-handle. Do you begin to get my drift now,
lad?”
</p>
<p>
“I confess I don’t,” admitted Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“Well, then—Reivers said: ‘That’s how I sized
him up, too. But don’t you do the taming, Campbell,’
says he. ‘I am saving him for mysel’,’ he says. ‘But
I will not put up with his lip longer,’ said I. ‘Man,
Reivers,’ I says, ‘he thinks he’s a fighter, and the other
day I slammed him on his back mysel’; and gi’n I
had my old wind,’ I says, ‘I would have whipped him
then and there.’
</p>
<p>
“Oh, carried on strong, losing my temper and all.
‘Five year ago I would ha’ broken his back, the big
young fool!’ I says. ‘An’ he swaggers around me
and thinks he’s a boss man because he licked that bloat
Sheedy. Ah!’ I says. ‘I’ll stand it till he gives me lip
again; then I’ll lay him out with whatever I have in
my hands,’ says I.
</p>
<p>
“‘Don’t do it,’ says Reivers, smiling to see me so
worked up, and surmising, as I intended he should,
that I was angry only because I’d discovered that
you were a better man than mysel’. ‘Save him for me,’
says he. ‘As soon as I have more time I will ’tend to
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148'></a>148</span>
him. In the meantime,’ he says, ‘let him go on thinking
he is a good man.’
</p>
<p>
“Lad, he swallowed it all, for it’s four years since
he knew me first, and that was the first lie I’d told him
at all. ‘I’ll take him under my eye soon as I have
more time,’ says he. ‘He’ll not swagger after I’ve
tamed him a little.’”
</p>
<p>
“But I don’t just see——”
</p>
<p>
“Dolt! Dinna you see that noo he considers you as
an overconfident young fool whom he’s going to take
the conceit out of? Dinna ye see that noo you’re in
the same category as the other men he’s broken down?
He’ll not think it worth while to have his shotgun
men handy noo when he starts in to do his breaking.
He’ll start it, ye understand; not you. ’Twill be
proper so. I will go this morning and tell him that
the end has come; that I can not stand you longer
around me. He’ll give you something to do—under
him. Under him, do you see? Then you must e’en
watch your chance, and—and happen I’ll manage to
be around in case the guards should show up.”
</p>
<p>
“Better keep out of it altogether,” said Toppy.
“They won’t use their guns in an even fight, and you
couldn’t do anything with your bare hands if they did.”
</p>
<p>
“With my bare hands, no,” said Campbell, going
to his bunk. “But I am not so bare-handed as you
think, lad.” He dug under the blankets and held up
a huge black revolver. “Canny by nature!” he said;
thrusting the grim weapon under his trousers-band.
“I made no idle threat when I told Reivers I would
shoot his head off did he ever try to make a broken
man out of me. I have had this utensil handy ever
since.”
</p>
<p>
“Scotty,” cried Toppy, deeply moved at the old
man’s staunch friendship, “when did you begin to plan
this scheme?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149'></a>149</span>
</p>
<p>
Campbell looked squarely into his eyes.
</p>
<p>
“The same day that I talked with yon lassie and
learned how Reivers had fascinated her.”
</p>
<p>
“Why?”
</p>
<p>
“Dinna ye know nothing about women, lad?”
</p>
<p>
“I——What do you mean?”
</p>
<p>
“Do you fancy Reivers could carry his will so strong
with folks gi’n ye happen to make a beaten man out
of him? And do you not think yon lass would come
back to her right mind gi’n the Snow-Burner loses
his power o’er her? You’re no’ so blind as not to
see she’s no liking for him, but the de’il has in a way
mesmerised her.”
</p>
<p>
“Then you mean——”
</p>
<p>
“That when you and the Snow-Burner put up your
mitts ye’ll be fighting for more than just to see who’s
best man. Now think that over, lad, while I go and
complain to Reivers that I can not stand you an
hour longer, and arrange for him to give you your
taming.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150'></a>150</span><a name='chXIX' id='chXIX'></a>CHAPTER XIX—THE FIGHT</h2>
<p>
It was past sunrise now; the mugginess in the
air had fled before the unclouded sun, and the day
was pleasantly bright and warm. The sunlight coming
in through the eastern window flooded the room.
Outside could be heard the steady <i>drip-drip</i> from the
melting icicles, and the chirp of the chickadees industriously
seeking a breakfast around the door made
the morning cheery.
</p>
<p>
Toppy sat heaved forward in his chair after Campbell
had gone on his errand, and looked out of the
open door, and waited. From where he sat he could
see the office across the way. Presently he saw Miss
Pearson come out, stand for a moment in the doorway
peering around in puzzled fashion, and go in
again.
</p>
<p>
Toppy did not move. He knew what that signified—that
the girl was puzzled and perhaps frightened
over the absence of the squaw, Tilly; but he had no
impulse to cross the street and break the news to her.
The girl, Tilly’s absence, such things were to him
only incidentals now. He saw the girl as if far away,
as if she were something that did not greatly concern
him.
</p>
<p>
Through his mind there ran recollections of other
moments like this—moments of waiting in the training-quarters
back at school for the word of the coach
to trot out on the field. The same ease of spirit after
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151'></a>151</span>
the tension of weeks of hard training; the same sinking
of all worry and nervousness in the knowledge that
now that the test was on he would do the best that was
in him, and that beyond this there was nothing for
a man to think or worry about.
</p>
<p>
Back there at school there had also been that sense
of dissociation from all things not involved in the
contest before him. The roaring stands, the pretty
girls waving the bright-hued banners, the sound of
his name shouted far down the field—he had heard
them, but they had not affected him. For the time
being, then as now, he had become a wonderful human
machine, completely concentrated, as machines
must be, upon the accomplishment of one task. Then
it had been to play a game; now it was to fight. But
it was much the same, after all; it was all in the man-game.
</p>
<p>
A feeling of content was the only emotion that
Toppy was conscious of in the long minutes during
which he waited for Campbell to return. The <i>drip-drip</i>
from the eaves and the chirp of the chickadees
came as music to his ears. The Snow-Burner and
he were going to fight; in that knowledge there was
relief after the weeks of tension.
</p>
<p>
Heavy, crunching steps sounded on the snow outside,
and Campbell’s broad shoulders filled the doorway.
Toppy bent over and carefully tightened a
shoe-lace.
</p>
<p>
“It’s all set,” said Campbell rapidly. “He says send
you to him at once. You’re in luck. He’s in the
stockade. Get you up and go to him. There is only
one guard at the gate. I’ll follow and be handy in
case he should interfere.”
</p>
<p>
That was all. Toppy rose up and strode out without
a word. He made his way to the stockade gate
with a carelessness of manner that belied his purpose.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152'></a>152</span>
He noted that the guard stood on the outside of the
gate and that the snow already was squashy underfoot.
The gate opened and admitted him and closed
behind him. Then he was walking across the yard
toward Reivers, who stood waiting before the camp
kitchen at the far end of the yard.
</p>
<p>
Here and there Toppy saw men in the bunkhouses,
perhaps fifty in all, and realised that the sudden thaw
had at once enforced a period of idleness for some
of the men. He nodded lightly in response to the
greeting from one of the men whom he had doctored;
then he was standing before Reivers, and Reivers was
looking at him as he had looked at Rosky the day
when he broke the Bohunk’s leg. Toppy looked back,
unmoved. For a moment the two stood silent, eye
measuring eye. Then Reivers spoke savagely, enraged
at finding a will that braved his own.
</p>
<p>
“What kind of a game are you trying to play, Treplin?”
</p>
<p>
“Game?” repeated Toppy innocently.
</p>
<p>
“Come, come!” Reivers’ brows were drawing down
over his eyes, and again Toppy for some reason was
reminded of a bear. “You don’t suppose I’m as innocent
as Campbell, do you? You’ve been raising ——
in the shop, I hear. You’re doing that with an object.
You’re trying some game. I don’t care what it is;
it doesn’t go. There doesn’t anybody try any games
in this place except myself.”
</p>
<p>
“How about poker-games?” suggested Toppy
quietly.
</p>
<p>
A man hidden in the darkness of the bunkhouse behind
Reivers snickered audibly; for Campbell had told
the story of how Toppy had bested the boss at poker
and the man understood Toppy’s thrust. Reivers’
eyes flashed and his jaw shot out, but in an instant
he had his anger under control again. He smiled.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153'></a>153</span>
</p>
<p>
“Well, well; so we’re playing the wit, are we—doctor?”
he sneered softly. “We’re trying to drive that
trained mind of ours to be brilliant, are we? Well,
I wouldn’t, Treplin; the strain on inferior machinery
may be fatal.” Suddenly his whole face seemed to
change, convulsed in a spasm of brute threatening.
“Get over there in that corner and dig a slop-sink; you
hear me?” Reivers’ voice was a snarl as he pointed
to the corner near the kitchen, where a pick and shovel
lay waiting. “That’s what you’re going to do, my fine
buck, with your nerve to dare to come into my camp
and think you’re my equal. Dig slop-holes for my
Dago cook; that’s what you’re going to do!
</p>
<p>
“Do you hear? You’re going to be the lowest
scavenger in this gang of scum. I’m going to break
you. I’m going to keep you here until I’m through
with you. I’m going to send you out of here so low
down that a saloon scrub-out would kick you on general
principles. That’s what’s going to happen to you!
I’m going to play with you. I’m going to show you
how well it pays to think of yourself as my equal in
my own camp. Get over there now—right over there
where the whole camp can see you, and dig a hole
for the Dago to throw his slops!”
</p>
<p>
Few men could have faced the sight of the Snow-Burner’s
face as the words shot from his iron-like
lips without retreating, but Toppy stood still. He began
to smile.
</p>
<p>
“Pardon, Reivers,” he said softly, “I never thought
of myself as your equal.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t whine now; it’s too late! Go——”
</p>
<p>
“Because I know I’m a better man than you ever
could be.”
</p>
<p>
It grew very still with great suddenness there in
the corner of the big yard. The men within hearing
held their breaths. The <i>drip-drip</i> from the eaves
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154'></a>154</span>
sounded loud in the silence. And now Toppy saw the
wolf-craft creeping to its own far back in Reivers’
eyes, and without moving he stood tensed for sudden,
flash-like action.
</p>
<p>
“So that’s it?” said Reivers, smiling; and then he
struck with serpent-tongue swiftness. And with that
blow Toppy knew how desperate would be the battle;
for, skilled boxer and on the alert as he was, he had
time only to snap his jaw to one side far enough to
save himself from certain knockout, while the iron-like
fist tore the skin off his cheek as it shot past.
</p>
<p>
Reivers had not thrown his body behind the blow.
He stood upright and ready. He was a little surprised
that his man did not go down. Toppy, recovering
like a flash, likewise was prepared. A tiny instant they
faced each other. Then with simultaneous growls
they hurled themselves breast to breast and the fight
was on.
</p>
<p>
Toppy had yielded to the impulse to answer in kind
the challenge that had flared in Reivers’ eyes. It
wasn’t science; it wasn’t sense. It was the blind,
primitive impulse to come into shock with a foe, to
stop him, to force him back, to make him break ground.
Breast upon breast Reivers and Toppy came together
and stopped short, two bodies of equal force suddenly
meeting.
</p>
<p>
Neither gave ground; neither made a pretense at
guarding. Toe to toe they stood, head to head, and
drove their fists against one another’s iron-strong
bodies with a rapidity and a force that only giants
like themselves could have withstood for a moment.
It was madness, it was murder, and the group of men
who were watching held their breaths and waited for
one or the other to wilt and go down, the life knocked
out of him by those pile-driver blows.
</p>
<p>
Then, as suddenly as they had come together, the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155'></a>155</span>
pair leaped apart, rushed together again, gripped into
a clinch, struggled in Titan fashion with futile heaving
and tripping, flew apart once more, then volleyed
each other with vicious punches—a kaleidoscope of
springing legs, rushing bodies, and stiffly driven arms.
</p>
<p>
It was a battle that drove the fear of Reivers from
the heart of the men who witnessed and dragged them
forth to form a ring around the two fighters. It was
a battle to make men roar with frenzy; but not a sound
came from the ring that expanded and closed as the
battle raged here and there. The men were at first too
shocked to cry out at the sight of any one daring to
give the Snow-Burner fight; and after the shock had
worn away they were too wary to give a sign that
might bring the guards. Silently and tight-lipped the
ring formed; and each pair of eyes that watched shot
nothing but hatred for Reivers.
</p>
<p>
Toppy was the first to recover from the initial
frensied impulse to strive to annihilate in one rush
his hated enemy. He shook his head as he was wont
to do after a hard scrimmage on the gridiron, and his
fighting-wits were clear again. So far he knew he
had held his own, but only held it. Perhaps he out-bulked
Reivers slightly in body and was a trifle quicker
on his feet, but Reivers’ blows were enough heavier
than his to even up this advantage.
</p>
<p>
He had driven his fist flush home on his foreman’s
neck under the ear, and the neck had not yielded
any more than a column of wood. He had felt
Reivers’ fist drive home full on his cheekbone and it
seemed that he had been struck by a handful of iron.
When they had strained breast against breast in the
first clash the fact that they were of equal strength
had been apparent to both. Equally matched, and
both equally determined to win, Toppy knew that the
fight would be long; and he began to circle scientifically,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156'></a>156</span>
striking and guarding with all his cunning, saving
himself while he watched for a slip or an opening
that might offer an advantage.
</p>
<p>
Suddenly the opening came, as Reivers for a second
paused, deceived by Toppy’s tactics. Like a bullet
to the mark Toppy’s right shot home on the exposed
chin; but Reivers, felled to his knees as if shot, was
up like a flash, staggering Toppy with a left on the
mouth and rushing him around and around in fury
at the knockdown. An added grimness to Toppy’s
expression told how he appreciated the significance of
this incident. He had put all his force, from toes to
knuckles, into that blow; and Reivers had merely been
staggered. Again Toppy began circling, deliberately
saving himself for a drawn-out battle which now to
him seemed uphill.
</p>
<p>
The ring of watchers around the pair grew more
close, more eager. All of the men present in the
bunkhouses had rushed out to see the fight. As Toppy
circled he saw in the foremost ranks the Torta boys
and most of the gang that had worked under him in
the quarry; and by the looks in their eyes he knew
that he was fighting in the presence of friends. In the
next second their looks had turned to dismay as Reivers,
swiftly feinting with his left, drove home the right
against Toppy’s jaw and knocked him to his haunches.
But Toppy, rising slowly, caught Reivers as he closed
in to follow up his advantage and with a heavy swing
to the eye stopped him in his tracks. A low cry escaped
the tight lips around the ring. The blood was spurting
from a clean cut in Reivers’ brow and a few men
called—
</p>
<p>
“First blood!”
</p>
<p>
Then Toppy spat out the blood he had held in after
Reivers’ blow. The feel of the blood running down
his face turned Reivers to a fury. He rushed with an
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157'></a>157</span>
impetuosity which nothing could withstand, his fists
playing a tattoo on Toppy’s head and body. Like a
tiger Toppy fought back; but Reivers’ rage for the
moment had given him added strength. He fought as
a man who intends to end a fight in a hurry; he rushed
and struck with power to annihilate with one blow, and
rushed and struck again.
</p>
<p>
Toppy was pressed back. A groan came from the
crowd as they saw him stagger from a blow on the jaw
and saw Reivers set himself for one last desperate
effort. Reivers rushed, his face the face of a demon,
his left ripping up for the body, his right looping
overhand in a killing swing at the head; and then
the crowd gasped, for Toppy, with his superior quickness
of foot, side-stepped and as Reivers plunged past
dealt him a left in the mouth that flung him half around
and sent him staggering against the outheld hands of
the crowd.
</p>
<p>
When Reivers turned around now he was bleeding
from the mouth also, and in his eyes was a look of
caution that Toppy had never seen there before.
</p>
<p>
The fight now became as dogged as it was furious.
Each man had tried to end it with a single and, failing,
knew that he must wear his opponent down.
Neither had been seriously damaged by the blows
struck and neither was in the least tired. The thud
of blow followed blow. Back and forth the pair
shuffled, first one driving the other with volleys of
punches, then his antagonist suddenly turning the
tables.
</p>
<p>
Toppy, feeling that he was fighting an uphill fight,
saved himself more than Reivers. The latter, who
felt himself the master, became more and more enraged
as Toppy continued to stand up before him and
give him back as good as he gave. Each time that
Toppy reached face or body with a solid blow the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158'></a>158</span>
savage fury flared in Reivers’ eyes, and he lunged forward
like a maddened bull. Always, however, he
recovered himself and resumed the fight with brains
as well as brawn.
</p>
<p>
Toppy never lost his head after the first wild spasm.
He realised that they were so evenly matched that
the loser would lose by a slip of the mind by letting
some weak spot in his character master him; and he
held himself in with an iron will. Reivers’ blows
goaded and tempted him to rush in madly, but he held
back. The men about the ring thought he was losing,
and their voices rose in growled encouragement.
</p>
<p>
Toppy was not losing. As he saw Reivers become
more and more furious his hopes began to rise. At
each opportunity he reached Reivers’ face, cutting open
his other eye, bringing the blood from his nose, stinging
him into added furies. Toppy was knocked down
several times in the rushes that invariably followed
such blows, but each time he recovered himself before
Reivers could rush upon him. Suddenly his fighting-instinct
telegraphed him that Reivers was about to
try something new. He drew back a little, Reivers
following closely. Suddenly it came. Without warning
Reivers kicked. The blow took Toppy in the
groin and he stumbled backward from its force. A cry
of rage went up from the watching men. But Toppy
sprung erect in an instant.
</p>
<p>
“All right!” he called. “It didn’t hurt me. Shut
up, you fools.”
</p>
<p>
Thanks to his training, his hard muscles had turned
the kick and saved him from being disabled.
</p>
<p>
“What’s the matter, Reivers?” he taunted as he circled
carefully. “Losing confidence in your fists? Got
to use your feet, eh? Lost your kick, too, haven’t
you? Well, well! Then you certainly are in for a fine
trimming!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159'></a>159</span>
</p>
<p>
Again Reivers kicked, this time aiming low at the
shin-bone; but Toppy avoided it easily and danced
back with a laugh.
</p>
<p>
“Can’t even land it any more!” Treplin chuckled.
“Show us some more tricks, Reivers!”
</p>
<p>
Reivers had thrown off all restraint now. He fought
with lowered head, and Toppy once more, as he saw
the eyes watching him through the thick brows,
thought of a bear. The savagery at the root of Reivers’
character was coming to the top. It was mastering,
choking down his intelligence. He struck and
kicked and gnashed his teeth; and curses rolled in a
steady stream from his lips. One kick landed on
Toppy’s thigh with a thud.
</p>
<p>
“Here, bahass!” screamed a voice to Toppy, and
from somewhere in the crowd an ax was pitched at
his feet.
</p>
<p>
Laughingly Toppy kicked the weapon to one side,
and, though in deep pain from the last kick, continued
fighting as if nothing had happened.
</p>
<p>
The savage now dominating Reivers had seen and
been caught by the sight of the flashing steel. A
gleam of animal cunning showed in the depths of his
ferocious eyes. To cripple, to kill, to destroy with
one terrible stroke—that was his single passion. The
axe opened the way.
</p>
<p>
Craftily he began rushing systematically. Little
by little he drove Toppy back. Closer and closer he
came to the spot where the axe lay on the ground.
Once more Toppy’s instinct warned him that Reivers
was after a terrible <i>coup</i>, and once more his whole
mind and body responded with extra vigilance.
</p>
<p>
As he circled, presently he felt the axe under his
feet and understood. He saw that Reivers was systematically
working toward the weapon, though apparently
unconscious of its existence.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160'></a>160</span>
</p>
<p>
It was in Toppy’s mind to dance away, to call out
to the men to remove the axe; but before he could
do so something had whispered to him to hold his
tongue. He continued to retreat slowly, fighting back
at every inch.
</p>
<p>
Now he had stepped beyond the axe.
</p>
<p>
Now it lay between him and Reivers.
</p>
<p>
Now it lay beneath Reivers’ feet, and now, as
Reivers stooped to pick it up, Toppy, like a tiger,
flung himself forward. It was what he had foreseen,
what had made him hold his tongue.
</p>
<p>
The savage in Reivers had made him reach for the
weapon; the calmly reasoning brain in Toppy’s head
had foreseen that in that lay his advantage. It was
for only an instant, a few eye-winks, that Reivers
paused and bent over for the axe; but as Toppy had
flung himself forward at the psychological moment
it was enough. Reivers was bent over with his hand
on the axe, and for a flash he had left the spot behind
his left ear exposed.
</p>
<p>
Toppy’s fist, swung from far behind him, struck the
spot with the sound of a pistol crack. Reivers, stooped
as he was, rolled over and over and lay still. Toppy
first picked up the axe and threw it far out of reach.
Then he turned to Reivers, who was rising slowly, a
string of foul curses on his lips.
</p>
<p>
Toppy set himself as the Snow-Burner came forward.
His left lifted Reivers from his feet. Even
while he was in the air, Toppy’s right followed on
the jaw. The Snow-Burner wavered. Then Toppy,
drawing a long breath, called into play all the strength
he had been saving. He struck and struck again so
rapidly that the eye could not follow, and each blow
found its mark; and each was of deadly power.
</p>
<p>
He drove Reivers backward. He drove him as he
willed. He beat him till he saw Reivers’ eyes grow
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161'></a>161</span>
glassy. Then he stepped back. The almost superhuman
strength of Reivers had kept him on his feet
until now in spite of the pitiless storm of blows. Now
he swayed back and forth once. His breath came
in gasps. His arms fell inert, his eyes closed slowly;
and as a great tree falls—slowly at first, then with a
sudden crash—the Snow-Burner toppled and fell face
downward on the ground.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162'></a>162</span><a name='chXX' id='chXX'></a>CHAPTER XX—TOPPY’S WAY</h2>
<p>
Toppy stood and looked down at his vanquished
foe. The convulsive rise and fall of his breast
as he panted for breath told how desperately and
savagely he had fought. Now as he stood victorious
and looked down upon the man he had conquered, the
chivalry innate in him began to stir with respect and
even pity for the man whom he had beaten. He looked
at Reivers’ bloody face as, the head turned on one
side, it lay nuzzled helplessly against the soft ground.
A wave of revulsion, the aftermath of his fury, passed
over him, and he drew his hand slowly across his eyes
as if to shut out the sight of the havoc that his fists
had wrought.
</p>
<p>
And now happened the inevitable. Toppy had not
foreseen it, never had dreamed it possible. But now
the men who had watched cried aloud their hatred of
the big man who lay before them. The king-man,
their master, was down! Upright, they would have
quailed before his mere look. But now he was down!
The man who had mastered them, broken them,
tortured them, lay helpless there before them. The
courage and hate of slaves suddenly in power over
their master flamed through them. This was their
chance; they had him now.
</p>
<p>
“We got him! Kill him! Come on! Finish him!”
they roared, and threw themselves like a pack of
wolves upon the prostrate man. Even as they rushed
Reivers raised his head in returning consciousness;
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163'></a>163</span>
then he went down under a shower of heavily booted
feet.
</p>
<p>
With a bellow of command Toppy flung himself
forward. He knew quite well that this was what
Reivers deserved; he had even at times hoped that the
men some time would have the opportunity for such
revenge. But now he discovered that he couldn’t
stand by and see it done. It wasn’t in him. Reivers
was down, fairly beaten in a hard fight. He was
helpless. Toppy’s rage suddenly swerved from Reivers
to the men who were trying to kick the life out of him.
</p>
<p>
“Back! Get back there, I say!” he ordered.
</p>
<p>
He reached in and threw men right and left. He
knocked others down. One he picked up and used
as a battering-ram, and so he fought his way in and
cleared the rabble away from Reivers. Reivers with
more than human tenaciousness had retained a glimmer
of consciousness. He saw Toppy standing astride
of him fighting for his life. And in that beaten,
desperate moment Reivers laughed once more.
</p>
<p>
“You’re a —— fool, Treplin,” said he. “You’d
better let them finish the job.”
</p>
<p>
Toppy dragged him to his feet. A gleam of mastery
flashed over the Snow-Burner as he felt himself
standing upright. He swung to face the men.
</p>
<p>
“Out of the way there, you scum!” he ordered, in
his old manner. The men laughed in reply. The
spell had been broken. The men had seen the Snow-Burner
knocked down and beaten. They had seen that
Toppy was his master. They had kicked him; they
had had him under them. No longer did he stand
apart and above them. They cursed him and swarmed
in, striking, kicking, hauling, and dragged him to the
ground.
</p>
<p>
“Give him to us, bahss!” they cried. “Let us kill
him, bahss!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164'></a>164</span>
</p>
<p>
Some of them hung back. They did not wish to run
contrary to the wishes of Toppy, their “bahss” and
champion. Toppy once more got Reivers on his feet
and dragged him toward the gate. A knife or two
gleamed in the crowd.
</p>
<p>
“Run for the gate!” cried Toppy. Reivers tottered
a few steps and fell. Over him Toppy stormed,
fought, commanded, but the mob pressed constantly
closer. Then, suddenly, they stopped striking. They
began to break. Toppy, looking around for the reason,
saw Campbell and a guard running toward them—Campbell
with his big revolver, the guard with his
gun at a ready. With a last tremendous effort he
picked Reivers up in his arms and ran to meet them.
He heard the guard fire once, heard Campbell ordering
the men to stand back; then he staggered out of the
stockade and dropped his heavy burden on the ground.
Behind him Campbell and the guard slammed shut
the gate, and within the cries and curses of the men
rose in one awful wail, the cry of a blood-mob cheated
of its prey.
</p>
<p>
Reivers rose slowly, first to his hands and knees,
then to his feet. He looked at Toppy, and the only
expression upon his face was a sneer.
</p>
<p>
“You —— fool!” he laughed. “You poor weak
sister! You’ll be sorry before morning that you didn’t
let the men finish that job!”
</p>
<p>
He turned, and without another word went staggering
away to the building where he and the guards
lived.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165'></a>165</span><a name='chXXI' id='chXXI'></a>CHAPTER XXI—THE END OF THE BOSS</h2>
<p>
Back in the shop Campbell went to work with a
will to doctor up Toppy’s battered face.
</p>
<p>
“I dunno, lad, I dunno,” he muttered as he patched
up the ragged cuts. “It was the poetry of justice
that the men should have had him, but I dunno that
I could ha’ left him lie there myself.”
</p>
<p>
“Of course you couldn’t,” said Toppy. “A man
can’t do that sort of thing. But, say, Campbell, what
do you suppose he meant about being sorry before
morning because I saved him?”
</p>
<p>
Although he had won in the contest which he had
so longed for, although he had proved and knew that
he was a better man than Reivers, Toppy for some
reason experienced none of the elation which he had
expected. The thing wasn’t settled. Reivers was still
fighting. He was still boss of Hell Camp. He was
fighting with craft now. What had that final threat
meant?
</p>
<p>
“It has to do with the lass; I’ll wager on that,” said
Campbell. “He will aye be taking his revenge on
her. I know the man; he has that way.”
</p>
<p>
“The dog!”
</p>
<p>
“Aye.—Hold still wi’ that ear now.—Aye; it’s the
way of the man, as I know him. But I’m thinking
some one else will play dog, too. Watchdog, I mean.
And I’m thinking the same will be mysel’.”
</p>
<p>
“You don’t think he’ll try——”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166'></a>166</span>
</p>
<p>
“The Snow-Burner will try anything if his mind’s
set. Even force.—Hold still wi’ your chin.—You
licked him fair, lad. ’Twas a great fight. You’re best
man. But I’m glad I have my shooting-utensil handy,
for if I’m any judge Hell Camp will aye deserve its
name to-night.”
</p>
<p>
“What do you think will happen?”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis hard to say. But ’tis sure Reivers means to
do something desperate, and as I know the man ’tis
something that concerns the lass. Then there are the
men. They have tasted blood. They have seen the
Snow-Burner beaten. His grip has been torn off them.
They’re no longer afraid. When the working gangs
come in this noon and hear the story there’ll be nothing
can hold them from doing what they please. You
know what that will be. They’re wild to break loose.
Gi’n they lay hands on Reivers they’ll tear him and
the camp to pieces. Aye, there’ll be things stirring
here before evening, or I’m a dolt.”
</p>
<p>
True to Campbell’s prediction, the stockade shook
with cheers, roars and curses that noon when the
working men came in and heard the tale of the Snow-Burner’s
downfall. The discipline of the camp vanished
with those shouts. The men were no longer
cowed. They were free and unafraid. After they had
eaten, the straw-bosses and guards prepared to lead
them back to their work.
</p>
<p>
The men laughed. The bosses joined them. The
guards threatened. The men jeered. Reivers, the
only force that had kept them cowed, was lying beaten
and helpless in his bunk, and not even the shotguns
of the guards could cow the fierce spirit that had
broken loose in the men when they heard this news.
</p>
<p>
“Shoot, —— you, shoot!” they jeered at the guards.
</p>
<p>
The guards faltered. The whole camp was in revolt
and they knew that as sure as one shot was fired the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167'></a>167</span>
men would rush at no matter how great the cost
to themselves. There were a hundred and fifty maddened,
desperate men in the camp now, instead of a
hundred and fifty cattle; and the guards, minus Reivers’
leadership, retreated to their quarters and locked
the door.
</p>
<p>
The men did not go back to work. Not an axe, peavey
or cant-hook was touched; not a team was hitched
up. The men swaggered and shouted for Reivers
to come out and boss them. They begged him to come
out. They wanted to talk with him. They had a lot
to tell him. They wouldn’t hurt him—no, they would
only give him a little of his own medicine!
</p>
<p>
However, they gave the guards’ house a wide berth,
on account of the deadly shotguns. The short afternoon
passed quickly and the darkness came on.
</p>
<p>
Toppy and Campbell were sitting down to supper
when they noticed that it was unusually light in the
direction of the stockade. Presently there was a roaring
crackling; then a chorus of cries, demonlike in
their ferocity. Toppy sprang to the window and staggered
back at the sight that met his eyes.
</p>
<p>
“Great Scot, Campbell! Look, look!” he cried.
“They’ve fired the camp!”
</p>
<p>
Together they rushed to the door. From the farther
end of the stockade a billow of red, pitchy flame was
sweeping up into the night, and the roar and crackle
of the dried pine logs burning was drowned in the
cries of the men as they cheered the results of their
handiwork.
</p>
<p>
Toppy and Campbell ran toward the stockade gate.
The gate had been chopped to pieces, but the guards,
from the shelter of their building, were shooting at the
opening and preventing the men from rushing out.
The flames at the far end of the stockade rose higher
and fiercer as they began to get their hold on the pitchy
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168'></a>168</span>
wood. The smoke, billowing low, came driving back
into the faces of Campbell and Toppy.
</p>
<p>
“They’ve done it up brown now!” swore Campbell.
“The wind’s this way. The whole camp will go unless
yon fire’s checked.”
</p>
<p>
Over the front of the stockade something flew
through the darkness, its parabola marked by a string
of sparks that spluttered behind it. It fell near one
side of the guards’ quarters. A second later it exploded
with a noise and shock that shook the whole
camp.
</p>
<p>
“Dynamite,” said Scotty. “The men have been
stealing it and saving it for this occasion. Gi’n one
of those sticks lands on that building there’ll be dead
men inside.”
</p>
<p>
But the men inside evidently had no mind to wait
for such a catastrophe. They came rushing out in
the darkness, slipping quickly out of sight, yet firing
at the gate as they went. One of them rushed past
Toppy in the direction of the office. Toppy scarcely
noticed him. On second thought something about
the man’s great size, his broad shoulders, the hang of
his arms, attracted him. He turned to look; the man
had vanished in the dark. A vague uneasiness took
possession of Toppy. For a moment he stood puzzled.
</p>
<p>
“My ——!” he cried suddenly. “That was Reivers,
and he was going to her!”
</p>
<p>
He started in pursuit. Reivers was pounding on
the door of the office when Toppy reached him. The
door was locked.
</p>
<p>
“Open up; open up at once!” he ordered. Beyond
the door Toppy heard the voice of the girl.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, please, please, Mr. Reivers! I’m afraid!”
</p>
<p>
Reivers’ tone changed.
</p>
<p>
“Nothing to be afraid of, Miss Pearson,” he said
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169'></a>169</span>
blandly. “There’s a fire in camp. I want to get in to
save the books and papers.”
</p>
<p>
“Is that why you sent Tilly away this morning?”
said Toppy quietly, coming up behind him.
</p>
<p>
Reivers turned with a start.
</p>
<p>
“Hello, Treplin!” he said, recovering himself instantly.
“No hard feelings, I hope.” His manner was
so at ease that Toppy was thrown off his guard.
</p>
<p>
“I won’t make the mistake of fighting with you any
more, Treplin,” continued Reivers. “Look at the way
you’ve spoiled my nose. You ought to fix that up for
me. Look at it.”
</p>
<p>
He came closer and pointed with two fingers to
his broken nose. Toppy, unsuspecting, leaned forward.
Before he could move head or arms Reivers’
two hands had shot out and fastened like two iron
claws upon his unprotected throat.
</p>
<p>
“Now, —— you!” hissed Reivers. “Tear me loose
or kiss your life good-by.”
</p>
<p>
And Toppy tried to tear him loose—tried with a
desperation born of the sudden knowledge that his
life depended upon it; and failed. The Snow-Burner
had got his death-hold. His arms were like bars of
steel; his fingers yielded no more to Toppy’s tugging
than claws of moulded iron. “Struggle, —— you!
Fight, —— you!” hissed Reivers. “That’s right; die
hard; for, by ——, you’re done now!”
</p>
<p>
The eyes seemed starting from Toppy’s head. His
brains seemed to be bursting. He felt a strange emptiness
in his chest. Things went red, then they began
to go black. He made one final futile attempt. He
felt his legs sinking, felt his whole body sagging, felt
that the end had come; then heard as if far away the
office-door fly open, heard the girl crying——
</p>
<p>
“Stop, Mr. Reivers, or I’ll shoot!”
</p>
<p>
Then the roar of a shot. He felt the hands loosen
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170'></a>170</span>
on his throat, swayed and fell sidewise as the whole
world turned black.
</p>
<p>
He opened his eyes soon and saw by the light of the
rising flames that Campbell was running toward him.
In the doorway of the office stood the girl, her left
hand over her eyes, Campbell’s big black revolver in
her right. Down the road, with strange, drunken
steps, Reivers was running toward the river. Behind
him ran half a dozen men armed with axes screaming
his name in rage, but Reivers, despite his queer gait,
was distancing his pursuers. It was some time before
Toppy grasped the significance of these sights. Then
he remembered.
</p>
<p>
“You—you saved me,” he said clumsily, rising to
his feet. The girl dropped the revolver and burst into
a fit of sobbing.
</p>
<p>
“’Twas aye handy I thought of giving her the gun
and telling her to keep the door locked,” said Campbell.
“Do you go in, lassie. All’s well. Go in.”
</p>
<p>
“Eh? What’s this?” he cried, for in spite of her
sobbing she drew sharply away from his sheltering
arm as he tried to usher her indoors.
</p>
<p>
The smoke from the fire swept down into their
faces in a choking cloud. Toppy looked toward the
stockade. By this time the whole end of the great
building was in flames. The men in pursuit of Reivers
were howling as they gained on their quarry, and
Toppy lurched after them.
</p>
<p>
“Bob! Mr. Treplin!”
</p>
<p>
Toppy stopped.
</p>
<p>
“I mean—Mr. Treplin—you—don’t go down there—you’re
hurt—please!”
</p>
<p>
Toppy moved toward her. Was it true? Was it
really there the note in her voice that he yearned
to hear?
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171'></a>171</span>
</p>
<p>
“What did you say—please?” he stammered.
</p>
<p>
And now it was her turn to be confused. The sobs
came back to her. Toppy took a long breath and
nerved himself to desperation.
</p>
<p>
“Helen!” he said hoarsely.
</p>
<p>
“Bob! Oh, Bob!” she whispered. “Don’t leave
me—don’t leave me alone.”
</p>
<p>
Once more Toppy filled his lungs with air and
ground his teeth in desperate resolution. He tried
to speak, but only a gurgling sound came from his
throat; so he held out his big arms in mute appeal,
and suddenly he found himself whispering incoherently
at a little blonde head which lay snuggled in great
content against his bosom.
</p>
<p>
A maddened yell came from the men who were
after Reivers. But Toppy and the girl might have
been a thousand miles away for all the attention they
paid. One end of the stockade fell in with a great
roar and a shower of flame and sparks; but the twain
did not hear.
</p>
<p>
“Aye, aye!” Old Campbell moved swiftly away.
“He’s a grown man now, and so he’s a right to have
his woman.—Aye. A real man he had to be to take
her away from the Snow-Burner.”
</p>
<p>
Down by the river the pursuing men gave tongue
to a cry with the note of the wolf in it.
</p>
<p>
Campbell turned from the young couple and stared
with gleaming eyes in the direction whence came the
cry.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, Reivers!” he murmured. “Ye great man gone
wrong! How goes it with ye now, Reivers? Can ye
win through? Can ye? I wonder—I wonder!”
</p>
<p>
And as Toppy and Helen, holding closely to one
another, entered the office building, the old man hastened
to join the throng by the river where the fate of
the Snow-Burner was being spun.
</p>
<p class='center fs12' style='margin-top:3em;'>PART TWO: THE SUPER MAN</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175'></a>175</span><a name='chXXII' id='chXXII'></a>CHAPTER XXII—THE CHEATING OF THE RIVER</h2>
<p>
“It’s got him! The river’s got him. He’s
drowned! ‘Hell-Camp’ Reivers—he’s gone.
He’s done for. The ‘Snow-Burner’ is dead, dead
dead!”
</p>
<p>
Like wolves in revolt the men of “Hell Camp” lined
the bank of the rushing, ice-choked river and cursed
and roared into the blackness of the night. Behind
them the buildings of the camp, scene of the Snow-Burner’s
inhuman brutality and dominance over the
lives of men, were going up in seas of flame which they
had started.
</p>
<p>
Before them the tumultuous river, the waters battling
the ice which strove to cover it, tossed black and
white under the red glow of tumbling fire. And somewhere
out in the murderous current, whirled and
sucked down by the rushing water, buffeted and
crushed by the grinding ice, a bullet-hole through his
shoulder, was all that was left of the man whose life
they had cried for.
</p>
<p>
The river had cheated them. Like panting wolves,
their hands outstretched claw-like to clutch and kill,
they had pursued him closely to the river’s edge. A
cry of rage, short, sharp, unreasoning, had leaped
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176'></a>176</span>
from their throats as Reivers, staggering from his
wound, had leaped unhesitatingly out on to the heaving
cakes of ice.
</p>
<p>
Spellbound, open-mouthed and silent, they had stood
and watched as their erstwhile oppressor ran zigzagging,
leaping from cake to cake, out toward the black
slip of open water which ran silently, swiftly in the
river’s middle. And then they had cried out again.
</p>
<p>
For the open water had caught him. Straight into
it, without pausing or swerving, Reivers had run on.
And the black water had taken him home. Like a
stone dropped into its midst, it had taken him plump—a
flirt of spray, a gurgle. Then the waters rushed
on as before, silent, deadly, unconcerned.
</p>
<p>
And so the men of Hell Camp, drunk with the spirit
and success of their revolt, cried out in triumph. Their
cry rose over the roar of flame. It rang above the
rumble of crunching ice. It reached, pæan-like, up
through the star-filled northern night—a cry of victory,
of gratification, the old, terrible cry of the kill.
</p>
<p>
For the Snow-Burner was gone. Wolf-like he had
harried them and wolf-like he had died. No man, not
even Hell-Camp Reivers, they knew, could live a minute
in that black water. They had seen the waters
close above him; a floe of ice swept serenely over
the spot where he had gone down. He was gone. The
world was rid of him.
</p>
<p>
And so the men of Cameron-Dam Camp, while their
cry still echoed in the timber, turned to carry the news
of the Snow-Burner’s end back to the men who were
milling about the burning camp. The Snow-Burner
was dead!
</p>
<p>
Out in the deadly river, Hell-Camp Reivers stayed
under water until he knew that the men on the bank
counted him drowned. He had sought the open water
deliberately, his giant lungs filling themselves with air
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177'></a>177</span>
as he plunged down to the superhuman test which
was to spell life or death for him.
</p>
<p>
He realised that if he were to live he must appear to
perish in the river, before the eyes of the men who
pursued him. To have won through the open water,
and over the ice beyond, and in their sight have
reached the farther shore would have sealed his doom
as surely as to have returned to the bank where
stood the men.
</p>
<p>
The camp had revolted. Two hundred men had
said that he must die; and had he been seen to cross
the river and enter the timber beyond, half of the
two hundred, properly armed, would have crossed the
stringers of the dam, not to pause or rest until they
had hunted him down. He was without weapons
of any kind save his bare fists. He was bleeding
heavily from the bullet-hole in his right shoulder. He
would have died like a wounded wolf run to earth had
he been seen to cross the river safely. His only chance
for life was to appear to die in the river.
</p>
<p>
He made no fight as he went down. The swift
waters sucked him under like a straw. They rolled
him over the rocky bottom, whirled him around and
around sunken piles of ice. Into the sluice-like current
of the stream’s middle they spewed him, and the
current caught him and shot him into the darkness
below the glare of the burning camp.
</p>
<p>
He lay inert in the water’s grasp, recking not how
the sharp ice gashed and tore face and hands, how
the rocks crushed and bruised his body. A sweeping
ice-floe caught him and held him down. Like some
great river-beast he lay supine beneath it, conserving
every atom of his giant’s strength for the test
that was to win him life.
</p>
<p>
Then, with the blood roaring in his temples, and
his bursting lungs warning him that the next second
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178'></a>178</span>
must yield him air or death, he threw his body upward
against the ice, felt it slip to one side, thrust his
upturned face out of the water, caught a finger-hold
on another floe that strove to thrust him down, gasped,
clawed and—laughed.
</p>
<p>
He was a dead man, and he lived. Men had driven
him into the jaws of death, and death had engulfed
and apparently swallowed him. Men counted him
now as one who had gone hence. Far and wide the
word would be flung in a hurry: the Snow-Burner
was no more; Hell-Camp Reivers had passed away.
</p>
<p>
The face of the Snow-Burner as it rode barely above
the icy, lapping waters, bore but one single expression,
a sardonic appreciation of the joke he had played
upon men and Death. The loss of Cameron Camp,
of his position, of all that he called his own did not
trouble him.
</p>
<p>
As the current swept him down there, he was a
beaten man, stripped of all the things that men struggle
for to have and to hold, and with but a slippery finger-hold
on life itself. Yet he was victorious, triumphant.
</p>
<p>
He had placed himself within the clammy fingers
of the River Death. The fingers had closed upon him,
and he had torn them apart, had thrust death away,
had clutched life as it fleeted from him and had drawn
it back to hold for the time being. And Reivers
laughed contemptuously, tauntingly, at the sucking
waters cheated of their prey.
</p>
<p>
“Not yet, Nick, old boy,” he muttered. “It doesn’t
please me to boss your stokers just yet.”
</p>
<p>
The current tore the ice from his precarious grip
and he was forced to swim for it. In the darkness he
struck the grinding icefield on the far side of the open
water, and like the claws of a bear his stiffening fingers
sought for and found a crevice to afford a secure hold.
</p>
<p>
A pull, a heave and a wriggle, and he lay face-down
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179'></a>179</span>
on the jagged ice—heart, lungs and brain crying
for the cold air which he sucked in avidly. The ice-cakes
parted beneath his weight. Once more he fought
through the water to a resting place on the ice; once
more the treacherous ice parted and dropped him into
the water.
</p>
<p>
Swimming, crawling, wriggling his way, he fought
on. At last an outstretched hand groped to a hold on a
snow-covered root on the far bank of the river.
</p>
<p>
“About time,” he said and, slowly drawing himself
up onto the bank, he rolled over in the snow and lay
with his face turned back toward Cameron Camp.
</p>
<p>
The fire which the men had started in the long
bunk-house when they had revolted against the inhumanity
of Reivers now had gained full headway.
In pitchy, red billows of flame the dried log walls
were roaring upward into the night. Like the yipping
of maddened demons, the bellowing shouts of the men
came back to him as they danced and leaped around
the fire in celebration of the passing of Reivers and
of the camp for which his treatment of men had justly
earned the title of Hell-Camp.
</p>
<p>
But louder and more poignant even than the roar of
flame and the shouts of jubilant men, there came to
Reivers’ ears a sound which prompted him to drag
himself to an elbow to listen. Somewhere out in the
timber near the camp a man was crying for mercy. A
rifle cracked; the pleading stopped. Reivers smiled
contemptuously.
</p>
<p>
“One of the guards; they got him,” he mused.
“The fool! That’s what he gets for being silly enough
to be faithful to me.”
</p>
<p>
But the fate of the guard, one of the “shot-gun
artists” who had served him faithfully and brutally in
the task of keeping the men of the camp helpless
under his heel, roused Reivers to the need of quick
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180'></a>180</span>
action. If the guards had escaped into the woods
and were being hunted down by the maddened crew,
the hunt might easily lead across the dam and up the
bank to where he lay. Once let it be known that he
had not perished in the river, and the whole camp
would come swarming across the dam, each man’s
hand against him, resolved to take his trail and hunt
him down, no matter where the trail might lead or
how long the hunt might take.
</p>
<p>
The fight through the river ice was but the preliminary
to his flight for safety. Many miles of cold
trail between him and the burning camp were his most
urgent present needs, and with a curse he staggered
to his feet and stood for a moment lowering back
across the water to the scene of his overthrow.
</p>
<p>
To a lesser man—or a better man—there would have
been deep humiliation in the situation. Reivers’s
mind flashed back over the incidents of the last few
hours. Over there, across the river, he had been
beaten for the first time in his life in a fair, stand-up
fist fight. He had underestimated young Treplin,
and Treplin had beaten him.
</p>
<p>
Following his defeat had come the revolt of the men.
Following that had come flight. The power and leadership
of the camp had been wrested from his hands
by a better man; he himself had been driven out,
helpless, beaten, yet Reivers only laughed as he stood
now and looked back across the river. For in the
river the Snow-Burner had died.
</p>
<p>
The past was dead. A new life was beginning
for him. It had to be so, for if word went back
that the Snow-Burner was still alive the men of Cameron-Dam
Camp would come clamouring to the hunt.
To die, and yet to live; to slough one life, as an old
coat, and to take up another, not having the slightest
notion of what it might hold—that was the great
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181'></a>181</span>
adventure, that was something so interesting that the
humiliation of defeat never so much as reached beneath
Reivers’ skin.
</p>
<p>
He stood for a moment, looking back at the camp,
and he smiled. He waved his left hand in a polished
gesture of contemptuous farewell.
</p>
<p>
“Good-by, Mr. Hell-Camp Reivers,” he growled.
“Hello, Mr. New Man, whoever you are. Let’s
go and lay up till the puncture in your hide heals.
Then we’ll go out and see what you can do to this
silly old world.”
</p>
<p>
With his fingers clutching the hole in his shoulder,
he turned and lurched drunkenly away into the blackness
of the thick timber.
</p>
<p>
The icy waters of the river had been kind to him in
more ways than one. They had congealed the warm
blood-spurts from his wound into a solid red clot, and
his thick woolen shirt and mackinaw were frozen stiff
and tight against the clot.
</p>
<p>
He held to his staggering run for an hour, seeking
bare spots in the timber, travelling on top of windfalls
when he found them, hiding his trail in uncanny fashion,
before his body grew warm enough to thaw the
icy bandages. Then he halted and, by the light of
the cold moon, bared his shoulder and took stock.
It was a bad, ragged wound. He moved the shoulder
and smiled sardonically as he noted that no bone was
touched.
</p>
<p>
From the butt of a shattered windfall he tore a
flat sliver of clean pine. With his teeth he worried it
down to a proper size, and with handkerchief and belt
he bound it over the wound so tightly that it sunk
deep into the muscles of the shoulder. It chafed and
cut the skin and started the blood in half a dozen
places, but he pulled the belt up another hole despite
the inclination to grimace from pain.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182'></a>182</span>
</p>
<p>
“Suffer, Body,” he muttered, “suffer all you please.
You’ve nothing to say about this. Your job for the
present is merely to serve life by keeping it going.
Later on you may grow whole again. I shall need
you.”
</p>
<p>
He buttoned his mackinaw with difficulty and, finding
an open space, turned and took his bearings. Far
behind him a dull red glow on the sky marked the
location of Cameron-Dam Camp. From this he
turned, carefully scanning the heavens, until above the
top of the timber he caught the weird glint of the
northern lights. That way lay his course.
</p>
<p>
The white man’s country stopped with the timber
in which he stood. Beyond was Indian country, the
bleak, barren Dead Lands, a wilderness too bare of
timber to tempt the logger, a land of ridge upon ridge
of ragged rock, unexplored by white man, save for
a rare mining prospector, and uninhabited save for the
half-starved camp of the people of Tillie, the Chippewa,
Reivers’ slave, by the power of the love she
bore him.
</p>
<p>
White men shunned the white wastes of the Dead
Lands as, in warmer climes, they shun the unwatered
sands of the desert. That was why Reivers sought
it. Out there in the camp of Tillie’s people he could
lie safe, well fed, well nursed, until his wound healed
and the strength of his body came back to him. And
then....
</p>
<p>
“Cheer up, Body!” he chuckled as he started northward.
“We’ll make the world pay bitterly for all of
this when we’re in shape again. For the present
we’re going north, going north, going north. You
can’t stop, Body; you can’t lay down. Groan all
you want to. You’re going to be dragged just as far
to-night as if you weren’t shot up at all.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183'></a>183</span><a name='chXXIII' id='chXXIII'></a>CHAPTER XXIII—THE GIRL WHO WAS NOT AFRAID</h2>
<p>
Break of day in Winter time comes to the Dead
Lands slowly and without enthusiasm, as if the
rosy morning sun wearied at the hopeless landscape
which its rays must illumine. Aimless rock formation
was a drug on the creation’s market the day that the
Bad Lands were made. Gigantic boulders, box-like
bluffs, ragged rock-spires, cliffs and plateaus of bare
rock were in oversupply.
</p>
<p>
Nature, so a glimpse of the place suggests, had
resolved to get rid of a vast surplus of ugly, useless
stone, and with one cast of its hands flung them solidly
down and made the Dead Lands. There they lie,
hog-back, ridge, gully and ravine, hopelessly and aimlessly
jumbled and tumbled, a scene of desolate greyness
by Summer; by Winter the raw, bleak ridges and
spires, thrusting themselves through the covering of
snow like unto the bones of a half concealed skeleton.
</p>
<p>
Daylight crept wearily over the timber belt and
spread itself slowly over the barrenness, and struck the
highest rise of ground, running crosswise through
the barrens, which men called “Hog-Back Ridge.”
Little by little it lighted up the bleak peaks and tops
of ridge and rock-spire.
</p>
<p>
A wind came with it, a bleak, morning Winter wind
which whined as it whipped the dry snow from high
places and sent it flying across coulée and valley in
the grey light of dawn. Nothing stirred with the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184'></a>184</span>
coming of daylight. No nocturnal animal, warned
of the day’s coming, slunk away to its cave; no beast
or bird of daylight greeted the morning with movement
or song. The grey half-light revealed no living
thing of life upon the exposed hump of the ridge.
</p>
<p>
The sun came, a ball of dull red, rising over the
timber line. It touched the topmost spires of rock,
sought to gild them rosily, gave up as their sullen
sides refused to take the colour, and turned its rays
along the eastern slope. Then something moved. A
single speck of life stirred in the vast scene of desolation.
</p>
<p>
On the bare ground in the lea of a boulder a man
sat with his back to the stone and slept. His face was
hollow and lined. The corners of his mouth were
drawn down as if a weight were hung on each of them,
and the thin cheeks, hugging the bones so tightly that
the teeth showed through, told that the man had driven
himself too far on an empty stomach. Yet, even in
sleep, there was a hint of a sardonic smile on the misshapen
lips, a smile that condemned and made naught
the pain and cruelty of his fate.
</p>
<p>
The sun crept down the slope of Hog-Back Ridge
and found him. It reached his eyes. Its rays had
no more warmth than the rays of the cold Winter
moon, but its light pierced through the tightly drawn
lids. They twitched and finally parted. Reivers awoke
without yawning or moving and looked around.
</p>
<p>
It was the second morning after his flight from
Cameron-Dam Camp, and he had yet to reach the
Winter camp of the people of Tillie the squaw. Somewhere
to the west it lay. He would reach it and reach
it in good time, he swore; but he had not had a bite
of food in his mouth for two days, and the fever of
his wound had sapped heavily his strength.
</p>
<p>
“Be still, Body,” he growled, as with the return
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185'></a>185</span>
of consciousness his belly cried out for food. “You
will be fed before life goes out of you.”
</p>
<p>
He rose slowly and stiffly to his knees and looked
down the ridge to where the rays of the sun now
were illumining the snow-covered bottom of the valley
below. The valley ran eastward for a mile or two,
and at first glance it was empty and dead, save for
the flurries of wind-swept snow, dropping down from
the heights above. But Reivers, as he rose to his feet,
swept the valley with a second glance, and suddenly
he dropped and crouched down close to the ground.
</p>
<p>
Far down at the lower end of the valley a black
speck showed on the frozen snow, and the speck was
moving.
</p>
<p>
Reivers lay on the bare patch of ground, as silent
and immovable as the rock above him. The speck
was too large to be a single animal and too small to be
a pack of travelling caribou.
</p>
<p>
For several minutes he lay, scarcely breathing, his
eyes straining to bring the speck into comprehensible
shape. His breath began to come rapidly. Presently
he swore. The speck had become two specks now, a
long narrow speck and a tiny one which moved beside
it, and they were coming steadily up the valley
toward where he lay.
</p>
<p>
“One man and a dog-team,” mused Reivers. “He
won’t be travelling here without grub. Body, wake
up! You are crying for food. Yonder it comes.
Get ready to take it.”
</p>
<p>
Slowly, with long pauses between each movement,
and taking care not to place his dark body against
the white snow, Reivers dragged himself around to
a hiding-place behind the boulder against which he
had slept. The sun had risen higher now. Its rays
were lighting the valley, and as he peered avidly around
one side of the stone, Reivers could make out some
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186'></a>186</span>
detail of the two specks that moved so steadily toward
him.
</p>
<p>
It was a four-dog team, travelling rapidly, and the
man, on snow-shoes, travelled beside his team and
plied his whip as he strode. Reivers’ brows drew
down in puzzled fashion. The sledge which whirled
behind the running dogs seemed flat and unloaded;
the dogs ran in a fashion that told they were strong
and fresh. Why didn’t the man ride?
</p>
<p>
Reivers drew back to take stock of the situation.
The man might be a stranger, travelling hurriedly
through the Dead Lands, or he might be one of the
men from Cameron-Dam Camp. If the former, food
might be had for a mere hail and the asking; if the
latter—Reivers’s nostrils widened and he smiled.
</p>
<p>
Yet a third possibility existed. The man was
travelling in strange fashion, running beside an apparently
empty sled, and whipping his dogs along. So
did men travel when they were fleeing from various
reasons, and men fleeing thus do not go unarmed nor
take kindly to having the trail of their flight witnessed
by casual though starving strangers. Thus
there was one chance that a hail and plea for food
would be met with a friendly response; two chances
that they would be met with lead or steel.
</p>
<p>
Reivers, not being a careless man, looked about for
ways and means to place the odds in his favour. A
hundred yards to the north of him the valley narrowed
into a mere slit between two straight walls of rock.
Through this gap the traveller must pass.
</p>
<p>
When Reivers had crawled to a position on the rock
directly above the narrow opening, he lay flat down
and grinned in peace. He was securely hidden, and
the dog-driver would pass unsuspectingly, unready,
thirty feet beneath where he lay. Things were looking
well.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187'></a>187</span>
</p>
<p>
The driver and team came on at a steady pace.
Even at a great distance, his stride betrayed his race
and Reivers muttered, “White man,” and pushed to
the edge of the bluff a huge, jagged piece of rock.
The man might not listen to reason, and Reivers
was taking no chances of allowing an opportunity to
feed to slip by.
</p>
<p>
The sleigh still puzzled him. As it came nearer
and nearer he saw that it was not empty. Something
long and flat lay upon it. Reivers ceased to watch
the driver and turned his scrutiny entirely to the
bundle upon the sleigh. Minute after minute he
watched the sleigh to the exclusion of everything else.
</p>
<p>
He made out eventually that the bundle was the
size and form of a human body. Soon he saw that
it moved now and then, as if struggling to rise.
</p>
<p>
The sleigh came nearer, came into a space where
the sunlight, streaming through a gap in the ridge,
lighted it up brightly, and Reivers’ whole body suddenly
stiffened upon the ground and his teeth snapped
shut barely in time to cut short an ejaculation of
surprise.
</p>
<p>
The bundle on the sleigh was a woman—a white
woman! And she was bound around from ankle to
forehead with thongs passed under the sleigh.
</p>
<p>
“Food—and a woman—a white woman,” he mused.
“The new life becomes interesting. Body, get ready.”
</p>
<p>
He held the rock balanced on the edge of the cliff,
ready to hurl it down with one supreme effort of his
waning strength. Hugging the cliff he lay, his head
barely raised sufficiently to watch his approaching
quarry. He could make out the face of the man by
this time, a square face, mostly covered with hair, with
the square-cut hair of the head hanging down below
the ears. Two fang-like teeth glistened in the sunlight
when the man opened his mouth to curse at
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188'></a>188</span>
the dogs, and he turned at times to leer back at the
helpless burden on the sleigh.
</p>
<p>
As he approached the narrow defile, where the rock
walls hid a man and what he might do from the
eyes of all but the sky above, the man turned to look
more frequently, more leeringly at his victim. Reivers
saw that the woman was gagged as well as bound.
</p>
<p>
The driver shouted a command at his dogs, and
their lope became a walk, and even as Reivers, up
on the cliff, arched his back to hurl his stone, the
outfit came to a halt directly beneath where he lay.
Reivers waited. He had no compunction about disabling
or killing the man below; a crying belly knows
no conscience. But he would wait and see what was
to develop.
</p>
<p>
The man swiftly jerked his team back in the traces
and turned toward his victim. Reivers, turning his
eyes from the man to the woman, received a shock
which caused him to hug closer to the cliff. The
woman lay helpless on the sleigh, face up. A cloth
gag covered her face up to the nose, and a cap, drawn
down over the forehead, left only the eyes and nose
visible. And the eyes were wide open—very wide
open—and they were looking quite calmly and unafraid
up at Reivers.
</p>
<p>
The driver came back and tore the gag from the
woman’s lips.
</p>
<p>
“I’ll give you a chance,” he exploded, and Reivers,
up on the cliff, caught the passion-choked note in
voice and again held the stone ready. “I’m stealing
you for the chief—for Shanty Moir, the man who’s
got your father’s mine, and who’s determined to put
shame on you, Red MacGregor’s daughter. I’m taking
you there to him—in his camp. You know what
that means.
</p>
<p>
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. I—I’ll give you a
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189'></a>189</span>
chance. I’ll save you. Come with me. I won’t take
you up there. We’ll go out of the country. You
know what it’d mean to go up there. Well,—I’ll
marry you.”
</p>
<p>
Many things happened in the next few seconds.
The man threw himself like a wild beast beside the
sledge, caught the woman’s face in his hands and
kissed her bestially upon the helpless lips.
</p>
<p>
The girl did not struggle or cry out. Only her
wide eyes looked up to the top of the cliff, looked
questioningly, speculatively, calmly. He of the hairy
face caught the direction of her look and sprang up
and whirled around, the glove flying from his right
hand, and a six-shooter leaping into it apparently
from nowhere.
</p>
<p>
His face was upturned, and he fired even as the
big rock smote him on the forehead and crushed him
shapelessly into the snow. Reivers dragged forward
another stone and waited, but the man was too obviously
dead to render caution necessary.
</p>
<p>
“He was experienced and quick,” said Reivers to
the woman, “but I was too hungry to miss him. Did
you think I did it to save you? Oh, no! Just a minute,
till I get down; you’ll know me better.”
</p>
<p>
He staggered and fell as he rose to pick his way
down, for the cast with the heavy stone had tapped
the last reservoirs of his depleted strength, had
wrenched open the wounded shoulder and started
the blood. Painfully he dragged himself on hands
and knees to a snow-covered slope, and slipping and
sliding made his way to the valley-bottom and came
staggering up to the sledge. The woman to him for
the time being did not exist.
</p>
<p>
“Steady, Body,” he muttered, as he tore open the
grub-bag on the sleigh. “Here’s food.”
</p>
<p>
His fingers fell first on a huge chunk of cooked
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190'></a>190</span>
venison, and he looked no farther. Down in the
snow at the side of the helpless woman he squatted
and proceeded to eat. Only when the pang in his
stomach had been appeased did he look at the woman.
Then, for a time, he forgot about eating.
</p>
<p>
It was not a woman but a girl. Her face was fair
and her hair golden red. Her big eyes were looking
at him appraisingly. There was no fear in them, no
apprehension. She noted the hollowness of his cheeks,
the fever in his eyes. Reivers almost dropped his
meat in amazement. The girl actually was pitying
him!
</p>
<p>
He stood up, thrust the meat back into the grub-bag
and stood swaying and towering over her. The girl’s
eyes looked back unwaveringly.
</p>
<p>
“—— you!” growled Reivers as he bent down and
loosed the thongs. “What do you mean? Why aren’t
you afraid?”
</p>
<p>
“MacGregor Roy was my father,” she said quietly.
“I am not afraid.” She sat up as the bonds fell from
her and looked at the still figure in the snow. “He
is dead, I suppose?”
</p>
<p>
“As dead as he tried to make me,” sneered Reivers.
</p>
<p>
A look of annoyance crossed her face.
</p>
<p>
“Then you have spoiled it all,” she broke out, leaping
from the sledge. “Spoiled the fine chance I had
to find the cave of Shanty Moir, murderer of my
father.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers’ jaw dropped in amazement, and hot anger
surged to his tongue. Many women of many kinds
he had looked in the eyes and this was the first one—
</p>
<p>
“Spoiled it, you red-haired trull! What do you
mean? Didn’t I save you from our bearded friend
yonder. Or—” his thin lips curled into their old
contemptuous smile—“or perhaps—perhaps you are
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191'></a>191</span>
one of those to whom such attentions are not distasteful.”
</p>
<p>
The sudden flare and flash of her anger breaking,
like lightning out of a Winter’s sky, checked his words.
The contempt of his smile gave place to a grin of admiration.
Tottering and wavering on his feet, he
did not stir or raise his arms, though the thin-bladed
knife which seemed to spring into her hands as claws
protrude from a maddened cat’s paws, slipped through
his mackinaw and pricked the skin above his heart,
before her hand stopped.
</p>
<p>
“‘Trull’ am I? The daughter of MacGregor Roy
is a helpless squaw who takes kindly to such words
from any man on the trail? Blood o’ my father!
Pray, you cowardly skulker! Pray!”
</p>
<p>
His grin grew broader.
</p>
<p>
“Pretty, very pretty!” he drawled. “But you can’t
make it good, can you? You thought you could.
Your little flare of temper made you feel big. You
were sure you were going to stick me. But you
couldn’t do it. You’re a woman. See; your flash of
bigness is dying out. You’re growing tame. That’s
one of my specialties—taming spitfires like you. Oh,
you needn’t draw back. Have no fear. I never did
have any taste for red hair.”
</p>
<p>
A painter would have raved about the daughter of
MacGregor Roy as she now stood back, facing her tormentor.
The fair skin of her face was flushed red,
the thin sharp lines of mouth and nostril were tremulous
with rage, and her wide, grey eyes burned. Her
head was thrown back in scorn, her cap was off; the
glorious red-golden hair of her head seemed alive
with fury. With one foot advanced, the knife held
behind her, her breath coming in angry gasps, she
stood, a figure passionately, terribly alive in the dead
waste of the snows.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192'></a>192</span>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, what a coward you are!” she panted. “You
knew I couldn’t avenge myself on a sick man. You
coward!”
</p>
<p>
Reivers laughed drunkenly. The fever was blurring
his sight, dulling his brain and filling him with an
irresistible desire to lie down.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, I knew it,” he mumbled. “I saw it in your
eye. You couldn’t do it—because I didn’t want you
to. I want you—I want you to fix me up—hole in
the shoulder—fever—understand?”
</p>
<p>
“I understand that when Duncan Roy, my father’s
brother, catches up with us he will save me the trouble
by putting a hole through your head.”
</p>
<p>
“Plenty of time for that later on.” Reivers fought
off the stupor and held his senses clear for a moment.
“Have you got my whisky?”
</p>
<p>
“And what if I have?”
</p>
<p>
“Answer me!” he said icily. “Have you?”
</p>
<p>
“Duncan Roy has whisky,” she replied reluctantly.
“He will be on our trail now.”
</p>
<p>
“How long—how long before he’ll get here?”
</p>
<p>
“Yon beast—” she nodded her head toward the still
figure in the snow—“raided our camp, struck me down
and stole me away with my team two hours before
sundown, yestere’en. Duncan Roy was out meat-hunting,
and would be back by dark. He’ll be two
hours behind us, and his dogs travel even with these.”
</p>
<p>
“Two hours? Too long,” groaned Reivers and
pitched headlong into the snow.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193'></a>193</span><a name='chXXIV' id='chXXIV'></a>CHAPTER XXIV—THE WOMAN’S WAY</h2>
<p>
When he came to, it was from the bite and sting
of the terrible white whisky of the North, being
poured down his throat by a rude, generous hand.
</p>
<p>
“Aye; he’s no’ dead,” rumbled a voice like unto a
bear’s growl. “He lappit the liquor though his eye’s
closed. Hoot, man! Ye take it in like mother’s milk.”
</p>
<p>
“Have done, Uncle Duncan,” warned another voice—the
bold, free voice of the girl, Reivers in his semi-consciousness
made out. “’Tis a sick man. Don’t
give him the whole bottle.”
</p>
<p>
“Let be, let be,” grumbled the big voice, but nevertheless
Reivers felt the bottle withdrawn from his
lips. “’Tis no tender child that a good drink of liquor
would hurt that we have here. Do you not note that
mouth and jaw? I’m little more pleased with the look
of him than with yon thing in the snow.”
</p>
<p>
“’Tis a sick, helpless being,” said the girl.
</p>
<p>
The big voice rumbled forth an oath.
</p>
<p>
“And what have we—you and I—to do with sick,
helpless beings? Are we not on the trail to find Shanty
Moir, who is working your father’s mine, wherever
it is, and there take vengeance on said Shanty for
your father’s murder, as well as recover your own
property? Is this a trail on which ’tis fit and well
we halted to nurse and care for sick, helpless beings?
Blood of the de’il! An unlucky mess! What
business has man to be sick and ailing on the Winter
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194'></a>194</span>
trail here in the North? ’Tis the law of Nature that
such die!”
</p>
<p>
“And do you think that law will be followed here?”
demanded the girl.
</p>
<p>
“Were I alone, it would,” retorted the man. “Our
task is to find the place of Shanty Moir and do him
justice.”
</p>
<p>
“And the hospitality of the MacGregors? Is it
like Duncan Roy to see beast or man needing or wanting
help without stretching his hand to help it?”
</p>
<p>
The man was silent.
</p>
<p>
“Do you think any good could come to you or me
if we turned our hearts to stones and let a sick man
perish after he had fallen helpless on our hands?”
</p>
<p>
“I tell you what I think, Hattie MacGregor,” broke
out the big voice. “I think there is trouble travelling
as trail-fellow with this man. I see trouble in the
cut of his jaw and the lines of his mouth. There
is a fate written there; he’s a fated man and no else,
and nothing would please me better than to have him
a thousand days mushing away from me and never to
see him again. Trouble and trouble! It’s written
on him plain.
</p>
<p>
“Who is he? Whence came he? Why is he alone,
dogless, foodless, weaponless, here in these Dead
Lands! ’Tis uncanny. Blood o’ the de’il! He might
be dropped down from somewhere, or more like shot
up from somewhere—from the black pit, for instance.
It’s no’ proper for mere human being to be found in
his condition out this far on the barrens, with no sign
of how he came or why?”
</p>
<p>
“Have no fear, Uncle Duncan,” laughed the girl.
“He’s only a common man.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers opened his eyes, chuckling feverishly.
</p>
<p>
“You’ll pay for that ‘common,’ you spitfire, when
I’ve tamed you,” he mumbled.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195'></a>195</span>
</p>
<p>
“Only a common man, Uncle Duncan,” repeated
the girl steadfastly, “and I’ve a bone to pick with him
when he’s on his feet, no longer helpless and pitiable
as he is now.”
</p>
<p>
Again Reivers laughed through the haze of fever.
He did not have the strength to hold his eyes open,
but his mind worked on.
</p>
<p>
“Helpless! Did you notice the incident of the
rock?” he babbled. “Bare, primitive, two-handed man
against a man with a gun. Who won?”
</p>
<p>
“Aye,” said the man seriously, “we owe you thanks
for that. For a helpless man, you deal stout knocks.”
</p>
<p>
“And speak big words,” snapped the girl. “Now,
around with the teams, Uncle Duncan, and back to
camp. There’s been talk enough. We must take him
in and shelter and care for him, since he has fallen
helpless and pitiable on our hands. We owe him no
thanks. Can you not lay his head easier—the boasting
fool! There; that’s better. Now, all that the
dogs can stand, Uncle, for I misdoubt we’ll be hard-pressed
to keep the life in him till we get him back to
camp.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers heard and strove to reply. But the paralysis
of fever and weakness was upon him, and all that
came from his lips was an incoherent babbling. In
the last vapoury stages of consciousness he realised
that he was being placed more comfortably upon the
sledge, that his head was being lifted and that blankets
were being strapped about him.
</p>
<p>
He felt the sledge being turned, heard the runners
grate on the snow; then ensued an easy, sliding movement
through space, as the rested dogs started their
lope back through the valley. The movement soothed
him. It lulled him to a sensation of safety and
comfort.
</p>
<p>
The phantasmagoria of fever pounded at his brain,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196'></a>196</span>
his eyes and ears, but the steady, swishing rush of the
sleigh drove them away. He slept, and awoke when
a halt was called and more whisky forced down his
throat. Then he slept again.
</p>
<p>
There were several halts. Once he realised that
he was being fed thin soup, made from cooked venison
and snow-water. That was the last impression
made on remaining consciousness. After that the
thread snapped.
</p>
<p>
The sledges went on. They left the valley.
Through the jumbled ridges of the Dead Lands they
hurried. They reached a stretch of stunted fir, and
still they continued to go. At length they pulled
up before a solid little cabin built in a cleft of rocks.
</p>
<p>
The Snow Burner was carried in and put to bed.
After a rest Duncan Roy and the fresher of the dogteams
took the trail again. They came, back after
a day and a night, bringing with them a certain Père
Batiste, skilled in treating fevers and wounds of the
body as well as of the soul. The good curé gasped at
the torso which revealed itself to his gaze as he stripped
off the clothes to work at the wound.
</p>
<p>
“If <i>le bon Dieu</i> made him as well inside as outside,
this is a very good man,” he said simply; and Duncan
MacGregor smiled grimly.
</p>
<p>
“God—or the de’il—made him to deal stout knocks,
that’s sure,” he grunted. “’Tis a rare animal we have
stripped before us.”
</p>
<p>
“A rare human being—a soul,” reproved Father
Batiste. “And it is <i>le bon Dieu</i> who makes us all.”
</p>
<p>
“But the de’il gets hold of some very young,” insisted
the Scotchman.
</p>
<p>
Father Batiste stayed in the cabin for two days.
</p>
<p>
“He was not meant to die this time,” he said later.
“It will be long—weeks perhaps—before he will be
strong enough to take the trail. He will need care,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197'></a>197</span>
such care as only a woman can give him. If he does
not have this care he will die. If he does have it he
will live. <i>Adieu</i>, my children; you have a sacred, human
life in your hands.”
</p>
<p>
And he got the care that only a woman could give
him. For the next two weeks Duncan MacGregor
watched his niece’s devoted nursing and gnawed his
red beard gloomily.
</p>
<p>
“Trouble—trouble—trouble!” he muttered over and
over to himself. “It rides around the man’s head
like a storm-cap. Hattie MacGregor, take care. Yon
man will be a different creature to handle when he
has the strength back in his body.”
</p>
<p>
At the end of a week Reivers awoke as a man wakes
after a long, fever-breaking slumber, weak and wasted,
yet with a grateful sense of comfort and well-being.
Before he opened his eyes he sensed by the warmth
and odours of the air that he was in a small, tight
room, and in a haze he fancied that he had fallen
in the tepee of Tillie, the squaw. Then he remembered.
He opened his eyes.
</p>
<p>
He was lying in a bunk, raised high from the floor,
and above the foot of the bed was a small window,
shaded by a frilled white curtain. Reivers lay long
and looked at the curtain before his eyes moved to
further explore the room. For once, long, long ago,
he had belonged in a world where white frilled curtains
and frills of other kinds were not an exception.
</p>
<p>
In his physically washed-out condition his memory
reached back and pictured that world with uncanny
clearness, and he turned from the curtain with
a frown of annoyance to look straight into the eyes
of Duncan Roy, who sat by the fireplace across the
room and studied him from beneath shaggy red
brows.
</p>
<p>
Reivers looked the man over idly at first, then with
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198'></a>198</span>
a considerable interest and appreciation. Sitting
crouched over on a low stone bench, with the light
of the fire and of the sun upon him, MacGregor resembled
nothing so much as an old red-haired bear.
He was short of leg and bow-legged, but his torso
and head were enormous. His arms, folded across
the knees, were bear-like in length and size, and his
hair and beard flamed golden red.
</p>
<p>
There was no friendliness in the small, grey eyes
which regarded Reivers so steadily. Duncan MacGregor
was no man to hide his true feelings. Reivers
looked enquiringly around.
</p>
<p>
“She’s stepped outside to feed the dogs,” said MacGregor,
interpreting the look. “You’ll have to put up
with my poor company for the time being.”
</p>
<p>
“I accept your apology,” said Reivers and turned
comfortably toward the wall.
</p>
<p>
A deep, chesty chuckle came from the fireside.
</p>
<p>
“Man, whoever are you or whatever are you, to
take it that Duncan MacGregor feels any need to
apologise to you?”
</p>
<p>
The words were further balm to Reivers’s new-found
feeling of comfort and content.
</p>
<p>
“Say that again, please,” he requested drowsily.
</p>
<p>
Laughingly the giant by the fire repeated his query.
</p>
<p>
“Good!” murmured Reivers. “I just wanted to be
sure that you didn’t know who I am—or, rather, who
I was?”
</p>
<p>
“Blood o’ the de’il!” laughed the Scotchman. “So
it’s that, is it? Tell me, how much reward is there
offered for you, dead or alive? I’m a thrifty man,
lad, and you hardly look like a man who’d have a
small price on his head.”
</p>
<p>
“Wrong, quite wrong, my suspicious friend,” said
Reivers. “I see you’ve the simple mind of the man
who’s spent much time in lone places. You jump at
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199'></a>199</span>
the natural conclusion. When you know me better
you’ll know that that won’t apply to me.”
</p>
<p>
“Well,” drawled the Scotchman good-naturedly,
“I do not say that it looks suspicious to be found
a two-days’ march out in the Dead Lands, without
food, dog, or weapons, with an empty belly and a
hole through the shoulder, but there are people who
might draw the conclusion that a man so fixed was
travelling because some place behind him was mighty
bad for his health. But I have no doubt you have an
explanation? No doubt ’tis quite the way you prefer
to travel?”
</p>
<p>
“Under certain circumstances, it is,” said Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“Aye; under certain circumstances. Such as an
affair with a ‘Redcoat,’ for instance.”
</p>
<p>
“Wrong again, my simple-minded friend. You’re
quite welcome to bring the whole Mounted Police here
to look me over. I’m not on their lists, or the lists
of any authority in the world, as ‘wanted.’”
</p>
<p>
“For that insult—that I’m of the kind that bears
tales to the police—I’ll have an accounting with you
later on,” said MacGregor sharply. “For the rest—you’ll
admit that you’re under some small obligation
to us—will you be kind enough to explain what
lay behind you that you should be out on the barrens
in your condition? I’ll have you know that I am no
man to ask pay for succouring the sick or wounded.
Neither am I the man to let any well man be near-speaking
with my ward and niece, Hattie MacGregor,
without I know what’s the straight of him.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers turned luxuriously in his bunk and regarded
his inquisitor with a smile.
</p>
<p>
“Poor, dainty, helpless, little lady!” he mocked.
“So weak and frail that she needs a protector. Never
carries anything more than an eight-inch knife up
her sleeve. You do right, MacGregor; your niece
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200'></a>200</span>
certainly needs looking after. She certainly doesn’t
know how to take care of herself.
</p>
<p>
“But about obligations, I don’t quite agree with
you. Didn’t you owe me a little something for that
turn with the bearded fellow? Not that I did it
to save the girl,” he continued loudly, as he heard
the door open behind him and knew that Hattie MacGregor
had entered. “What was she to me? Nothing!
But I was hungry. I needed food. But for
that our black-bearded friend might now have been
wandering care-free over the snows, a red-haired
woman still strapped to his sledge, his taste seeming
to run to that colour, which mine does not.”
</p>
<p>
Hattie MacGregor stilled her uncle’s retort with a
shake of her golden-red head, crossed to the fireplace
and took up a bowl that was simmering there, and
approached the bed. Reivers looked at her closely,
striving to catch her eye, but she seated herself beside
him without apparently paying the slightest attention.
She spoke no word, made no sign to welcome him
back from his unconsciousness, but merely held a
spoonful of the steaming broth up to his lips.
</p>
<p>
There was a certain dexterity in her movements
which told that she had performed this action many,
many times before, and there was nothing in her manner
to indicate her sensibility of the change in his
condition. Reivers opened his mouth to laugh, and
the girl dexterously tilted the contents of the spoon
down his throat.
</p>
<p>
“You fool!” he sputtered, half strangling.
</p>
<p>
He strove to rise, but her round, warm arm held
him down. Over by the fireplace Duncan MacGregor
slapped his thigh and chuckled deep down in his hairy
throat, but on the face of his niece there was only
the determined patience of the nurse dealing with a
patient not yet entirely responsible for his behaviour.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201'></a>201</span>
</p>
<p>
She was not surprised at his outbreak, Reivers saw.
Apparently she had fed him many times just so—he
utterly helpless and childish, she capable and calm.
Apparently she was determined to sit there, firm and
patient, until he was ready to take his broth quietly
and without fuss.
</p>
<p>
Indignantly he raised his hands to take the bowl
from her; then he opened his eyes wide in surprise.
He was so weak that he could barely lift his arms,
and when she offered him a second spoonful he swallowed
it without further demur.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, well, we’ll soon be able to take the trail again,”
drawled MacGregor mockingly. “We’re getting
strong now; soon we’ll be able to eat with our own
hands.”
</p>
<p>
“Hold tongue, Uncle,” snapped the girl, and continued
to feed her patient.
</p>
<p>
“I suppose I must thank you?” taunted Reivers,
when the bowl was empty.
</p>
<p>
Hattie MacGregor made no sign to indicate that
she had heard. She put the bowl away, felt Reivers’
pulse, laid her hand upon his forehead—never looking
at him the while—arranged the pillows under
his head, tucked him in and without speaking went
out. Reivers’ eyes followed her till the door closed
behind her.
</p>
<p>
“The little spitfire!” he growled in grudging admiration;
and Duncan MacGregor, by the fire, laughed
till the room echoed.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202'></a>202</span><a name='chXXV' id='chXXV'></a>CHAPTER XXV—GOLD!</h2>
<p>
Next morning when she came to feed him
Reivers angrily reached for the bowl. He was
stronger than the day before, and he held his hands
forth without trembling.
</p>
<p>
“There’s no need of your feeding me by hand any
longer,” said he. “I assure you I’ll enjoy my food
much better alone than I do with you feeding me.”
</p>
<p>
The girl seated herself at the bunk-side, holding
the bowl out of his reach, and looked him quietly
in the eyes. It was the first time she had appeared
to notice his return to consciousness, and Reivers
smiled quizzically at her scrutiny. She did not smile
in return, merely studied him as if he were an interesting
subject.
</p>
<p>
In the grey light of morning Reivers for the first
time saw her with eyes cleared of the fever blur.
His smile vanished, for he saw that this woman, to
him, was different from any woman he ever had
known before. And he had known many.
</p>
<p>
In her wide grey eyes there rode a sorrow that
reached out and held the observer, despite her evident
efforts to keep it hidden. But the mouth belied the
eyes. It was set with an expression of determination,
almost superhuman, almost savage. It was as if this
girl, just rounding her twenties, had turned herself
into a force for the accomplishment of an object. The
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203'></a>203</span>
mouth was harsh, almost lipless, in its set. Yet, beneath
all this, the woman in Hattie MacGregor was
obvious, soft, yearning.
</p>
<p>
Many women had had a part in Reivers’ life—far
too many. None of them had held his interests longer
than for a few months; none of them had he failed
to tame and break. And none of them had reached
below the hard husk of him and touched the better
man as Hattie MacGregor did at this moment. His
past experiences, his past attitude toward women, his
past manner of life, flashed through his mind, each
picture bringing with it a stab of remorse.
</p>
<p>
Remorse! The Snow Burner remorseful! He
laughed his old laugh of contempt and defiance of
all the world, but, though he refused to acknowledge
it to himself, the old, invincible, self-assured ring was
not in it. This girl was not to him what other women
had been, and he saw that he could not tame her as
he had tamed them.
</p>
<p>
Strange thoughts rose in his mind. He wished that
the past had been different. He actually felt unworthy.
Well, the past was past. It had died with
him in the river. He was beginning a new life, a
new name, a new man. Why couldn’t he? He drove
the weak thoughts away. What nonsense! He—Hell-Camp
Reivers—getting soft over a woman?
Pooh!
</p>
<p>
“I said I could feed myself,” he snarled. “Give
me that bowl. I don’t want you around.”
</p>
<p>
For reply she dipped the spoon into the food and
held it ready.
</p>
<p>
“Lie down quietly, please,” she said coldly. “This
is no time for keeping up your play of being a big
man.”
</p>
<p>
“Give me that bowl,” he commanded.
</p>
<p>
“Uncle,” she called quietly.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204'></a>204</span>
</p>
<p>
Her big kinsman came lurching in from the other
room of the cabin.
</p>
<p>
“Aye, lass?” said he.
</p>
<p>
“It looks as if we would have to obey Father
Batiste’s directions and feed him by force,” said the
girl quietly. “He has come out of the fever, but he
hasn’t got his senses back. He thinks of feeding
himself. Do you get the straps, Uncle. You recollect
Father Batiste’s orders.”
</p>
<p>
Duncan MacGregor scratched his hairy head in
puzzled fashion.
</p>
<p>
“How now, stranger?” he growled. “Can you no
take your food in peace?”
</p>
<p>
“I can take it without anybody’s help,” insisted
Reivers. He knew that the situation was ridiculous,
but he saw no way of getting the whip-hand.
</p>
<p>
“It was the word of the good Father, without
whom you would now be resting out in the snow with
a cairn of rock over you, that you should be fed so
much and so little for some days after your senses
come back,” said MacGregor slowly. “I do not ken
the right of it quite, but the lass does. The lass—she’ll
have her way, I suspect. I can do naught but
obey her orders.”
</p>
<p>
“Get the straps,” commanded the girl curtly.
</p>
<p>
Reivers glared at her, but she looked back without
the least losing her self-possession or determination.
</p>
<p>
“You’ll pay for this!” he snorted.
</p>
<p>
“Will you take your food without the straps?” said
she.
</p>
<p>
For a minute their eyes met in conflict.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Reivers. “Have
your silly way.”
</p>
<p>
“Good. That’s a good boy,” she said softly; and
Duncan Roy ran from the room choking.
</p>
<p>
“You see,” she continued, as he swallowed the first
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205'></a>205</span>
spoonful, “it isn’t always possible to have your own
way, is it? I am doing this only for your own good.”
</p>
<p>
“Hold your tongue,” he growled. “I’ve got to eat
this food, but I don’t have to listen to your talk.”
</p>
<p>
“Quite right,” she agreed, and the meal was finished
in silence.
</p>
<p>
At noon she fed him again, without speaking a
word. Apparently she had given her uncle orders
likewise to refrain from talking to Reivers, for not
a word did he speak during the day.
</p>
<p>
In the evening the same silent feeding took place.
After she and her uncle had supped, they drew up to
the fireplace, where, in silence, Duncan repaired a dog-harness
while the girl sewed busily at a fur coat. At
short intervals the uncle cast a look toward Reivers’
bunk, then choked a chuckle in his beard, each chuckle
bringing a glance of reproof from his niece.
</p>
<p>
“No, Hattie,” MacGregor broke out finally, “I cannot
hold tongue any longer. Company is no’ so plentiful
in the North that we can sit by and have no
speech. Do you keep still if you wish—I must talk.
Stranger, are you going to tell me about yoursel’, as
I asked you yestereve?”
</p>
<p>
“Does her Royal Highness, the Red-Headed Chieftainess,
permit me to speak?” queried Reivers sarcastically.
</p>
<p>
“’Twas your own sel’ told me to hold tongue,” said
the girl evenly, without looking up. “I am glad to
see you are reasonable enough to give in.”
</p>
<p>
“Let be, Hattie,” grumbled the old man. “He’s our
guest, and we in his debt. Stranger, who are you?”
</p>
<p>
“Nobody,” said Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“Ah!” cried the girl. “Now he’s come to his senses,
sure enough.”
</p>
<p>
“Hattie!” said the old man ominously. “I beg pardon
for her uncivility, stranger.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206'></a>206</span>
</p>
<p>
“Never mind,” said Reivers lightly. “Apparently
she doesn’t know any better. Speaking to you, sir,
I am nobody. I’m as much nobody as a child born
yesterday. My life—as far as you’re concerned—began
up there on the rocks in the Dead Lands.
</p>
<p>
“I died just a few days before that—died as effectively
as if a dozen preachers had read the service
over me. You don’t understand that. You’ve got a
simple mind. But I tell you I’m beginning a new
life as completely as if there was no life behind me,
and as you know all that’s happened in this new life,
you see there’s nothing for me to tell you about myself.”
</p>
<p>
“You died,” repeated the old man slowly. “I’ll warrant
you had a good reason.”
</p>
<p>
“A fair one. I wanted to live. I died to save my
life.”
</p>
<p>
“Speak plain!” growled MacGregor. “You were
not fleeing from the law?”
</p>
<p>
“No—as I told you yesterday. The only law I was
fleeing from was the good old one that cheap men
make when they become a mob.”
</p>
<p>
“I tak’ it they had a fair reason for becoming a
mob?”
</p>
<p>
“The best in the world,” agreed Reivers. “They
wanted to kill me. Now, why they wanted to do that
is something that belongs to my other life—with the
other man—has nothing at all to do with this man—with
me—and therefore I am not going to tell you
anything about it, except this: I didn’t come away
with anything that belonged to them, except possibly
my life.”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor nodded sagely as Reivers ended.
</p>
<p>
“And his own bare life a man has a right to get
away with if he can, even though it’s property
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207'></a>207</span>
forfeited to others,” he said. “I suppose you have, or
had, a name?”
</p>
<p>
“I did. I haven’t now; I haven’t thought of one
that would please me.”
</p>
<p>
“How would the ‘Woman Tamer’ suit you?” asked
the girl, without pausing in her sewing. “You remember
you told me one of your specialties was
taming spitfires like me?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers smiled.
</p>
<p>
“I am glad to see that you’ve become sufficiently interested
in me, Miss MacGregor, to select me a name.”
</p>
<p>
“Interested!” she flared; then subsided and bent
over her sewing. “I will speak no more, Uncle,” she
said meekly.
</p>
<p>
“Good!” sneered Reivers. “Your manners are improving.
And now, Mr. MacGregor, what about yourselves,
and your brother, and a mine, and a man
named Moir that I’ve heard you speak of?”
</p>
<p>
Duncan MacGregor tossed a fresh birch chunk into
the fire and carefully poked the coals around it. Outside,
the dogs, burrowing in the snow, sent up to
the sky their weird night-cry, a cry of prayer and
protest, protest against the darkness and mystery
of night, prayer for the return of the light of day.
A wind sprang up and whipped dry snow against the
cabin window, and to the sound of its swishing wail
Duncan MacGregor began to speak.
</p>
<p>
“Little as you’ve seen fit to tell about yourself,
stranger,” he said, “’tis plain from your behaviour
out on the rocks that you’re no man of that foul Welsh
cutthroat and thief, Shanty Moir. For the manner
in which you dealt with yon man, we owe you a
debt.”
</p>
<p>
“We owe him nothing,” interrupted the niece.
“Had he not interfered, I would have found the way
to Shanty Moir.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208'></a>208</span>
</p>
<p>
“But as how?”
</p>
<p>
“What matter as how? What matter what happens
to me if I could find what has become of my
father and bring justice to the head of Shanty Moir?”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor shook his head.
</p>
<p>
“We owe you a debt,” he continued, speaking to
Reivers, “and can not refuse to tell you how it is
with us. It is no pleasant situation we are in, as
you may have judged. My brother, father of Hattie,
is—or was, we do not know which—James MacGregor,
‘Red’ MacGregor so-called in this land, therefore
MacGregor Roy, as is all our breed. You would
have heard of him did you belong in this country.
</p>
<p>
“Ten year ago we built this cabin, he and I, and
settled down to trap the country, for the fur here
is good. Five year ago a Cree half-breed gave James
a sliver of rock to weight a net with, and the rock,
curse it forever, was over half gold. The breed
could not recall where the rock had come from, save
that he had chucked it into his canoe some place up
north.
</p>
<p>
“James MacGregor stopped trapping then. He began
to look for the spot where the gilty rock came
from. Three years he looked and did not find it.
Two years ago Shanty Moir came down the river and
bided here, and Moir was a prospector among other
things. Together they found it, after nearly two
years looking together; for James took this Moir into
partnership, and that was the unlucky day of his
life.”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor kicked savagely at the fire and sat silent
for several minutes.
</p>
<p>
“Six months gone they found it,” he continued
dully, “in the Summer time. They came in for provisions—for
provisions for all Winter. A deposit
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209'></a>209</span>
for two men to work, they said. My brother would
not even tell me where they found it. The gold had
got into his brain. It was his life’s blood to him.
We only knew that it was somewhere up yonder.”
</p>
<p>
He embraced the whole North with a despairing
sweep of his long arms and continued:
</p>
<p>
“Then they went back, five months, two weeks gone,
to dig out the gold, the two of them, my brother, James,
and the foul Welsh thief, Shanty Moir. For foul he
has proven. In three months my brother had promised
he would be back to say all was well with him.
We have had no word, no word in these many months.
</p>
<p>
“But Shanty Moir we have heard of. Aye, we have
heard of him. At Fifty Mile, and at Dumont’s Camp
he had been, throwing dust and nuggets across the
bars and to the painted women, boasting he is king
of the richest deposit in the North, and offering to
kill any man who offers to follow his trail to his
holdings. Aye, that we have heard. And that must
mean only one thing—the cut-throat Moir has done
my brother to death and is flourishing on the gold
that drew James MacGregor to his doom.
</p>
<p>
“Well,” he went on harshly, “what men have found
others can find. We have sent word broadcast that
we will find Shanty Moir and his holdings, and that
I will have an accounting with him, aye, an accounting
that will leave but one of us above ground, if it takes
me the rest of my life.”
</p>
<p>
“And mine,” interjected the girl hotly. “Shanty
Moir is mine, and I take toll for my father’s life.
It’s no matter what comes to me, if I can bring justice
to Shanty Moir for what he has done to my
father. My hand—my own hand will take toll when
we run the dog to earth.”
</p>
<p>
In his bunk Reivers laughed scornfully.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210'></a>210</span>
</p>
<p>
“I’ve a good notion to go hunting this Moir and
bring him to you just to see if you could make those
words good,” said he. “With your own hand, eh?
You’d fail, of course, at the last moment, being a
woman, but it would almost be worth while getting
this Moir for you to see what you’d do. Yes, it would
be an interesting experiment.”
</p>
<p>
It was the girl’s turn to laugh now, her laughter
mocking his.
</p>
<p>
“‘Twould be interesting to see what you would do
did you stand face to face with Shanty Moir,” she
sneered. “Yes, ’twould be an interesting experiment—to
see how you’d crawl. For this can be said of the
villain, Shanty Moir, that he does not run from men
to get help from women. You bring Shanty Moir in!
How would you do it—with your mouth?”
</p>
<p>
“On second thought it would be cruel and unusual
punishment to make any man listen to your tongue,”
concluded Reivers solemnly.
</p>
<p>
MacGregor growled and shook his head.
</p>
<p>
“There’s no doubt that Shanty Moir of the black
heart is a hard-grown, experienced man,” said he.
“Henchmen of his—three of them, Welshmen all—came
through here while James and he were hunting
the mine, and he treated them like dogs and they
him like a chieftain. ’Twas one of them you slew
with the rock out yon, and the matter is very plain:
Shanty Moir has got word to them and they have
come to the mine and overpowered my brother James.
You may judge of the strong hand he holds over
his men when a single one of them dares to raid my
camp in my absence and steal the daughter of James
MacGregor for his chieftain—a strong, big man.
’Twill make it all the sweeter when we get him. He
will die hard.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211'></a>211</span>
</p>
<p>
“Also—being of a thrifty breed—you won’t feel
sorry at getting hold of whatever gold he’s taken out,”
suggested Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“That’s understood,” said MacGregor, and put a
fresh chunk on the fire for the night.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212'></a>212</span><a name='chXXVI' id='chXXVI'></a>CHAPTER XXVI—THE LOOK IN A WOMAN’S EYES</h2>
<p>
Next morning Hattie MacGregor, after she had
fed him his morning’s meal, said casually
to Reivers:
</p>
<p>
“You have about six days more to pump my uncle
and get all he knows about my father’s mine. In
six days you should be strong enough to travel, and
so long and no longer do I keep you.”
</p>
<p>
“Six days?” repeated Reivers. “I may take it into
my head to start before.”
</p>
<p>
“And that’s all the good that would do you,” she
replied promptly. “You don’t go from here until
you are firm on your feet, and that will be six days,
about.”
</p>
<p>
“Your interest flatters me,” he mocked.
</p>
<p>
“Interest!” Her laugh was bitter. “No stray,
wounded cur even goes from this camp till he’s fit
to rustle a living on the trail. I could do no less even
for you.”
</p>
<p>
“And if I should make up my mind and go?”
</p>
<p>
“I would shoot you if necessary to keep you here
till my duty by you is done!”
</p>
<p>
“You spitfire!” laughed Reivers, hiding the admiration
that leaped into his eyes. “And what makes
you think I’m going hunting for this alleged mine
when I depart from your too warm hospitality?”
</p>
<p>
“Pooh! ’Tis easy enough to see that you’re that
kind—you with your long, hungry nose! I was watching
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213'></a>213</span>
you when my uncle babbled away last night.
You’ve naught a thing in the world but the clothes
you stand in. What would you do but go snooping
around when you hear of gold? I see it in your
mean eyes. Well, seek all you please. You’re welcome.
You’ll not interfere with our quest. In the
first place, you have not the heart to stay on the
trail long enough to succeed; in the second, you’d back-track
quick enough did you once come face to face
with Shanty Moir.”
</p>
<p>
“And you—I suppose this bad man, Shanty Moir,
will quail when he sees your red hair? Or perhaps
you expect to charm him as you charmed the gentleman
who had you tied on the sledge?”
</p>
<p>
“I do not know that,” she said without irritation.
“But I do know that my uncle and I will run Shanty
Moir to earth, and that he will pay in full for the
wrong he has done.”
</p>
<p>
“You silly, childish fool!” he broke out. “Haven’t
you brains enough to realise what an impossible wild-goose
chase you’re on? Since it took your father five
years to find the mine, you ought to realise that it’s
pretty hard to locate. Since he didn’t find it until
this Moir, a prospector, came to help him, you ought
to understand that it takes a miner to find it.
</p>
<p>
“You’re no miner. Your uncle is no miner. You’ve
neither of you had the slightest experience in this
sort of thing. You wouldn’t know the signs if you
saw them. You’ll go wandering aimlessly around,
maybe walking over Shanty Moir’s head; because,
since nobody has stumbled across his camp, it must be
so well hidden that it can’t be seen unless you know
right where to look. Find it! You’re a couple of
children!”
</p>
<p>
“Mayhap. But we are not so aimless as you may
think. We go to Fifty Mile and to Dumont’s Camp
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214'></a>214</span>
and stay. Sooner or later Shanty Moir will come
there, to throw my father’s gold over the bars and
to worse. It may be a month, a year—it doesn’t make
any difference. But I suppose a great man like you
has a quicker and surer way of doing it?”
</p>
<p>
“I have,” said Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“No doubt. I could see your eyes grow greedy
when you heard my uncle tell of gold.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, no; not especially,” taunted Reivers. “The
gold is an incident. Shanty Moir is what interests
me. He seems to be a gentleman of parts. I’m
going to get him. I’m going to bring you face to
face with him. I want to see if you could make
good the strong talk you’ve been dealing out as to
what you would do. You interest me that way, Miss
MacGregor, and that way only. It will be an interesting
experiment to get you Shanty Moir.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank Heaven!” she said grimly. “We’ll soon
be rid of you and your big talk. Then I can forget
that any man gave me the name you gave me and
lived to brag about it afterward.”
</p>
<p>
He laughed, as one laughs at a petulant child.
</p>
<p>
“You will never forget me,” he said. “You know
that you will not forget me, if you live a thousand
years.”
</p>
<p>
“I have forgotten better men than you,” she said
and went out, slamming the door.
</p>
<p>
That evening Reivers sat up by the fire and further
plied old MacGregor with questions concerning the
mine.
</p>
<p>
“You say that your brother claimed the mine lay to
the north,” he said. “I suppose you have searched
the north first of all?”
</p>
<p>
“For a month I have done nothing else,” was the
reply. “I have not gone far enough north. My
brother James said it lay north from here; and ’twas
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215'></a>215</span>
north he and Shanty Moir went when they started on
their last trip together, from which my brother did
not return or send word.”
</p>
<p>
“Dumont’s Camp and Fifty Mile, where Moir’s
been on sprees; lay to the west.”
</p>
<p>
“Northwest, aye. Four days’ hard mushing to Fifty
Mile. Dumont’s hell-hole’s a day beyond.”
</p>
<p>
“And you think the mine lies to the north of that?”
</p>
<p>
“Aye. More like in a direct line north of here,
for ’twas so they went when they left here.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers hid the smile of triumph that struggled
on his lips. The Dead Lands were strange country
to him, but in the land north of Fifty Mile he was at
home. In his wanderings he had spent months in
that country in company with many other deluded
men who thought to dig gold out of the bare, frozen
tundra. He had found no gold there, and neither
had any one else. There was no gold up there, could
be none there, and, what was more important to him
just now, there was no rock formation, nothing but
muskeg and tundra. The mine could not be up north.
</p>
<p>
It must, however, be within easy mushing distance
of Fifty Mile and Dumont’s Camp, say two or three
days, else Shanty Moir would not have hied himself
to these settlements when the need for riot and wassail
overcame him.
</p>
<p>
“You know the ground between here and Fifty
Mile, I suppose?” he said suddenly.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis my trapping-ground,” replied MacGregor.
</p>
<p>
So the mine couldn’t be east of the settlements. It
was to the west or the south.
</p>
<p>
“Your brother was particularly careful to keep the
location of his find secret even from you?”
</p>
<p>
“Aye,” said MacGregor sorrowfully. “It had gone
to his head, he had searched so long, and the find
was so big. He took no chances that I might know
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216'></a>216</span>
it, or his daughter Hattie; only the thief, Shanty
Moir.”
</p>
<p>
And he said that the mine lay to the north. That
might mean that it lay to the south—west or south
of the settlements, there his search would lie. It was
new country to him, and, as MacGregor well knew
before he gave him his confidence, a man not knowing
the land might wander aimlessly for years without
covering those vast, broken reaches. But MacGregor
did not know of the Chippewa squaw, Tillie,
and her people.
</p>
<p>
“And now I suppose you will be able to find it
soon,” snapped Hattie MacGregor, “now that you
have pumped my uncle dry?”
</p>
<p>
“I will,” said Reivers. “I’ll be there waiting for
you when you come along.” And Duncan MacGregor
chuckled deeply.
</p>
<p>
For the remainder of his stay at the cabin, Reivers
maintained a sullen silence toward the girl. Had she
been different, had she affected him differently, he
would have cursed her for daring to disturb him even
to this slight extent. But he knew that if she had
been different she would not have disturbed him at
all. Well, he would soon be away, and then he
would forget her.
</p>
<p>
He had an object again. His nature was such
that he craved power and dominance over men, as another
man craves food. He would not live at all
unless he had power. He had used this power too
ruthlessly at Cameron-Dam Camp, and it had been
wrested from him. For the time being he was down
among the herd. But not for long.
</p>
<p>
Shanty Moir had a mine some place south or west
of the settlements, and the mine yielded gold nuggets
and gold dust for Shanty Moir to fling across the
bars. Gold spells power. Given gold, Reivers would
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217'></a>217</span>
have back his old-time power over men, aye, and
over women. Not merely a power up there in the
frozen North, but in the world to which he had long
ago belonged: the world of men in dress clothes, of
lights and soft rugs, or women, soft-speaking women,
shimmery gowns and white shoulders, their eyes and
apparel a constant invitation to the great adventure of
love.
</p>
<p>
After all, that was the world that he belonged in.
And gold would give him power there, and in that
whirl he would forget this red-haired, semi-savage who
looked him in the eye as no other woman ever had
dared. His fists clenched as his thoughts lighted up
the future. The Snow-Burner had died, but he would
live again, and he would forget, absolutely and completely,
Hattie MacGregor.
</p>
<p>
On the morning of the sixth day Duncan MacGregor
gravely placed before him outside the cabin door a
pair of light snowshoes and a grub-bag filled with food
for four days. Reivers strapped on the snowshoes
and ran his arms through the bagstraps without a
word.
</p>
<p>
“Stranger,” said MacGregor, holding out his hand,
“I did not like you when first I saw you. I do not
say I like you now. But—shake hands.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers hurriedly shook hands and tore himself
away. He had resolved to go without seeing Hattie,
and he was inwardly raging at himself because he
found this resolution hard to keep. He laid his course
for the nearest rise of land, half a mile away. Once
over the rise the cabin would be shut out of sight,
and even though he should weaken and look back
there would be no danger of letting her see.
</p>
<p>
Bent far over, head down, lunging along with the
cunning strides of the trained snowshoer, he topped
the rise and dropped down on the farther side. There
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218'></a>218</span>
he paused to rest himself and draw breath, and as he
stood there Hattie MacGregor and her dog-team swept
at right angles across his trail.
</p>
<p>
She was riding boy-fashion, half sitting, half lying,
on the empty sledge, driving the dogs furiously for
their daily exercise. She did not speak. She merely
looked up at him as she went past. Then she was
gone in a flurry of snow, and Reivers went forth on his
quest of power with a curse on his lips and in his
heart the determination that no weakening memories
of a girl’s wistful eyes should interfere with his aim.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219'></a>219</span><a name='chXXVII' id='chXXVII'></a>CHAPTER XXVII—ON THE TRAIL OF FORTUNE</h2>
<p>
Reivers travelled steadily for an hour at the
best pace that was in him. It was not a good
pace, for he was far from being in his old physical
condition, and the lift and swing of a snowshoe will
cramp the calves and ankle-tendons of a man grown
soft from long bed-lying, no matter how cunning
may be his stride.
</p>
<p>
He swore a little at first over his slow progress.
He was like a wolf, suddenly released from a trap,
who desires to travel far, swiftly and instantly, and
who finds that the trap has made him lame.
</p>
<p>
Reivers wanted to put the MacGregor cabin, and
the scenes about it, which might remind him of Hattie,
behind him with a rush. But the rush, he soon found,
threatened to cripple him, so he must perforce give
it up. The trail that he had set out to make was
not one that any man, least of all one recently convalescent,
could hope to cover in a single burst of
speed.
</p>
<p>
He was going to the Winter camp of the people
of Tillie, the squaw. The camp lay somewhere in
the northwest. How far away he did not know; and
it was no part of his plans to arrive at the camp of
the Chippewas depleted in energy and resource. The
role he had set out to play now called for the character
of the Snow-Burner at his best—dominant, unconquerable.
Therefore, when he found that his first
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220'></a>220</span>
efforts at speed threatened to cripple him with the
treacherous snow-shoe cramp, he resigned himself to a
pace which would have shamed him had he been in
good condition. It was poor snow-shoeing, but at the
end of an hour he had placed between himself and
all possible sight of Hattie MacGregor the first ragged
rock-ramparts of the Dead Lands, and he was content.
</p>
<p>
On the western slope of a low ridge he unstrapped
his snow-shoes and sat down on a bare boulder for a
rest. His heart throbbed nervously from his exertion
and his lungs gasped weakly. But with each
breath of the crisp air his strength was coming back
to him, and in his head the brains of the Snow-Burner
worked as of old. He smiled with great self-satisfaction.
He was not considering his condition, was
not counting the difficulties that lay in his path. He
was merely picturing, with lightning-like play of that
powerful mental machinery of his, the desperate
nature of the adventure toward which he was travelling.
</p>
<p>
It was desperate enough even to thrill Hell-Camp
Reivers. For probably never did born adventurer set
forth of his own free will on a more deadly, more
hopeless-looking trail. As he sat on the rock there
in the Dead Lands, Reivers was in better condition
than on his flight from Cameron-Dam Camp to this
extent: the bullet-hole in his shoulder was healed, and,
he had recuperated from the fever brought on by
exposure and exhaustion. That was all. He was
still the bare man with empty hands. He possessed
nothing in the world but the clothes he stood in, the
food on his back and the gift snow-shoes on his feet.
</p>
<p>
He had not even a knife that might be called a
weapon, for the case-knife that old MacGregor had
given him upon parting could scarcely be reckoned
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221'></a>221</span>
such. In this condition he was setting forth—first,
to find a cunningly hidden mine; second, to take it and
keep it for his own from one Shanty Moir, who treated
his henchmen like dogs and was looked up to as a
chieftain.
</p>
<p>
The Snow-Burner lived again as he contemplated
the possibilities of a clash with Moir. If what the
MacGregors had said was true, Shanty Moir was a
boss man himself. And as instinctively and eagerly as
one ten-pronged buck tears straight through timber,
swamp and water to battle with another buck whose
deep-voiced challenge proclaims him similarly a giant,
so Reivers was going toward Shanty Moir.
</p>
<p>
He leaped to his feet, with flashing eyes, at the
thought of what was coming. Then he remembered
his weakened condition and sat down again. For
the immediate present, until his full strength returned,
he must make craft take the place of strength.
</p>
<p>
When he was ready to start again, Reivers took
his bearings from the sun, it being a clear day, and
laid his trail as straight toward the northwest as the
formation of the Dead Lands would allow. He slept
that night by a hot spring. A tiny rivulet ran unfrozen
from the spring southward down into the
maze of barren stone, a thread of dark, steaming
water, wandering through the white, frozen snow.
</p>
<p>
Had he been a little less tired with the day’s march
Reivers might have paid more attention to this phenomenon
that evening. In the morning he awoke with
such eagerness to be on toward his adventure that he
marched off without bestowing on the stream more
than a casual glance. And later he came to curse his
carelessness.
</p>
<p>
Bearing steadily toward the northwest, his course
lay in the Dead Lands for the greater part of the day.
Shortly before sundown he saw with relief that ahead
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222'></a>222</span>
the rocks and ridges gave way to the flat tundra,
with small clumps of stunted willows dotting the
flatness, like tiny islands in a sea of snow.
</p>
<p>
Reivers quickened his pace. Out on the tundra he
hurried straight to the nearest bunch of willows. Even
at a distance of several rods the chewed white branches
of the willows told him their story, and he gave vent
to a shout of relief. The caribou had been feeding
there. The Chippewas lived on the caribou in Winter.
He had only to follow the trail of the animals
and he would soon run across the moccasin tracks
of his friends, the Indians.
</p>
<p>
Luck favoured him more than he hoped for. At
his shout there was a crash in a clump of willows a
hundred yards ahead and a bull caribou lumbered
clumsily into the open. At the sight of him the
beast snorted loudly and turned and ran. From right
and left came other crashes, and in the gathering
dusk the herd which had been stripping the willows
fled in the wake of the sentinel bull, their ungainly gait
whipping them out of sight and hearing in uncanny
fashion.
</p>
<p>
Reivers smiled. The camp of Tillie’s people would
not be far from the feeding ground of the caribou.
He ate his cold supper, crawled into the shelter of the
willows and went to sleep.
</p>
<p>
Dry, drifting snow half hid the tracks of the caribou
during the night, and in the morning he was
forced to wait for the late-coming daylight before
picking up the trail. The herd had gone straight
westward, and Reivers followed the signs, his eyes
constantly scanning the snow for moccasin tracks
or other evidence of human beings.
</p>
<p>
In the middle of the forenoon, in a birch and willow
swamp, he jumped the animals again. They
caught his scent at a mile’s distance, and Reivers
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223'></a>223</span>
crouched down and watched avidly as they streaked
from the swamp to security.
</p>
<p>
To the north of the swamp lay the open, snow-covered
tundra, where even the knife-like fore-hoof
of the caribou would have hard time to dig out a living
in the dead of Winter. To the south lay clumps
of brush and stunted trees, ideal shelter and feed.
</p>
<p>
The animals went north. Reivers nodded in great
satisfaction. There were wolves or Indians to the
south, probably the latter. Accordingly he turned
southward. Toward noon he found his first moccasin
track, evidently the trail of a single hunter who had
come northward, but not quite far enough, on a hunt
for caribou.
</p>
<p>
The track looped back southward and Reivers
trailed it. Soon a set of snow-shoe tracks joined
the moccasins, and Reivers, after a close scrutiny had
revealed the Chippewa pattern in the snow, knew that
he was on the right track. The tracks dropped down
on to the bed of a solidly frozen river and continued
on to the south.
</p>
<p>
Other tracks became visible. When they gathered
together and made a hard-packed trail down the middle
of the river, Reivers knew that a camp was not far
away, and grew cautious.
</p>
<p>
He found the camp as the swift Winter darkness
came on, a group of half a dozen tepees set snugly
in a bend of the river, one large tepee in the middle
easily recognisable as that of Tillie, the squaw, chief
of the band.
</p>
<p>
Reivers sat down to wait. Presently he heard the
camp-dogs growling and fighting over their evening
meal and knew that they would be too occupied to
notice and announce the approach of a stranger. Also,
at this time the people of the camp would be in their
tepees, supping heavily if the hunter’s god had been
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224'></a>224</span>
favourably inclined, and gnawing the cold bones of
yesterday if that irrational deity had been unkind.
</p>
<p>
By the whining note in the growls of the dogs,
Reivers judged that the latter was the case this evening;
and when he moved forward and stood listening
outside the flap of the big tepee he knew that it was so.
Within, an old squaw’s treble rose faintly in a whining
chant, of which Reivers caught the despairing motif:
</p>
<p>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Black&nbsp;is&nbsp;the&nbsp;face&nbsp;of&nbsp;the&nbsp;sun,&nbsp;Ah&nbsp;wo!<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The&nbsp;time&nbsp;has&nbsp;come&nbsp;for&nbsp;the&nbsp;old&nbsp;to&nbsp;die.&nbsp;Ah&nbsp;wo,&nbsp;ah&nbsp;wo!<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;There&nbsp;is&nbsp;meat&nbsp;only&nbsp;to&nbsp;keep&nbsp;alive&nbsp;the&nbsp;young.&nbsp;Ah&nbsp;wo!<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;We&nbsp;who&nbsp;are&nbsp;old&nbsp;must&nbsp;die.&nbsp;Ah&nbsp;wo!&nbsp;Ah&nbsp;wo!&nbsp;Ah&nbsp;wo!<br />
</p>
<p>
Any other white man but Reivers would have
shuddered at the terrible, primitive story which the
wail told. Reivers smiled. His old luck was with
him. The camp was short of meat and the hunters
had given up hopes of making a kill.
</p>
<p>
With deft, experienced fingers he unloosed the flap
of the tepee. There was no noise. Suddenly the old
squaw’s wail ceased; those in the tepee looked up from
their scanty supper. The Snow-Burner was standing
inside the tepee, the flap closed behind him.
</p>
<p>
There were six people in the tepee, the old squaw,
an old man, two young hunters, a young girl, and
Tillie. They were gathered around the fire-stone in
the centre, making a scant meal of frozen fish. Tillie,
by virtue of her position, had the warmest place and
the most fish.
</p>
<p>
No one spoke a word as they became aware of
his presence. Only on Tillie’s face there came a look
in which the traces of hunger vanished. Reivers stood
looking down at the group for a moment in silence.
Then he strode forward, thrust Tillie to one side and
sat down in her place. For Reivers knew Indians.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225'></a>225</span>
</p>
<p>
“Feed me,” he commanded, tossing his grub-bag
to her.
</p>
<p>
He did not look at her as she placed before him
the entire contents of the bag. Having served him
she retired and sat down behind him, awaiting his
pleasure. Reivers ate leisurely of the bountiful supply
of cold meat that remained of his supply. When
he had his fill he tossed small portions to the old
squaw, the old man and the young girl.
</p>
<p>
“Hunters are mighty,” he mocked in the Chippewa
tongue, as the young men avidly eyed the meat. “They
kill what they eat. The meat they do not kill would
stick in their mighty throats.”
</p>
<p>
Last of all he beckoned Tillie to come to his side
and eat what remained.
</p>
<p>
“Men eat meat,” he continued, looking over the
heads of the two hunters. “Old people and children
are content with frozen fish. When I was here before
there were men in this camp. There was meat
in the tepees. The dogs had meat. Now I see the
men are all gone.”
</p>
<p>
One of the hunters raised his arms above his head,
a gesture indicating strength, and let them fall resignedly
to his side, a sign of despair.
</p>
<p>
“The caribou are gone, Snow-Burner,” he said dully.
“That is why there is no meat. All gone. The god
of good kills has turned his face from us. Little
Bear—” to the old man—“how long have our people
hunted the caribou here?”
</p>
<p>
Little Bear lifted his head, his wizened, smoked
face more a black, carved mask than a human countenance.
</p>
<p>
“Big Bear, my father, was an old man when I was
born,” he said slowly. “When he was a boy so small
that he slept with the women, our people came here
for the Winter hunt.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226'></a>226</span>
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Little Bear,” chanted the hunter, “great was
your father, the hunter; great were you as a hunter
in your young days. Was there ever a Winter before
when the caribou were not found here in plenty?”
</p>
<p>
The old man shook his head.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Snow-Burner,” said the hunter, “these are
the words of Little Bear, whose age no one knows.
Always the caribou have been plenty here along this
river in the Winter. Longer than any old man’s tales
reach back have they fed upon the willows. They
are not here this Winter. The gods are angry with us.
We hunt. We hunt till we lie flat on the snow. We
find no signs. There are men still here, Snow-Burner,
but the caribou have gone.”
</p>
<p>
“Have gone, have gone, have gone. Ah wo!”
chanted the old squaw.
</p>
<p>
“Where do you hunt?” asked Reivers tersely.
</p>
<p>
“Where we have always hunted; where our fathers
hunted before us,” was the reply. “Along the river in
the muskeg and bush to the south we hunt. The caribou
are not there. They are nowhere. The gods
have taken them away. We must die and go where
they are.”
</p>
<p>
“We must go,” wailed the old squaw. “The gods
refuse us meat. We must go.”
</p>
<p>
Her chant of despair was heard beyond the tepee.
In the smaller tents other voices took up the wail. The
women were singing the death song, their primitive
protest and acquiescence to what they considered the
irrevocable pleasure of their dark gods.
</p>
<p>
Reivers waited until the last squaw had whined
herself into silence. Even then he did not speak at
once. He knew that these simple people, who for
his deeds had given him the expressive name of Snow-Burner,
were waiting for him to speak, and he knew
the value of silence upon their primitive souls. He
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227'></a>227</span>
sat with folded arms, looking above the heads of the
two hunters.
</p>
<p>
“You have done well,” he said, nodding impressively,
but not looking at the two young men. “You
have hunted as men who have the true hunter’s heart.
But what can man do when the gods are against him?
The gods are against you. They are not against me.
To-morrow I slay you your fill of caribou.”
</p>
<p>
“Snow-Burner,” whispered one of the hunters in
the awe-stricken silence that followed this announcement,
“there are no caribou here. Are you greater
than the gods?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers looked at him, and at the light in his eyes
the young man drew back in fright.
</p>
<p>
“To-morrow I give you your fill of meat,” he said
slowly. “Not only enough for one day, but enough
for all Winter. Each tepee shall be piled high with
meat. Even the dogs shall eat till they want no more.
I have promised. I alone. Do you—” he pointed
at the hunters—“bring me to-night the two best rifles
in the camp. If they do not shoot true to-morrow, do
not let me find you here when I return from the hunt.
And now the rest of you—all of you—go from here.
Go, I will be alone.”
</p>
<p>
They rose and went out obediently, except Tillie
who watched Reivers’s face with avid eyes as the
young girl left the tepee. Then she crawled forward
and touched her forehead to his hand, for Reivers
had not bestowed upon the girl a glance.
</p>
<p>
Presently the hunters came back and placed their
Winchesters at his feet. He examined each weapon
carefully, found them in perfect order and fully
loaded, and dismissed the men with a wave of his arm.
Tillie sat with bowed head, humbly waiting his pleasure,
but Reivers rolled himself in his blanket and lay
down alone by the fire.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228'></a>228</span>
</p>
<p>
“I wish to sleep warm,” he said. “See that the
fire does not go out till the night is half gone. Be
ready to go with me in the hour before daylight. Have
the swiftest and strongest team of dogs and the largest
sledge hitched and waiting to bear us to the hunt.
Go! Now I sleep.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229'></a>229</span><a name='chXXVIII' id='chXXVIII'></a>CHAPTER XXVIII—THE SNOW-BURNER HUNTS</h2>
<p>
The snarling of dogs being put into harness awoke
him in the morning, but he lay pretending to
sleep until Tillie, having overseen the hitching-up,
came in, prepared food over the fire, which had not
gone out all night, and came timidly and laid a hand
on his shoulder.
</p>
<p>
It was pitch dark when they went from the tepee.
The dogs whined at the prospect of a dark trail, and
the hunter who held them plied his whip savagely.
With the rifles carefully stowed in their buckskin cases
on the sledge, and a big camp-axe, as their whole burden,
Reivers immediately took command of the dogs
and headed down the river.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Snow-Burner!” chattered the frozen hunter in
disappointment. “There are no caribou to the south.
It is a waste of strength to hunt there.”
</p>
<p>
“There are no caribou anywhere for you,” retorted
Reivers. “For me it does not make any difference
where I hunt; the spirits are with me. Stay close to
the tepees to-day. If any one follows my trail the
spirits will refuse their help. Hi-yah! Mush!”
</p>
<p>
Under the sting of his skilfully wielded whip the big
team whirled down the river, Reivers riding in front,
Tillie behind. But they did not go south for long. A
few miles below the camp Reivers abruptly swung the
dogs off the river-bed and bore westward.
</p>
<p>
Half a mile of this and he shifted and changed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230'></a>230</span>
his course to right angles, straight toward the north.
</p>
<p>
“And now, mush! —— you! Mush for all that’s
in you!” he cried, plying the whip. “You’ve got many
miles to cover before daylight. Mush, mush!”
</p>
<p>
He held straight northward until he left the bush
and reached the open tundra at the spot where the
caribou the day before had swung away farther north.
He knew that the herd, being in a country undisturbed
by man, would not travel far from the willows where
he had jumped them the day before, and he held cautiously
on their trail until the first grey of daylight
showed a rise in the land ahead. Here he halted
the dogs and crept forward on foot.
</p>
<p>
It was as he expected. The caribou had halted
on the other side of the height of land, feeling secure
in that region where no man ever came. Below him
he could see them moving, and he realised that he must
act at once, before they began their travels of the day.
</p>
<p>
“Tillie,” he whispered, coming back to the sledge,
“as soon as you can see the snow on the knoll ahead
do you drive the dogs around there, to the right, and
swing to the left along the other side of the knoll.
Drive fast and shout loud. Shout as if the wolves
had you. There are caribou over the knoll. When
the dogs see them let them go straight for the herd.
But wait till the snow shows white in the daylight.”
</p>
<p>
Snatching both rifles from their covers, he ran
around the left shoulder of the knoll and ambushed in
a trifling hollow. He waited patiently, one rifle
cocked and in his hand, the other lying ready at his
side. The light grew broader; the herd, just out of
safe rifle shot, began milling restlessly.
</p>
<p>
Suddenly, from around the right of the knoll, came
the sharp yelp of a dog as Tillie’s leader, rounding
the ridge, caught scent and sight of living meat ahead.
The caribou stopped dead. Then bedlam broke loose
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231'></a>231</span>
as the dogs saw what was before them. And the
caribou, trembling at the wolf-yells of the dogs, broke
into their swift, lumbering run and came streaking
straight past Reivers at fifty yards’ distance.
</p>
<p>
Reivers waited until the maddened beasts were running
four deep before him. Then the slaughter began.
No need to watch the sights here. The crash of
shot upon shot followed as quickly as he could pump
the lever. There were ten shots in each rifle, and he
fired them all before the herd was out of range.
Then only the hideous yelps of the maddened dogs
tore the morning quiet. A dozen caribou, some dead,
some kicking, some trying to crawl away, were scattered
over the snow, and Reivers nodded and knew
that his hold on Tillie’s people was complete.
</p>
<p>
The dogs were on the first caribou now, snarling,
yelping, fighting, eating, for the time being as wild
and savage as any of their wolf forebears. Tillie,
spilled from the sledge in the first mad rush of the
team, came waddling up to Reivers and bowed down
before him humbly.
</p>
<p>
“Snow-Burner, I know you are only a man, because
I alone of my people have seen you among other
white men,” she said. “Yet you are more than other
men. Snow-Burner, I have lived among white people
and know that the talk of spirits is only for children.
But how knew you that the caribou were here?”
</p>
<p>
“The meat is there,” said Reivers, pointing at his
kill. “Your work is to take care of it. The axe is on
the sledge. Cut off as many saddles and hind-quarters
as the dogs can drag back to camp. The rest we will
cache here. To your work. Do not ask questions.”
</p>
<p>
He reloaded and put the wounded animals out of
their misery, each with a shot through the head, and
sat down and watched her as she slaved at her butcher’s
task. Tillie had lived among white people, had been
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232'></a>232</span>
to the white man’s school even, but Reivers knew
he would slacken his hold on her if he demeaned himself
by assisting her in her toil.
</p>
<p>
When the dogs had stayed their hunger he leaped
into their midst with clubbed rifle and knocked them
yelping away from their prey. When they turned and
attacked him he coolly struck and kicked till they had
enough. Then with the driving whip he beat them
till they lay flat in the snow and whined for mercy.
</p>
<p>
By the time Tillie had the sledge loaded and the
rest of the kill cached under a huge heap of snow,
it was noon, and the dogs started back with their
heavy load, open-mouthed and panting, their excitement
divided between fear of the man who had mastered
them and the odour of fresh blood that reeked
in their avid nostrils.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233'></a>233</span><a name='chXXIX' id='chXXIX'></a>CHAPTER XXIX—THE WHITE MAN’S WILL</h2>
<p>
That night in the camp at the river bend the
Indians feasted ravenously, and Reivers, sitting
in Tillie’s place as new-made chief, looked on without
smiling.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Snow-Burner!” said the oldest man at last.
“What is it you want with us? Our furs? Speak.
We obey your will.”
</p>
<p>
“Furs are good,” replied Reivers, “when a man has
nothing else, but gold is better, and the gold that another
man has is best of all.”
</p>
<p>
The old man cackled respectfully.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Snow-Burner! Do you come to us for gold?
Do you think we would sit here without meat if we
had gold? No, Snow-Burner. What we have you
can have. Your will with the tribe from the oldest
to the youngest is our law. We owe you our lives.
The strength of our young men is yours; the wisdom
of our old heads is yours. But gold we have not. Do
not turn your frown upon us, Snow-Burner; you
must know it is the truth.”
</p>
<p>
“Since when,” said Reivers sternly, “has my friend,
old Little Bear, dared say that the Snow-Burner has
the foolishness of a woman in his head? Do you think
I come seeking gold from you? No. It is the strength
of your young men and the wisdom of your old heads
that I want. I seek gold. You shall help me find it.”
</p>
<p>
Little Bear raised his arms and let them fall in
the eloquent Indian gesture of helplessness.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234'></a>234</span>
</p>
<p>
“White men have been here often to seek for gold.
The great Snow-Burner once was one of them. They
have digged holes in the ground. They have taken the
sand from creek bottoms. Did the Snow-Burner, who
finds caribou where there are none, find any gold here?
No. It is an old story. There is no gold here.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers leaned forward and spoke harshly.
</p>
<p>
“Listen, Little Bear; listen all you people. There
is gold within three days’ march from here. Much
gold. Another man digs it. You will find it for me.
I have spoken.”
</p>
<p>
Silence fell on the tepee. The Indians looked at
one another. Little Bear finally spoke with bowed
head.
</p>
<p>
“We do the Snow-Burner’s will.”
</p>
<p>
Nawa, the youngest and strongest of the hunters,
turned to Reivers respectfully.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Snow-Burner, Nawa serves you with the
strength of his leg and the keenness of his eyes. Nawa
knows that the Snow-Burner sees things that are hidden
to us. Our oldest men say there is no gold here.
Other white men say there is no gold here. The Snow-Burner
says there is gold near here.
</p>
<p>
“The Snow-Burner sees what is hidden to others.
Nawa does not doubt. Nawa waits only the Snow-Burner’s
commands. But Nawa has been to the settlements
at Fifty Mile and Dumont’s Camp. He has
heard the white men talk. They talk there of a man
who carries gold like gunpowder and gold like bullets,
instead of the white man’s money.
</p>
<p>
“Nawa has talked with Indians who have seen
this man. They call him ‘Iron Hair,’ because his hair
is black and stiff like the quills of a porcupine. Oh,
Snow-Burner, Nawa knows nothing. He merely tells
what he has heard. Is this the man the Snow-Burner,
too, has heard of!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235'></a>235</span>
</p>
<p>
Reivers looked around the circle of smoke-blackened
faces about the fire. No expression betrayed what was
going on behind those wood-like masks, but Reivers
knew Indians and sensed that they were all waiting
excitedly for his answer.
</p>
<p>
“That is the man,” he said, and by the complete
silence that followed he knew that his reply had
caused a sensation that would have made white men
swear. “What know you of Iron Hair, Nawa?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Snow-Burner,” said Nawa dolefully, “our tribe
knows of Iron Hair to its sorrow. Two moons ago
the big man with the hair like a porcupine was at
Fifty Mile for whisky and food. He hired Small Eyes
and Broken Wing of our tribe to haul the food to
his camp, a day’s travelling each way, so he said. The
pay was to be big. Small Eyes and Broken Wing
went. So much people know. Nothing more. The
sledges did not come back. Small Eyes and Broken
Wing did not come back. So much do we know of
Iron Hair. Nawa has spoken.”
</p>
<p>
“Once there were men in these tepees,” said Reivers,
looking high above Nawa’s head. “Once there were
men who would have gone from their tepees to follow
to the end the trail of their brothers who go and do
not come back. Now there are no men. They sit in
the tepees with the women and keep warm. Perhaps
Small Eyes and Broken Wing were men and did not
care to come back to people who sit by their fires
and do not seek to find their brothers who disappear.”
</p>
<p>
“We have sought, oh, Snow-Burner,” said Nawa
hopelessly. “Do not think we have only sat by our
fires. We sought to follow the trail of Iron Hair
out of Fifty Mile——”
</p>
<p>
“How ran the trail?” interrupted Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“Between the north and the west. We went to
hunt our brothers. But a storm had blotted out the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236'></a>236</span>
trail. Iron Hair had gone out in the storm. Who can
follow when there is no trail to see?”
</p>
<p>
“Once,” resumed Reivers in the tone of contempt,
“there were strong dog-drivers and sharp eyes here.
They would have found the camp of Iron Hair in
those days.”
</p>
<p>
“Our dogs still are strong, our young men drive
well, our eyes are sharp even now, Snow-Burner,”
came Nawa’s weary reply. “We searched. Even as
we searched for the caribou we searched for the camp
of Iron Hair. We found no camp. There is no
white man’s camp in this country. There is no camp
at all. We searched till nothing the size of a man’s
cap could be hidden. The white men from Dumont’s
Camp and Fifty Mile have searched for the gold which
white men are mad for. They found nothing. At
the settlements the white men say, ‘This man must be
the devil himself and go to hell for his gold, because
his camp certainly is not in this world where men can
see it with their eyes.’”
</p>
<p>
“And the caribou were not in this world, either?”
mocked Reivers.
</p>
<p>
Nawa shook his head.
</p>
<p>
“White men, too, have looked for the camp of
Iron Hair.”
</p>
<p>
“Many white men,” supplemented old Little Bear.
“White men always look when they hear of gold.
They find gold if it is to be found. The earth gives
up its secrets to them. Snow-Burner, they could not
find the place where Iron Hair digs his gold.”
</p>
<p>
“Nawa and his hunters could not find the caribou,”
said Reivers.
</p>
<p>
There was no reply. He had driven his will home.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Snow-Burner,” said Nawa, at last, “as Little
Bear has said, we do your will.”
</p>
<p>
“Good;” Reivers rose and towered over them. “My
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237'></a>237</span>
will at present is that you go to your tepees. Sleep
soundly. I have work for you in the morning.”
</p>
<p>
He stood and watched while they filed, stooped over,
through the low opening in the tepee wall. They
went without question, without will of their own. A
stronger will than theirs had caught them and held
them. From hence on they were wholly subservient
to the superior mentality which was to direct their
actions. Reivers smiled. Old MacGregor had felt
safe in telling about the mine; a strange man had no
chance to find it. But MacGregor did not know of
Tillie’s people.
</p>
<p>
Reivers suddenly turned toward the fire. Tillie
was standing there, arrayed in buckskin so white that
she must have kept it protected from the tepee smoke
in hope of his coming. At the sight of her there came
before Reivers’ eyes the picture of Hattie MacGregor’s
face as she had looked up at him when he was leaving
the MacGregor cabin. The look that came over
his face then was new even to Tillie.
</p>
<p>
“You, too, get out!” he roared, and Tillie fled from
the tepee in terror.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238'></a>238</span><a name='chXXX' id='chXXX'></a>CHAPTER XXX—ANY MEANS TO AN END</h2>
<p>
In the big tepee Reivers rolled on his blankets and
cursed himself for his weakness. What had happened
to him? Was he getting to be like other men,
that he would let the memory of an impudent, red-haired
girl interfere with his plans or pleasures? Had
he not sworn to forget? And yet here came the
memory of her—the wide grey eyes, the suffering
mouth, the purity of the look of her—rising before his
eyes like a vision to shame him.
</p>
<p>
To shame him! To shame the Snow-Burner! He
understood the significance of the look she had given
him, and which had stood between him and Tillie.
Womanhood, pure, noble womanhood, was appealing
to his better self.
</p>
<p>
His better self! Reivers laughed a laugh so ghastly
that it might have come from a bare skull. His better
self! If a man believed in things like that he had to
believe in the human race—had to believe in goodness
and badness, virtue and sin, right and wrong, and
all that silly, effeminate rot. Reivers didn’t believe in
that stuff. He knew only one life-law, that of strength
over weakness, and that was the law he would live
and die with, and Miss Hattie MacGregor could not
interfere.
</p>
<p>
With his terrible will-power he erased the memory
of her from his mind. He did not erase the resentment
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239'></a>239</span>
at his own weakness. On the contrary, the
resentment grew. He would revenge himself for that
moment of weakness.
</p>
<p>
There were two ways of finding Moir and the mysterious
mine. One—the way he had first planned to
follow—was to scatter his Indians, and as many
others as he could bribe with caribou meat, over the
country lying to the south of Fifty Mile, where he
knew the mine must be. Moir, or his men, must show
themselves sooner or later. In time the Indians would
find Moir’s camp.
</p>
<p>
But there was also a shorter and surer way—a
shameful way. Moir, by the talk he had heard of him,
came to Fifty Mile and Dumont’s Camp for such
whisky and feminine company as might be found. He
had even sent one of his henchmen to steal Hattie
MacGregor. Such a move proved that Moir was
desperate, and by this time, by the non-appearance of
the would-be-kidnapper, the chief would know that his
man was either killed or captured, and that no hope
for a woman lay in that quarter. Moir’s next move
would be to come to Fifty Mile and Dumont’s, or
to send a man there, to procure the means of salving
his disappointment. And Reivers had two attractive
women at his disposal, Tillie, and the young girl who
was nearly beautiful. Thus did Reivers overcome his
momentary weakness. The black shamefulness of his
scheme he laughed at. Then he went to sleep.
</p>
<p>
He gave his orders to Tillie early next morning.
</p>
<p>
“Have this tepee and another one loaded on one
sledge,” he directed. “Have a second sledge loaded
with caribou meat. Do you and the young girl prepare
to come with me. We are going on a long
journey. You will both take your brightest clothes.”
</p>
<p>
He waited with set jaws while his orders were
obeyed. No weakness any more. There was only
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240'></a>240</span>
one law, the strong over the weak, and he was the
strong one.
</p>
<p>
A call from Tillie apprised him that all was ready,
and he strode forth to find Nawa, the young hunter,
waiting with the two women ready for the trail.
</p>
<p>
“How so?” he demanded. “Did I say aught about
Nawa?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Snow-Burner,” whispered Tillie, “Neopa is
to be Nawa’s squaw with the coming of Spring. They
wish to go together.”
</p>
<p>
“And I do not wish them to go together,” said
Reivers harshly. “Give me that rifle.” He took the
weapon from Nawa’s hands. “Do you stay here and
eat caribou meat and grow fat against the coming of
Spring, Nawa.”
</p>
<p>
“Snow-Burner,” said Nawa, a flash of will lighting
his eyes for the moment, “does Neopa come back to
me?”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps,” said Reivers, cocking the rifle. “But if
you try to follow you will never come back. Is it
understood?”
</p>
<p>
Nawa bowed his head and turned away. Neopa
made as if to run to him, but Reivers caught her
brutally and threw her upon the lead sledge. He
had resolved to travel the way of shame, no matter
what the cost to others.
</p>
<p>
“Mush! Get on!” he roared at the dogs, and with
the rifle ready and with a backward glance at Nawa,
he drove away for Fifty Mile and Dumont’s Camp.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241'></a>241</span><a name='chXXXI' id='chXXXI'></a>CHAPTER XXXI—THE SQUAW-MAN</h2>
<p>
A day after Reivers drove out of the Indian
camp, Dumont’s Camp had something to talk
about. A half-witted, crippled-up squaw-man went
through with a couple of squaws, and the youngest
of the squaws was a beaut’! The old bum hadn’t
stopped long, just long enough to trade a chunk of
caribou meat for a bottle of hooch, but long enough,
nevertheless, to let the gang get a peek at the squaws.
</p>
<p>
Dumont’s Camp opined that it was a good thing
for the old cripple that he hadn’t stayed longer, else
he might have found himself minus his squaws, especially
the young one. But Dumont’s Camp would have
been mightily puzzled had it seen how the limp and
stoop went out of the squaw-man’s body the moment
he had left their camp behind, how the foolish leer
and stuttering speech disappeared from his mouth,
and how, straight-backed and stern-visaged, he threw
the bottle of hooch away in contempt and hurried on
toward Fifty Mile.
</p>
<p>
Reivers had played many strange parts in his
tumultuous life, and his squaw-man was a masterpiece.
Fifty Mile had its sensation early next morning.
The half-witted, crippled-up squaw-man with
the two extremely desirable squaws came through,
stopped for another bottle of hooch, and drove on and
made camp just outside the settlement.
</p>
<p>
“He certainly was one soft-headed old bum,” said
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242'></a>242</span>
Jack Raftery, leaning on the packing-case that served
as bar in his logcabin saloon. “Yes, men, he certainly
is bumped in the bean and locoed in his arms. Gimme
that chunk o’ meat there for a bottle o’ hooch.
’Bout fifty pounds, it’ll weigh. I’d give ‘im a gallon,
but he grins foolish and says: ‘Bottle. One bottle.’
‘Drag your meat in,’ says I. Well, gents, will you
b’lieve he couldn’t make it. No, sir; paralysed in the
arms or something.
</p>
<p>
“That young squaw o’ his did the toting. A beaut’?
Gents, there never was anything put up in a brown
hide to touch it. An’ that locoed ol’ bum running
’round loose with it. Tempting providence, that’s
what he is, when he comes parading ‘round real men-folks
with skirts like them. Shouldn’t wonder if
something’d happen to him one o’ these cold days.
Looks like he might ‘a’ been an awful good man in
his day, too. Well built. Reckon he’s been used
mighty rough to be locoed and crippled up the way
he is.”
</p>
<p>
“I reck-ong,” drawled Black Pete, who ran the
games at Raftery’s when there was any money in
sight. “I reck-ong too mebbe he get handle more
rough some tam ef he’s hang ‘round long wid dem
two squaw. Tha’ small squaw’s too chic, she, to
b’long to ol’ bum lak heem.”
</p>
<p>
The assembled gents laughed. Had they seen the
“ol’ bum” at that moment their laughter would have
been cut short. Reivers, in a gully out of sight of the
settlement, had thrown away his hooch, pitched camp,
tethered the dogs and made all secure with a swiftness
and efficiency that belied the characterisation Black
Pete had applied to him. He had the two tepees set
up far apart, the dogs tied between them, and Tillie
and Neopa had one tepee, and Reivers the other, alone.
</p>
<p>
Having made camp, Reivers knew what the boys
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243'></a>243</span>
would expect of him in his character of sodden squaw-man.
Having resolved to use the most shameful means
in the world to achieve his end, he played his base part
to perfection.
</p>
<p>
“Do you take this chunk of meat,” he directed
Tillie, “and go down to the saloon and get another
bottle of hooch. Yes, yes; I know I have destroyed
one bottle. You are not to ask questions but to obey
my commands. Go down and trade the meat for
hooch. Do not stop to speak to the white men. Come,
back at once. Go!”
</p>
<p>
But down in Raftery’s the assemblage had no hint
of these swift changes, and they laughed merrily at
Black Pete’s remarks.
</p>
<p>
“What d’you reckon his lay is, Jack?” asked one.
</p>
<p>
“Booze,” replied Raftery instantly. “Nothing else.
When you see a man who’s sure been as good a man
in his day as this relic, trailing ’round with squaw
folks, you can jest nacherlly whittle a little marker
for him and paint on it, ‘’Nother white man as the
hooch hez got.’ Sabbe? I trace him out as some
prospector who’s got crippled up and been laying out
’mongst the Indians with a good supply of the ol’
frost-bite cure ’longside of ’im. Nothin’ to do but
tuh hit the jug offen enough to keep from gettin’ sober
and remembering what he used to was. Sabbe? Been
layin’ out sucking the neck of a jug till his ol’ thinker’s
got twisted.
</p>
<p>
“I’ve seen dozens of ’em. You can’t fool me when
I see one, and I saw him when he was comin’ through
the door. Ran out o’ hooch and was afraid he’d get
sober, so he comes down here to get soaked up some
more. Brings his load o’ meat ‘long to trade in, an’
these two brown dolls to make sure in case the caribou
have been down this way, which they ain’t. Bet the
drinks against two bits that he’ll be chasin’ one o’ the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244'></a>244</span>
squaws down here for another bottle before an hour’s
gone. They all do. I’ve seen his kind before.”
</p>
<p>
Black Pete took the bet.
</p>
<p>
“Because I’m onlucky, <i>moi</i>, lately, an’ I want to lose
this bet,” he explained.
</p>
<p>
Raftery laughed homerically.
</p>
<p>
“What’s on you’ chest, Jack?” demanded one of his
friends.
</p>
<p>
“I was just thinking,” gurgled the saloonist, “what
’ud happen in case this stiff gent, Iron Hair, was to run
in ’bout this time.”
</p>
<p>
“By Gar!” laughed Pete. “An’ Iron Hair, he’s
just ’bout due.”
</p>
<p>
At that moment Tillie came waddling in, laid down
her bundle of meat before Raftery and said—
</p>
<p>
“One bottle.”
</p>
<p>
“What’d I tell you?” chuckled Raftery, handing
over the liquor. “Boss him get laid out, eh?” he said
to Tillie.
</p>
<p>
But Tillie did not pause for conversation. She
whipped the bottle under her blanket and waddled out
without a word.
</p>
<p>
“Well, I’m a son-of-a-gun!” proclaimed Raftery.
“That ol’ bum has got ’em well trained, anyhow.”
</p>
<p>
Black Pete pulled his beard reflectively.
</p>
<p>
“Come to theenk,” he mused aloud, “dere was wan
rifle on those sledge. I theenk mebbe I no go viseet
thees ol’ bum, he’s camp, teel she’s leetle better acquaint’
weeth <i>moi</i>.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245'></a>245</span><a name='chXXXII' id='chXXXII'></a>CHAPTER XXXII—THE SCORN OF A PURE WOMAN</h2>
<p>
And Fifty Mile talked. It talked to all who came
in from the white wastes of the country around.
It talked in its tents. It talked while trifling with
Black Pete’s games of no-chance. It talked around
Raftery’s bar. It talked so loudly that men heard it up
at Dumont’s Camp.
</p>
<p>
From Fifty Mile and Dumont’s the talk spread up
and down the trails, and even out to solitary cabins
and dugouts where there were no trails. Wherever
men were to be found in that desolate region the talk
of Fifty Mile soon made its way. And the talk was
mainly of the young squaw, of the old crippled-up
squaw-man, and that she was of a beauty to set men’s
heads a-whirling and make them murder each other
for her possession.
</p>
<p>
Men meeting each other on the trails asked three
questions in order:
</p>
<p>
“Where you traveling? How’s your tobacco?
Heard about the beaut’ of a little squaw down to Fifty
Mile?”
</p>
<p>
Men travelling in the direction of the settlements
bent their steps toward Fifty Mile, even though it
lay far out of their course. Men travelling in the
opposite direction passed the news to all whom they
bespoke. Of those who came to the settlement, many
strolled casually up the gully where the squaw-man
had his camp. And all of them strolled down again
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246'></a>246</span>
with nothing to brag about but a drink of hooch and
a mouthful of talk with the squaw-man.
</p>
<p>
“I don’t quite follow that gent’s curves,” summed
up Jack Raftery, speaking for the gang. “He gets
enough hooch here to keep any human gent laid out
twenty-six hours out of the twenty-four, but somehow
whenever you come moseying up to his camp he’s on
his pins, ready to give you a drink and a lot of locoed
talk. Yessir, he sure is locoed until he needs a guardian,
but for one I don’t go to do no rushing of his
lady-folks, not while he’s able to stand on his pins
and keep his eyes moving. Gents, there’s been one
awful stiff man in his day, and his condition goes to
show what booze’ll do to the best of ’em, and ought to
be a warning to us all. Line up, men; ’bout third
drink time for me.”
</p>
<p>
“There is sometheeng about heem,” agreed Black
Pete, “I don’t know what ‘tees, but there is sometheeng
that whispairs to me, ‘Look out!’”
</p>
<p>
While Fifty Mile thus debated his character, Reivers
lay in his tepee, carefully playing the shameful part he
had assumed. He knew that by now the news of his
arrival, or rather the arrival of Neopa and Tillie, had
been bruited far and wide around the settlements. Soon
the news must come to the ears of the man for whose
benefit the scheme had been arranged.
</p>
<p>
Shanty Moir, being what he was, would become
interested when he heard the descriptions of Neopa,
and, also because he was what he was, he would waste
no time, falter at no risks, stop at nothing when his
interest had been aroused. Reivers had only to wait.
Moir would come. The only danger was that Hattie
and her uncle might come before him.
</p>
<p>
On the third day after the squaw-man’s arrival,
Fifty Mile had a second sensation. That morning,
as Reivers, staggering artistically, came out of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247'></a>247</span>
Raftery’s house of poison, he all but stumbled over a
sledge before the door. With his assumed grin of
idiocy growing wider, he examined the sledge carefully,
next the team which was hitched to it, then
lifted his eyes to the man and woman that stood beside
the outfit. At the first glance he had recognised
the sledge, and he needed the time thus gained to recover
from the shock.
</p>
<p>
“Hello, Mac, ol’ timer!” he bellowed drunkenly at
Duncan MacGregor. “Come have a drink with me.”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor looked at him dourly, disgust and anger
on his big red face. Hattie, at his side, looked away,
her lips pressed tightly together to control the anger
rising within her. She had gone deadly pale at the
first sight of Reivers; now the red of shame was
burning in her cheeks.
</p>
<p>
“I shook hands with you, stranger, when you left
our roof,” said MacGregor gruffly. “I do not do so
now. I thought you were a man.”
</p>
<p>
“I never did!” snapped Hattie, still looking away.
“I knew it was not a man.” Something like a sob
seemed to wrench itself from her chest in spite of her
firm lips. “I knew it was—just what it is.”
</p>
<p>
Suddenly she flared around on Reivers, her face wan
with mingled pain, shame and anger.
</p>
<p>
“Now you are doing just what you are fit for. I’ve
heard. Living on your squaws! And you dared to
talk big to me—to a decent woman. Blood of my
father! You dared to talk to me at all! Drive on,
Uncle. We’ll go on to Dumont’s. We’ll get away
from this thing; it pollutes the air. Hi-yah, Bones!
Mush, mush, mush!”
</p>
<p>
Reivers leered and grinned foolishly—for the benefit
of the onlookers—as the sledge went on out of
sight.
</p>
<p>
“See?” he said boastfully. “I used to know white
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248'></a>248</span>
folks once. Yes sir; used to know lot of ’em. Don’t
now. Only know Indians. S’long, boys; got to go
home.”
</p>
<p>
All that day he sat alone in his tepee. Tillie came
to him at noon with food and he cursed her and
drove her away. In the evening she came to him
again, and again Reivers ordered her not to lift
the flap on his tepee.
</p>
<p>
Tillie by this time was fully convinced that the
Snow-Burner had gone mad. Else why had he repulsed
all her advances? Why had he refused to look
at the young and attractive Neopa? And now he
even spurned food. Yes, the Snow-Burner had gone
mad, as white men sometimes go mad in the North;
but she was still his slave. That was her fate.
</p>
<p>
Reivers sat alone in his tepee, once more fighting
to put away the face of Hattie MacGregor as it rode
before his eyes, a burning, searing memory. He was
not faltering. The shame for him, because he was
a white man, because she had once had him under her
roof, that Hattie MacGregor had suffered as she saw
him now, did not swerve him in the least from the
way he was going.
</p>
<p>
He had decided to do it this way. That was settled.
The shame and degradation of his assumed position
he had reckoned and counted as naught in the game
he was playing. Any means to an end. These same
men who were despising him for a sodden squaw-man
would bow their heads to him when the game was won.
And he would win it, the memory of the face of Hattie
MacGregor would not halt him in the least. Rather it
would spur him on. For when the game was won, he
would laugh at her—and forget.
</p>
<p>
For the present it was a little hard to forget. That
was why he sat alone in the tepee and swore at Tillie
when she timidly offered to bring him food.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249'></a>249</span>
</p>
<p>
So the red-headed girl thought that of him, did she—that
he was living on his squaws? Well, let her
think it. What difference did it make? She thought
he was that base, did she? All right. She would pay
for it all when the time came.
</p>
<p>
Reivers roused himself and strode outdoors. His
thoughts persisted in including Hattie MacGregor
in their ramblings as he sat in the tepee, and he felt
oppressed. What he needed was to mingle with other
men. He’d forget, then. He condemned the company
that was to be found at Raftery’s, but his need for
distraction drove him and, assuming the stoop, limp
and leer of the sodden squaw-man, he slumped off
down the gully to the settlement.
</p>
<p>
It was a clear, starlit night, and as he slumped along
he mused on what a fine night it would be for picking
out a trail by the stars. As he approached Raftery’s
he saw and heard evidences of unusual activity
in the bar. A team of eight dogs, hitched to an
empty sledge, was tied before the door. Within there
was sound of riot and wassail. Over the sound of
laughter and shuffling feet rose a voice which drowned
the other noises as the roar of a lion drowns the
chirping of birds, a voice that rattled the windows in
a terrifying rendition of “Jack Hall.”
</p>
<p>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Oh,&nbsp;I&nbsp;killed&nbsp;a&nbsp;man&nbsp;’tis&nbsp;said,&nbsp;so&nbsp;’tis&nbsp;said;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I&nbsp;killed&nbsp;a&nbsp;man&nbsp;’tis&nbsp;said,&nbsp;so&nbsp;’tis&nbsp;said.<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I&nbsp;kicked&nbsp;‘is&nbsp;bloody&nbsp;head,&nbsp;an’&nbsp;I&nbsp;left&nbsp;‘im&nbsp;lyin’&nbsp;dead;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Yes,&nbsp;I&nbsp;left&nbsp;‘im&nbsp;lyin’&nbsp;dead&nbsp;——&nbsp;’is&nbsp;eyes!<br />
</p>
<p>
Reivers opened the door and strode in silently and
unobserved. He made a base, contemptible figure as,
stooped and shuffling, a foolish leer on his face, he
stood listening apologetically to the song. The broad
back of the singer was turned toward him. As the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250'></a>250</span>
song ended Raftery’s roaming eye caught sight of
Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, there he is; here he is, Iron Hair. There’s
the man with the squaws I was telling you about.”
</p>
<p>
The man swung around, and Reivers was face to
face with the man he sought, Shanty Moir.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251'></a>251</span><a name='chXXXIII' id='chXXXIII'></a>CHAPTER XXXIII—SHANTY MOIR</h2>
<p>
Reivers’ tumultuous scheme of life often had led
him into situations where his life had hung on his
ability to play artistically the part he had assumed.
But never had his self-control been put to such a test
as now, when he faced Shanty Moir.
</p>
<p>
Had he not prepared himself for a shock, his surprise
must surely have betrayed him, for even the
Snow-Burner could not look upon Shanty Moir without
amazement. To Reivers, the first impression that
came was that he was looking at something as raw
and primitive as the sources of life itself.
</p>
<p>
Shanty Moir had little or nothing in common with
the other men in the room. He was even shaped
differently. He belonged, so it seemed to Reivers,
to the age of the saber-tooth tiger, the long-haired
mammoth, and a diet of roots and raw flesh.
</p>
<p>
There was about him the suggestion of man just
risen to the dignity of an upright position. His body
was enormous—longer, wider, denser than a man’s
body should be; the legs beneath it short and bowed.
There was no neck that could be seen. His arms
seemed to begin close up to the ears, and ran downward
in curves, like giant calipers, the hands even with
the knees.
</p>
<p>
The head fitted the body, squat and enormous, the
forehead running abruptly back from the brows, and
the face so flat and bony that the features seemed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252'></a>252</span>
merely to dent it. The brow-bones came down and
half hid the small eyes; the nose was small, but a
pair of great nostrils ran back in the skull; the mouth
was huge, yet it seemed small, and there was more
of the head below it than above.
</p>
<p>
Iron Hair was well nicknamed. His hair was probably
three inches long, and it stood out straight from
his head—black, wiry, menacing. Reivers, with his
foolish grin growing larger on his face, appraised
Moir with considerable admiration. Here was the
real thing, the pure, unadulterated man-animal, unweakened,
untouched by effeminising civilisation. This
man knew no more law or conscience than the ancient
cave-tiger, whose only dictates sprang from appetite.
</p>
<p>
Reivers had rejected morals because it pleased him
to run contrary to all the rest of the world; this man
never knew that right or wrong existed. What his
appetites told him to take he took as a matter of
course. And it was written in his face that his appetites
were as abnormally powerful as was he.
</p>
<p>
Reivers had been a leader of men because his mind
was stronger than the minds of the men with whom
he had dealt. This man was a leader because of the
blind, unintelligent force that was in him. And inwardly
the fighting man in Reivers glowed at the
prospects of the Titanic clash that would come between
them.
</p>
<p>
Shanty Moir as he looked from under his bony brows
saw exactly what Reivers wished him to see: a drunken
broken squaw-man, so weak that he could not possibly
be the slightest source of trouble. Being primitive of
mind he listed Reivers at once as helpless. Having
done this, nothing could alter his opinion; and Reivers
had gained the vantage that he sought.
</p>
<p>
Moir threw back his head and laughed, softly
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253'></a>253</span>
and behind set teeth, when his quick inspection of
Reivers was ended.
</p>
<p>
“So that’s tuh waster who’s got tuh squaws ‘at
hass tuh camp upset,” he said languidly. “Eh, sonnies!
Art no men among ye that ye have not gone
woman-stealing by this? Tuh waster does not look
hard to take a young woman from.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers broke into an apologetic snigger.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t you try to steal my two kids, mister,” he
whined. “You’d be mighty sorry for your bargain if
you did.”
</p>
<p>
“How so, old son?” demanded Moir with a tolerant
laugh.
</p>
<p>
“Them kids—if you was to steal them without my
permission—one or both of ’em—they’d make you
wish you’d never seen ’em—‘less I was along,”
chuckled Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“Speak it up, old son,” said Moir sharply. “What’s
behind thy fool’s words?”
</p>
<p>
“Them kids—they’d die if they was took away
from me,” replied Reivers seriously. “And they’d
take the man who stole ’em to the happy hunting
ground along with ’em.” He winked prodigiously.
“Lots of funny things in this ol’ world, mister. You
wouldn’t think to look at me that those two kids
wouldn’t want to live if I wasn’t with ’em, but that’s
the fact. I wasn’t always what I’m now, mister.
Once—well, I was different once—and them kids will
just nacherlly manage to poison the first man who
touches ’em—unless I give the word.”
</p>
<p>
The men of Fifty Mile looked at one another, and
Black Pete shuddered.
</p>
<p>
“The ol’ moocher sure has got ’em trained, Iron
Hair,” said Raftery. “He’s locoed, but those squaws
look up to him like a little tin god, and that’s no lie.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254'></a>254</span>
</p>
<p>
“Poison?” repeated Moir doubtingly. “Art a medicine
man, old son?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers shook his head loosely.
</p>
<p>
“Not me, mister, not me,” he chuckled. “It’s something
Indian that I don’t sabbe. But there’s a couple
graves ’way up where we came from, and they hold
what’s left of a couple of bad men who raided my
camp and stole my kids. I don’t know how it happened,
mister. The kids come back to me the same
night, and the two bad men were stiff and black—as
black as your hair, mister, after the first kiss.”
</p>
<p>
“The kiss of Death,” chimed in Black Pete, crossing
himself. “I have heard of eet. <i>Sacré!</i> I am the
lucky dog, <i>moi</i>.”
</p>
<p>
Shanty Moir nodded. He, too, had heard of the
method by which Indian women of the North on rare
occasions revenge themselves upon the brutal white
men who steal them from their people. Having often
indulged in that thrilling sport himself, Moir was well
versed in the obstacles and dangers to be met in its
pursuit. Being crafty, with the craft of the lynx
that eschews the poisoned deer carcass, he had thus
far managed to select his victims from the breed of
squaws that do not seriously object to playing a Sabine
part; and he had no intention of decreasing his caution
now, although what men had spoken of Neopa
had fired his blood.
</p>
<p>
“Ho, ho! I see how ’tis, old son,” he said with a
grin of appreciation. “Dost manage well for a
waster.”
</p>
<p>
He suddenly drew his hand from his mackinaw
pocket and held it out, opened, toward Reivers. Two
jagged nuggets of dull gold the size of big buckshot
jiggled on his palm, and Moir laughed uproariously
as Reivers, at the sight of them, bent forward,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255'></a>255</span>
rubbing his hands together, apparently frantic with avarice.
</p>
<p>
“Eh—hey!” drawled Moir, closing his fist as Reivers’
fingers reached for the gold. “I thought so. ’Tis
tub gold thy wants, eh, old sonny? Well, do thee
bring me tuh cattle to look at and we’ll try to bargain.”
</p>
<p>
“Come up to my camp,” chattered Reivers, eying
the fist that contained the nuggets. He was anxious
to get out of the bar. He had no fear that the primitive
Moir would be able to see any flaw in his acting,
but Black Pete and Jack Raftery were less primitive,
and he knew that they had not quite accepted
him for the weakling that he pretended to be. “Come
and visit me. Buy a bottle of hooch and we go up
to my camp.”
</p>
<p>
Moir tossed one of the nuggets across the bar to
Raftery.
</p>
<p>
“Is’t good for a round, lad?” he laughed.
</p>
<p>
Raftery cunningly hefted the nugget and set out
the bottles.
</p>
<p>
“Good for two,” he replied.
</p>
<p>
Moir tossed over the second nugget.
</p>
<p>
“Then that’s good for four,” said he. “Do ye boys
drink it up while I’m away to tuh camp of old sonny
here. A bottle, Raftery. Now, sonny, do thee lead on,
and if I’m not satisfied I’ll wring thy neck to let thee
know my displeasure.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256'></a>256</span><a name='chXXXIV' id='chXXXIV'></a>CHAPTER XXXIV—THE BARGAIN</h2>
<p>
Reivers led the way to his tepee and bade Moir
wait a moment by the fire, while he spoke to
Tillie. “Dress yourself and Neopa in your newest,”
he commanded. “Then do you both come in to me,
bringing food for two men.”
</p>
<p>
“What’s wrong, sonny?” laughed Moir, seeing
Reivers come under the door flap alone. “Hast lost
the whip over thy cattle?”
</p>
<p>
“They’re getting some grub ready,” replied Reivers
fawningly. “They’ll be here in a minute. Let’s
have a drink out of that bottle, mister. That’s the
stuff.”
</p>
<p>
He tipped the bottle to his lips and lowered the
burning liquor in a fashion that made even Moir
open his eyes in admiration.
</p>
<p>
“Takest a man-sized nip for a broken waster,
sonny,” he chuckled, and measuring with his fingers
on the bottle a drink larger than Reivers’ he tossed it
gurgling down his hairy throat. Reivers took the
bottle from his hand.
</p>
<p>
“I always take an eye-opener before my real drink,”
said Reivers, and, measuring off twice the amount that
Moir had taken, he drank it off like so much water.
</p>
<p>
The fiercest liquor made was to Reivers only a mild
stimulant. On his abnormal organisation it merely
had the effect of intensifying his characteristics. When
he wished to drink whisky he drank—out of full-sized
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257'></a>257</span>
water tumblers. When he did not wish to drink he put
liquor from him with contempt. Now he handed the
bottle back to Moir. The latter looked at him and at
the bottle, a trifle puzzled but not dismayed. Reivers
had apparently unconsciously passed the challenge to
him, and it was not in his nature to play second to any
man in a drinking bout.
</p>
<p>
“Shouldst have taken all thee wanted that time,
sonny,” said Moir, and finished the bottle.
</p>
<p>
“No more?” muttered Reivers vacantly.
</p>
<p>
“Gallons!” replied Moir. “Whisky enough to drown
you dead—if your women satisfy.”
</p>
<p>
“Look at them,” said Reivers as the door-flap was
flung back. “Here they are.”
</p>
<p>
Tillie came in first. She was dressed in white buckskin,
her hair hanging in two thick braids down her
shoulders. Neopa followed, and the wistfulness that
had come into her face from thinking of Nawa made
her the more interesting in Shanty Moir’s eyes.
</p>
<p>
A glance from Neopa’s fawn-like eyes at the big
man whom Reivers had brought home with him, and
then her eyes sought the ground and she trembled.
Tillie looked at Moir with interest. Save for the
Snow-Burner, she had never seen so masterful a man.
She looked at Reivers and saw that he was not watching
her. So she smiled upon Moir slyly. She was the
Snow-Burner’s slave; his will was her law. But since
he refused to notice her smiles it would do no harm
to smile upon a man like this Iron Hair—just a
little, when the Snow-Burner was not looking.
</p>
<p>
Moir read the smile wrong and spoke sharply to
Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“Take the young one outside for two minutes.
I’ve a word to say to this one.”
</p>
<p>
To his surprise Reivers rose without demur, thrust
Neopa out before him, and dropped the flap.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258'></a>258</span>
</p>
<p>
“Listen,” whispered Moir swiftly in her own tongue
to Tillie, “we will put his man out of the way. It is
easily done. Then you will go with me, you and the
young one, and you will be first in my tepee and the
young one your slave. Speak quickly. We will be
on the trail in an hour.”
</p>
<p>
Still smiling invitingly, Tillie shook her head.
</p>
<p>
“The Snow-Burner is the master,” she said seriously.
“I will slay the man who does him harm. I
can not do what he does not wish. I can not go
away from him.”
</p>
<p>
“But when he is dead, fool, he can have no wish.”
</p>
<p>
The smile went from Tillie’s full lips and she took a
step toward the opening.
</p>
<p>
“Stop,” laughed Moir softly. “I merely wished to
know if you are a true woman. All right, old sonny!”
he called. “Come on in.”
</p>
<p>
“I takest off cap to you, lad,” he continued as Reivers
and Neopa re-entered. “Hast got thy squaws fair
buffaloed.” His eyes ran over the shrinking Neopa
in cruel appraisal. “Now, old sonny, out with it.
What’s thy idea of tuh bargain?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers looked longingly toward the empty whisky
bottle.
</p>
<p>
“Said enough,” laughed Moir. “Shall have all tuh
hooch thy guts can hold.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers shook his head, a sly grin appearing on
his lips.
</p>
<p>
“Hooch is good,” said he, “but gold is better.”
</p>
<p>
“Go on,” said Moir sullenly.
</p>
<p>
“You’ve got gold,” continued Reivers. “I saw it.
You’ve got lots of gold; I’ve heard them talk about
you down at Raftery’s. You want us to go with you
when you go back to your camp, don’t you?”
</p>
<p>
Moir nodded angrily.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259'></a>259</span>
</p>
<p>
“I want the women,” he said brutally. “I might
be able to use you, too.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers cackled and rubbed his hands.
</p>
<p>
“You’ve got to use me if you’re going to have the
women,” he chuckled. “You know that by this time,
don’t you, mister?”
</p>
<p>
Again Moir’s black head nodded in grudging assent.
</p>
<p>
“What then?” he demanded.
</p>
<p>
“I’m a handy man around a camp, mister,” whined
Reivers. “You got to take me along if you take the
women, but I can be a help——”
</p>
<p>
“Canst cook?” snapped Moir suddenly.
</p>
<p>
“Heh, heh! Can I cook?” Reivers rubbed his
hands. “I’m an old—I used to be an old sour-dough,
mister. Did you ever see one of the old-timers who
couldn’t cook?”
</p>
<p>
“Might use thee then,” said Moir. “My fool of a
cook has gone. Sent him after a woman for me, and
he hasn’t come back. Happen he got himself killed,
tuh fool. Wilt kill him myself if he ever shows up
without tuh woman. Well, then, if that’s settled—what’s
tuh bargain?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers appeared to struggle with indecision. In
reality the situation was very clear to him. Moir
had listed him as a weakling; therefore he had no fear
of taking him to the mine. Once there, Moir would
be confident of winning the loyalty of the two women
from their apparently helpless master. And as it
was apparent that the man whom Reivers had slain
with a rock had been Moir’s cook, it was probable
that he was sincere in his offer to use Reivers in
that capacity.
</p>
<p>
“In the Spring,” said Reivers in reply to Moir’s
question, “me and my two kids go north again, back
among their own people.”
</p>
<p>
“In the Spring,” growled Moir, “canst go to —— for
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260'></a>260</span>
all of me. I’ll be travelling then myself. Speak
out, sonny. How much?”
</p>
<p>
“Plenty of hooch for me all Winter,” Reivers
leered with drunken cunning.
</p>
<p>
“I said plenty,” retorted Moir. “What else?”
</p>
<p>
“Gold,” said Reivers, rubbing his hands. “Gold
enough to buy me hooch for all next Summer.”
</p>
<p>
Moir smiled at the miserable request of the man he
was dealing with. His eyes ran over the plump Tillie,
over Neopa, the supple child-woman.
</p>
<p>
“Done,” he laughed. “And now, old son, break
up thy camp while I load my sledge with hooch. Be
ready to travel when I come back. I’ll bring plenty
of liquor, but none to be drinked till we’re on the trail.
Wilt travel fast and far to-night, I warn thee. But
willst have a snug berth in my camp when we get
there. Yes,” he laughed as he hurried out, “wilt not
be able to tear thyself away.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261'></a>261</span><a name='chXXXV' id='chXXXV'></a>CHAPTER XXXV—THE TEST OF THE BOTTLE</h2>
<p>
Under Reivers’ sharp orders—given in a way
that would have startled Moir had he heard—Tillie
and Neopa hurriedly packed the dog-sledges
with their belongings, harnessed the dogs and hooked
them to the traces.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Snow-Burner,” said Neopa timidly, “do we
go back to Nawa?”
</p>
<p>
“In good time,” said Reivers. “For the present,
you have only to obey my wishes. Get on the first
sledge.”
</p>
<p>
With bowed head the girl took the place directed,
and Reivers turned to find Tillie smiling craftily at
his elbow.
</p>
<p>
“Snow-Burner,” she said softly, “this is the man,
Iron Hair, who digs the gold which you want. We
go to rob him. I understand. You play at drinking
to fool Iron Hair. It is well. Tillie will help the
Snow-Burner. We will kill Iron Hair and take his
gold. Then the Snow-Burner will come with Tillie
to her tepee?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers looked at her, and for the first time he
felt a revulsion against the base part he was playing.
Would he return with Tillie to her tepee when this
affair was over? Would he go on with his old way
of living, the base part of him triumphant over the
better self? The strange questions rapped like trip-hammers
on Reivers’ conscience.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262'></a>262</span>
</p>
<p>
“Get on the sledge!” he growled, choked with
anger.
</p>
<p>
She did not stir. He struck her cruelly. Tillie
smiled. That was like the Snow-Burner of old; and
she waddled to her appointed place without further
question.
</p>
<p>
Up the gulch from Raftery’s came Moir quietly
leading his dogs, the sledge well loaded with cases
of liquor.
</p>
<p>
“Wilt have a kiss first of all,” he laughed excitedly,
and catching Neopa in his arms tossed her in the air,
kissed her loudly on her averted cheeks and set her
back on the sledge. “Now, old son, follow and follow
quietly. When Iron Hair travels he wants no
Fifty Mile gang on his trail. Say nothing, but keep
me in sight. Heyah, mush, mush!”
</p>
<p>
Out of the gully he led the way swiftly and silently
to the open country beyond the settlement. There
he circled in a confusing way, bearing northward.
After an hour he began circling again, doubling on his
trail to make it hard for any one to follow, but finally
Reivers knew by the stars that the course lay to the
south. Another series of false twists in the trail, then
Moir struck out in determined fashion on a straight
course, east and a trifle south from Fifty Mile.
</p>
<p>
Reivers, silently guiding his dogs in the tracks made
by Moir, breathed hard as he read the stars. By the
pace that Moir was setting it seemed certain that
he now was making for his camp in a direct line. But
if so, if this trail were held, it would take them back
toward the Dead Lands, straight into the country that
was Duncan MacGregor’s trapping-ground. Could the
mine be in that region. If so, how could it have escaped
the notice of the old trapper?
</p>
<p>
It was well past midnight when Reivers saw the
team ahead disappear in a depression in the ground
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263'></a>263</span>
and heard Moir’s voice loudly calling a halt. By the
time Reivers came up with his two sledges Moir had
unhitched his dogs on the flat of a frozen river-bed
and was hurriedly dragging a bottle from one of the
cases on his sledge.
</p>
<p>
“Hell’s fire, old son; unhook and camp. The liquor’s
dying in me, and I had just begun to feel good.”
</p>
<p>
“I was wondering,” gasped Reivers in assumed exhaustion.
“I was wondering how much farther you
were going before you opened a bottle.”
</p>
<p>
“Have your squaws get out tuh grub,” ordered
Moir, jamming down the cork. “And now you ‘n’ me,
wilt see who drinks t’other off his feet.”
</p>
<p>
For reply Reivers promptly gulped down a drink
that would have strangled most men.
</p>
<p>
“Good enough,” admitted Moir. “Here’s better,
though.” And he instantly improved on Reivers’
record.
</p>
<p>
The first bottle was soon emptied—a quart of raw,
fiery hooch—and a second instantly broached.
</p>
<p>
The food was forgotten by Moir; the women were
forgotten. His primitive mind was obsessed with the
idea of pouring more burning poison down his throat
than this broken-down waster who dared to drink
up to him. Bolt upright he sat, laughing and singing,
never taking his eyes off Reivers, while drink
after drink disappeared down their throats.
</p>
<p>
No movement of Reivers escaped Moir’s vigilant
watch for signs of weakness. As Reivers gave no
apparent sign of toppling over he grew enraged.
</p>
<p>
“Hell’s fire! Wilt sit here till daylight if thou wilt,”
he roared. “Drink on there! ’Tis thy turn.”
</p>
<p>
Tillie and Neopa got food ready from the grub-bag
and sat waiting patiently; the dogs ceased moving,
bedded down in the snow and went to sleep; and still
the contest went on.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264'></a>264</span>
</p>
<p>
Finally Reivers discerned the slight thickening of
speech and the glassy stare in his opponent’s eyes
that he had been waiting for. Then, and not until
then, did he begin to betray apparent signs of failing.
</p>
<p>
“Sh-sh-shtrong liquor, m-m-mishter,” he stuttered.
“Awful sh-sh-shtrong liquor.”
</p>
<p>
Moir cackled in drunken triumph.
</p>
<p>
“’Tish bear’s milk, old shon. ’Tish made for men.
Drink, —— ye, drink again!”
</p>
<p>
Reivers drank, drank longer and heavier than he
had yet done.
</p>
<p>
“There; take the mate of that, mister, and you’ll
know you been drinking,” he stammered.
</p>
<p>
Moir’s throat by this time had been burned too raw
to taste, and his sight was too dulled to measure quantities.
He tipped the bottle up and drained it. The
dose would have killed a normal man. To Shanty
Moir it brought only an inclination to slumber. His
head fell forward on his breast.
</p>
<p>
With a thick-tongued snarl he sat up straight and
looked at Reivers. Reivers hiccoughed, swayed in
his seat, and collapsed with a drunken clatter.
</p>
<p>
Moir smiled. He winked in unobserved triumph.
Then the superhuman strength with which he had
fought off the effects of the liquor snapped like a
broken wire, and he pitched forward on his face into
the snow.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265'></a>265</span><a name='chXXXVI' id='chXXXVI'></a>CHAPTER XXXVI—THE SNOW-BURNER BEGINS TO WEAKEN</h2>
<p>
Reivers stood up, looked down at his fallen rival
and yawned.
</p>
<p>
“Body,” he mused, “but for a hard head, there lies
you.”
</p>
<p>
He bent cautiously over Moir. The Welshman lay
with his face half buried in the crusted snow, his
lungs pumping like huge bellows, and the snow flying
in gusts from around his nostrils at every expulsion of
breath. Reivers laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
There was no movement.
</p>
<p>
“Hey, mister,” he called.
</p>
<p>
The undisturbed breathing showed that the words
had not penetrated to the clouded consciousness. Deliberately
Reivers turned the big man over on his back.
Moir lay as stiff and dead as a log. With swift, deft
hands Reivers searched him to the skin, looking for a
trail-map, a mark or a sign of any kind that might
indicate the location of Moir’s mine. He was not
greatly disappointed when he failed to find anything
of the sort; he had hardly expected that an experienced
pirate like Shanty Moir would travel with his
secrets on his person.
</p>
<p>
Next he considered the dogs. It was barely possible
that the dogs knew the way to the mine. If
they had travelled the way before, they would know
when they were on the home-trail, and if so they
would travel thither if given their heads, even though
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266'></a>266</span>
their master lay helplessly bound on the sledge. Then
at the mine, a sudden surprise, and probably a second
of sharp work with the rifle on Moir’s henchmen.
</p>
<p>
Reivers stepped eagerly over to where Moir’s team
lay sleeping. He swore softly when he saw them.
Moir had traded his tired team for a fresh outfit
at Fifty Mile, and the new dogs were as strange to
this trail as Reivers himself.
</p>
<p>
His triumph over Moir in the drinking bout had
been in vain. There was no march to be stolen, even
with Moir lying helpless on the snow. He would have
to go through with it as he had planned. Tillie and
Neopa must be the means by which he would obtain
his ends.
</p>
<p>
He suddenly looked over to the sledge where the
two women were patiently waiting with the food
they had prepared. Tillie, squat and stolid, was sitting
as impassive and content as a bronze figure at the
door of the shelter tepee which she had erected, but
Neopa sat bowed over on the end of the sledge, her
head on her folded arms, her slim figure shaking with
silent sobs.
</p>
<p>
“Put back the food and go to your blankets,” he
commanded harshly. “Stop that whining, girl, or
you will have something to whine for.”
</p>
<p>
He waited until his orders had been obeyed and the
women were in the tepee. Then he unrolled his blanket
and lay down on the snow.
</p>
<p>
He did not sleep. He knew that he would not.
For all through the day, during his dealing with Moir,
on the night trail under the clean stars, his mind had
been fighting to shut out a picture that persisted in
running before his eyes. Now, alone in the star-lit
night, with nothing to occupy him, the picture rushed
into being, vivid and living. He could not shut it
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267'></a>267</span>
out. He could not escape it. It was the picture of
Hattie MacGregor as he had seen her that morning
with the pain and scorn upon her young, fine face.
Her voice rang in his ears, the burning words as clear
as if she stood by his side:
</p>
<p>
“I knew it was not a man. Living on your squaws!
And you dared to talk to me—a decent woman!”
</p>
<p>
Reivers cursed and lay looking straight up at the
white stars. From the tepee there came a sound that
brought him up sitting. He listened, amazed and
puzzled. It was Neopa sobbing because she had been
torn from her young lover, Nawa, and in the plaint
of her pain-racked tones there was something which
recalled with accursed clearness the rich voice of Hattie
MacGregor.
</p>
<p>
It was probably an hour after he had lain down that
Reivers rose up and quietly hooked his strongest dogs
to a sledge.
</p>
<p>
“Tillie! Neopa! Come out!” he whispered, throwing
open the flap of the little tepee.
</p>
<p>
Neopa came, wet-faced and haggard, her wide-open
eyes showing plainly that there had been no sleep
for her that night. Tillie was rubbing her eyes sleepily,
protesting against being wakened from comfortable
slumber.
</p>
<p>
Reivers pointed northward up the river bed.
</p>
<p>
“Up there, on this river, one day’s march away, is
the camp of your people, which we came from,” he
whispered. “Do you both take this team and drive
rapidly thither. Hold to the river-bed and keep away
from the black spots where the water shows through
the snow. Do not stop to rest or feed. You should
reach your people in the middle of the afternoon.
Then do you give Nawa this rifle. Tell him to shoot
any white man who comes after you. Now go
swiftly.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268'></a>268</span>
</p>
<p>
Neopa looked at him with her fawn-like eyes large
with incredibility and hope.
</p>
<p>
“Snow-Burner! Do you let me go back to Nawa?”
she whispered.
</p>
<p>
“Get on the sledge,” he commanded. “Do as I’ve
told you, or you’ll hear from me.”
</p>
<p>
As emotion had all but paralysed the young girl
he forced her to a seat on the sledge and thrust the
whip into her hand, then turned to Tillie. Tillie was
making no move to approach the sledge.
</p>
<p>
“Did you hear what I said?” he demanded.
</p>
<p>
Tillie smiled strangely.
</p>
<p>
“Has the Snow-Burner become afraid of Iron
Hair?” she asked.
</p>
<p>
“So little afraid that I no longer need you to help
me in this matter,” retorted Reivers.
</p>
<p>
The shrewd squaw shook her head.
</p>
<p>
“How will the Snow-Burner find Iron Hair’s gold
how? Iron Hair will not take the Snow-Burner to
his camp alone. It is not the Snow-Burner that Iron
Hair wants. It is a woman. Has the Snow-Burner
given up the fight to get the gold which he wants
so much? He knows he can not reach Iron Hair’s
camp—alone.”
</p>
<p>
“Then I will not reach it at all. Get on the sledge.”
</p>
<p>
Tillie smiled but did not move.
</p>
<p>
“The Snow-Burner at last has become like other
white men. He wishes to do what is right.” She
pointed at the snoring Moir. “He would not be so
weak.”
</p>
<p>
While Reivers looked at her in amazement the
squaw stepped forward, straightened out the dogs,
kicked them viciously and sent the sledge, bearing
Neopa alone, flying up the river-bed.
</p>
<p>
“To send Neopa back to Nawa is well and good,”
she said, returning to Reivers. “She would weep for
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269'></a>269</span>
Nawa all day and night, and would grow sick and die
on our hands. But there is no Nawa waiting for
Tillie. Tillie is tired of her tepee with no man in it.
Iron Hair has smiled upon me, Snow-Burner. I will
smile upon him. His smile will answer mine as the
dry pine lights up when the match is touched to it. I
have looked in his eyes and know. He will forget
Neopa. Tillie will help the Snow-Burner rob Iron
Hair. Is it well?”
</p>
<p>
“Get back to your blankets,” commanded Reivers.
“If you wish it, we will let it be so. Sleep long. Do
not stir until you hear that Iron Hair has awakened.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270'></a>270</span><a name='chXXXVII' id='chXXXVII'></a>CHAPTER XXXVII—INTO THE JAWS OF THE BEAR</h2>
<p>
Shanty Moir stirred when the first rays of the
morning sun, glancing off the snow, struck his
eyes. He rose like a musk-ox lifting itself from its
snow wallow, with mighty heaves and grunts, and
looked around.
</p>
<p>
He was blear-eyed and puffed of face, his throat
was raw and burning from the unbelievable amount
of hooch he had swallowed in the night, but his abnormal
organisation had thrown off the effects of the
alcohol and he was cold sober. His first move was to
cool his throat with handfuls of snow, his second to
step over and regard the apparently paralysed Reivers
with a look of mingled triumph and contempt.
</p>
<p>
“Eh, old sonny! Would a drinked with Shanty
Moir, wouldst ’ee?” he chuckled. “Happen thee got
thy old soak’s skin filled to overflow that time. Get
up, you waster!” he commanded, stirring the prostrate
form with a heavy foot “Up with you!”
</p>
<p>
Reivers did not stir, but he put that touch of the
foot down as something extra that Moir would have
to pay for. He was apparently lying steeped in the
depths of drunken slumber, and he wished to drive
the impression firmly into Shanty Moir’s mind that he
had been dead to the world all night. Hence he did
not interrupt his snoring as Moir’s foot touched him.
</p>
<p>
“Laid out stiff!” laughed Moir.
</p>
<p>
He reached down, lifted Reivers’ head from the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271'></a>271</span>
snow and let it fall heavily. Still Reivers made no
sign of awakening. Moir looked at him for a moment,
then slily tiptoed toward the shelter tepee and threw
up the flap. The next instant a bellow of rage shattered
the morning quiet. Like a maddened bear Moir
was back at Reivers, cuffing, kicking, cursing, commanding
that he wake up.
</p>
<p>
Reivers awoke only in degree. Not until Moir
had opened a new bottle of hooch and poured a drink
down his throat did he essay to sit up and open his
eyes.
</p>
<p>
“Wha’ smatter? Can’t a man shleep?” he protested.
“Wha’ smatter with you?”
</p>
<p>
“Matter!” bellowed Moir. “Plenty of matter, you
old waster. Where’s the young lass, eh? Where’s the
girl gone? Look in the tepee and see what’s the matter.
You told me you had the trulls buffaloed. What’s
become of the young girl?”
</p>
<p>
It was some time before Reivers appeared to understand.
Finally he stumbled to his feet and started
toward the tent, met Tillie as she stepped out rubbing
her eyes, and recoiled drunkenly.
</p>
<p>
“Neopa? Where is she?” muttered Tillie. “She
slept near the door. Now she is gone.”
</p>
<p>
She had let her shiny black hair fall loosely over
her shoulders and now she threw it back, looked
straight at Moir and smiled.
</p>
<p>
“Neopa gone?” demanded Reivers thickly. “She
can’t be; she wouldn’t dare.”
</p>
<p>
“Dare, you fool? Look there.” Moir pointed to
the hollows where the missing dog team had lain and
to the tracks that ran straight and true up the river
bed. “She’s run away. Been gone half a night.
Well, what have you got to say?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers turned with a scowl on Tillie, but Tillie
was comfortably plaiting her thick hair.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272'></a>272</span>
</p>
<p>
“Neopa has run away—back to our people,” she
said with a smile, as she turned back into the tepee.
“Tillie does not run away,” she added as she disappeared.
</p>
<p>
Moir sat down on a sledge and cursed Reivers steadily
for five minutes, but at every few words his eyes
would stray back to the tepee which hid Tillie.
</p>
<p>
“We’ll go after her,” said Reivers. “We’ll bring
her back.”
</p>
<p>
“Go after her!” snorted Moir. “She has half a
night’s start on us. She’ll reach her people before
we could get her. Do you think I want half the
country following my trail.”
</p>
<p>
“I’ll go after her alone then,” insisted Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“Will you?” Moir’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I
think not. Let me tell thee something, old son: he
who goes this far on the home trail with Shanty Moir
goes all the way. Understand? You’ll come with me
or you’ll be wolf-meat out here on the snow. No;
there’ll be no following of that kid. She’s gone. The
other one’s here. There is no telling what tale the
kid will spin when she meets people, or who will be
down here looking for our trail. Therefore we are
going to travel and travel quick. Have the squaw
get food in a hurry. Get your dogs together. We’ll
be on the trail in half an hour.”
</p>
<p>
Moir was masterful and dominant now. It was
evident that he was more worried over the possibility
of some one hearing of his whereabouts through
Neopa than he was over the girl’s escape. He gave
Reivers a second drink of liquor, since he seemed to
need it to fully awaken him, and set about making
ready for the trail.
</p>
<p>
“Eat plenty,” he commanded, when Tilly served
the cold meat and tea. “The next meal you have will
be about sundown.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273'></a>273</span>
</p>
<p>
He tore down the tepee, packed the sledges and had
the outfit ready for the start in an amazingly short
while.
</p>
<p>
“Now, old son,” he said quietly, pointing to the rifle
that lay uncovered on top of his sledge, “do ’ee take
good look at her. She’s a good old Betsy and I’ve
knocked o’er smaller men than you at the half mile.
Do you keep well up with me on the trail I’ll be making
this day and there’ll be no trouble. Try any tricks
and the wolves will have whiskey-soaked meat to feed
on. There’s no turning back now. He who comes
this far with Shanty Moir goes all the way.”
</p>
<p>
“You can’t lose me, mister,” stammered Reivers.
“I want that money for hooch for next Summer like
you promised.”
</p>
<p>
“Wilt get more than you bargained for, old son,”
laughed Moir. “Yes, more than you ever dreamed
of. Hi-yah! Buck! Bugle! Mush; mush up!”
</p>
<p>
Moir made no pretence at hiding his trail when
he started this time. Apparently he reasoned that
the damage was done. If any one wished to trail
him after hearing Neopa’s story they would have no
trouble in finding his tracks, despite any subterfuge
he might attempt. He went straight forward, as a
man who has nothing to fear if he can but reach his
fastness, and Reivers’ wonderment grew as the trail
held straight toward the rising sun.
</p>
<p>
The course was parallel to the one he had taken
westward from MacGregor’s cabin to Tillie’s encampment.
If it held on as it was going it would lead
straight into the heart of the Dead Lands, and within
half a day’s travel of the MacGregor home. Was
it possible that the mine lay in the Dead Lands? Duncan
MacGregor made this territory his trapping-ground.
How could his brother’s find have escaped
his trained outdoor eyes?
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274'></a>274</span>
</p>
<p>
The next instant Reivers was cursing himself for
a blind fool. There was no trapping in the Dead
Lands. There was no feed there. Except for a stray
wolf-cave, fur-bearing beasts would shun those barren
rocks as a desert, and Duncan MacGregor, being a
knowing trapper, might trap around it twenty years
without venturing through after a first fruitless search
for signs.
</p>
<p>
The mine was in the Dead Lands, of course. It
was as safely hidden there as if within the bowels
of the earth. And he, Reivers, had probably been
within shooting distance of it during his two days’
wandering in that district. The man whom he had
killed with the rock had undoubtedly been hurrying
with Hattie MacGregor straight to his chief’s fastness.
</p>
<p>
It was noon when the ragged ground on the horizonhead
told Reivers that his surmises were correct and
that they were hurrying straight for the Dead Lands.
An hour of travel and the jagged formation of the
rock country was plainly distinguishable a little over
a mile ahead. Then Moir for the first time that day
called a halt. When Reivers caught up with him
he saw that Moir held in each hand a small pouch-like
contrivance of buckskin, pierced near the middle with
tiny holes and equipped with draw-strings at the
bottom.
</p>
<p>
“Come here, lass,” he beckoned to Tillie. “Must
hide that smiling mouth of thine for the present.”
</p>
<p>
With a laugh he threw the pouch over the squaw’s
head, pulled the bottom tightly around her neck, and
tied the strings securely.
</p>
<p>
“The same with thee, old son,” he said, and treated
Reivers in the same summary manner. “You see, I do
not wish to have to put you away,” he explained
genially, “and that I would do if by chance thy eyes
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275'></a>275</span>
should see the way to Shanty Moir’s mine. One or
two men have been unlucky enough to see it. They
will never be able to tell the tale.” He skilfully
searched the pair for hidden weapons, but Reivers had
expected this and carried not so much as a knife. “All
right. Keep in my steps, old son. Presently thou’ll
get wet. Do not fear. Wilt not let ’ee come to harm.
Neither thee nor tuh squaw. I have use for you
both. Come now; I’ll go slow.”
</p>
<p>
The buckskin pouch pierced only by the tiny air-holes,
masked Reivers’ eyes in a fashion that precluded
any possible chance of sight. He knew instinctively
that Moir was turning. First the turn was
to the left. Then back to the right. Then in a circle,
and after that straight ahead.
</p>
<p>
Presently the feel of a sharp rock underfoot told
him that they had entered the Dead Lands. He stumbled
purposely to one side of the trail and bumped
squarely against a solid wall of stone. Next he tried
it on the opposite side with the same result. Moir
was leading the way through a narrow defile in the
rocks.
</p>
<p>
Suddenly there came to Reivers’ ears the sound of
running water, the lazy murmur of a small brook.
Almost at the same instant came the splash of Moir
and his dogs going into the stream and Moir’s
laughing:
</p>
<p>
“Wilt get a little wet here, old son. But follow
on.”
</p>
<p>
Fumbling with his feet Reivers found the stream
and stepped in. To his surprise the water was warm.
Warm water? Where had he seen warm water recently
in this country? His thoughts leaped back with
a snap. There was only one open stream to be found
thereabouts, and that was the brook that came from
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276'></a>276</span>
the warm springs by which he had camped on his way
to Tillie’s.
</p>
<p>
“Warm water!” laughed Moir. “Wilt find all snug
in my camp. Aye, as snug as in a well-kept jail.”
</p>
<p>
The stream was knee-deep, and by the pressure of
the water against the back of his legs Reivers knew
that they were going down-stream. Presently Moir
spoke again.
</p>
<p>
“Now, if you value the tops of your heads, do you
duck as low as you can. Duck now, quick; and do
you keep that position till I tell you to straighten up.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers and Tillie ducked obediently. Suddenly the
tiny light that had come through the air-holes of
their masks was shut out. The darkness was complete.
Reivers thrust his hand above his bowed head
and came in contact with cold, clammy rock. No
wonder it had taken MacGregor and Moir two years
to find the mine, since the way to it lay by a subterranean
river!
</p>
<p>
The light reappeared, but it was not the sunny light
that had come through the air-holes before they had
entered the river tunnel. It was grey and dead, as
the light in a room where the sunshine does not enter.
</p>
<p>
“Now you can lift your heads,” laughed Moir.
“Come to the right. Up the bank. Here we are.”
</p>
<p>
He jerked Reivers out of the water roughly, and
roughly pulled the sack from his head. Reivers
blinked as the light struck his eyes. Moir treated
him to a generous kick.
</p>
<p>
“Welcome,” he hissed menacingly. “Welcome to
the camp of Shanty Moir.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277'></a>277</span><a name='chXXXVIII' id='chXXXVIII'></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII—MACGREGOR ROY</h2>
<p>
Reivers’ first impression was that he was standing
in a gigantic stockade. The second that he
was on the floor of a great quarry-pit. Then, when
the situation grew clear to him, he stood dumfounded.
</p>
<p>
The camp of Shanty Moir lay in what would have
been a solid rock cave but for the lack of a roof.
It was an irregular hollow in the strange formation
of the Dead Lands, perhaps fifty yards long and thirty
yards wide at its greatest breadth. The hollow was
surrounded completely by ragged stone walls about
fifty feet in height. These walls slanted inward to
a startling degree. Thus while the floor of the strange
spot was thirty yards wide, the opening above, through
which showed the far-away sky, could scarcely have
been more than half that width. The brook ran
through the middle of the chasm, entering the upper
end by a tunnel five feet in height and disappearing in
the solid wall of rock at the lower end by a similar
opening.
</p>
<p>
On each side of the narrow stream, and running
back to the rock walls, was a floor of smooth river-sand.
Beneath an overhanging ledge on the side where
Reivers stood were the rude skin fronts of two dugouts.
A tin smoke-stack protruded from the larger
of the two habitations; the other, which was high
enough only to admit a man stooping far over, was
merely a flap of hide hanging down from the rock.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278'></a>278</span>
</p>
<p>
On the beach at the other side of the creek a fire
burned beneath a great iron pan, the wood smoke filling
the chasm with its pungent odour. Behind the fire
a series of tunnels ran down in the sand under the
cliffs. From the tunnel immediately behind the fire
came a thin spiral of sluggish smoke, and Reivers
knew that this tunnel was being worked and that the
fire was being used to thaw the frozen earth.
</p>
<p>
A man who resembled Moir on a small scale was
at work at the thawing-pan, breaking the hard earth
with his fingers and tossing it into a washing-pan
at his side. He stood now with a chunk of frozen sand
in his hand, and at sight of Reivers and Tillie he
tossed the sand recklessly into the air and whooped.
</p>
<p>
“Ha! Hast done well this time, Shanty,” he cried
in an accent similar to theirs. “Hast made tuh life
endurable. A new horse for me and a woman for
’ee. ’Tis high time. Since Blacky went off and did
not come back, and tuh two Indians tried to flee, we’ve
had but one horse to do with. Now wilt have two.
Wilt clean up in a hurry now, and live in tuh meanwhile.”
</p>
<p>
Shanty Moir laughed harshly.
</p>
<p>
“How works tuh old Scot jackass to-day?” he
called.
</p>
<p>
The man across the creek shook his head.
</p>
<p>
“He’s never tuh horse he was when we first put
him in harness,” he chuckled. “Fell twice in his
tracks to-day, he did, and lay there till Joey gave him
an inch of tuh prod. Has been a good beastie, the
Scot has, Shanty, but ’tis in my mind tuh climate does
not ‘gree with him. Scarce able to pull his load. In
tuh mines at home we knocked such worn beasties in
the head and sent them up o’ tuh pit.”
</p>
<p>
Moir laughed again.
</p>
<p>
“Hast a quaint way o’ putting things, Tammy,” he
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279'></a>279</span>
said. “But I mind when ponies were scarce we used
them till they crawled their knees raw. ’Tis plenty
o’ time to knock old horse-flesh in tuh head when tuh
job’s done.”
</p>
<p>
They laughed together. Evidently this was a well-liked
camp joke.
</p>
<p>
“’Tis a well-coupled animal ’ee have there, Shanty,”
said the humourist across the water, with a jerk of
the head at Reivers. “Big in tuh bone and solid
around tuh withers. Yon squaw is a solid piece, too.
Happen they’re broke to pull double?”
</p>
<p>
“Unbroke stock, Tammy,” drawled Moir leisurely.
“Gentleman, squaw-man, waster. But breaking stock’s
our specialty, eh, Tammy?”
</p>
<p>
A muffled shout floated up from the mouth of the
smoking pit before Tammy could reply. Instantly
there followed a dull moan of pain: Moir and Tommy
laughed knowingly.
</p>
<p>
“Here comes sample of our work,” said Tammy,
nodding toward the tunnel. “Poor Joey! Has to
use tuh prod to start him with each load now.”
</p>
<p>
A grating, shuffling sound now came from the mouth
of the tunnel. Following it appeared the head of a
man. And Reivers needed only one glance at the
emaciated countenance to know that he was looking
upon the father of Hattie MacGregor.
</p>
<p>
“Giddap, Scotch jackass!” roared Moir in great
good humour. “Pull it out o’ there. That’s tuh
horse. Pull!”
</p>
<p>
The man came painfully, an inch at a time, out
of the pit, and looked across the creek at Shanty Moir.
Behind him there dragged a rough wooden sledge
loaded with lumps of earth. The man was hitched
to this load by a harness of straps that held his arms
helpless against his sides. No strait-jacket ever held
its victim more utterly helpless than the contrivance
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280'></a>280</span>
which now held James MacGregor in toils as a beast
of burden. A contrivance of straps about the ankles
held his legs close together.
</p>
<p>
So short were the traces by which the sledge was
drawn that MacGregor could not have stood upright
without having lifted the heavy load a foot or more
from the ground. He made no attempt to stand so,
but hung half-bowed against the harness, his eyes
gleaming through the matted red hair over his brows
straight at Shanty Moir.
</p>
<p>
It was the eyes that drew and held Reivers’ attention
to the face, rather than to the man’s terrible
situation. James MacGregor, helpless beast of burden
to his tormentors that he was, was not beaten.
The same clean-cut nose, mouth and chin that Reivers
remembered so well in the daughter were apparent
in the father’s pain-marked face. The eyes gleamed
defiance. And they were wide and grey, Reivers saw,
the same as the eyes that haunted him in memory’s
pictures of the girl who had not feared his glance.
</p>
<p>
“Shanty Moir,” spoke MacGregor in a voice weak
but firm, “when the devil made you he cursed his own
work. He cursed you as a misbegotten thing not fit
for hell. The gut-eating wolverine is a brave beast
compared to you. Skunks would run from your company.
You think you have done big work. You fool!
You cannot rob me of what belongs to me and mine;
you cannot kill me. As sure as there is a God in
Heaven, He will let me or mine kill you with bare
hands.”
</p>
<p>
Moir and his man laughed in weary fashion, as if
this speech were old to them, and Reivers was amazed
at an impulse within him to throw himself at Shanty
Moir’s throat. He joined foolishly in the laughter
to hide his confusion. What had he to do with such
impulses? What business had he having any
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281'></a>281</span>
feeling for the poor enslaved man before him? He had
come to Moir’s camp for one purpose: to get the gold
mined there, to get a new start in life. Was it possible
that he was growing weak enough to experience
the feeling of pity, the impulse to help the helpless?
Nonsense! He laughed loudly. His plan was one in
which silly impulses of this nature had no part, and
he would go through with it to the end.
</p>
<p>
“Well brayed, Scots jackass,” said the man at the
thawing-pan casually. “Now pull tuh load over here.
Giddap-pull!”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor leaned weakly against the harness, but
the sledge had lodged and his depleted strength was
insufficient to budge it.
</p>
<p>
“Oh ho! Getting lazy, eh?” came from the tunnel,
and a thin-faced man came out, a short stick with a
sharp brad in his hands. “Want help, eh? Well,
here ’tis,” he chuckled, and drove the brad into MacGregor’s
leg.
</p>
<p>
Again the strange impulse to leap to the tortured
man’s rescue, to kill his tormentor without reckoning
the price or what might come after, stirred itself in
Reivers’ breast, and again he joined in the laughter
to pass it off.
</p>
<p>
MacGregor started as the iron entered his flesh
and the movement loosened the sledge. With weak,
faltering steps he drew the load alongside the fire,
where Tammy proceeded to transfer the frozen chunks
of earth to the thawing-pan.
</p>
<p>
“Eh, hah! New cattle?” said the man with the
prod when he espied Reivers and Tillie. “Cow and
bull.”
</p>
<p>
“Cow—and an old ox, Joey,” laughed Moir. “Has
even burnt his horns off with hooch, and wilt go
well in the harness when he’s broke.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282'></a>282</span>
</p>
<p>
“’Tis time,” said Joey. “Tuh Scots jackass’ll soon
drop in his tracks.”
</p>
<p>
“Not until I’ve paid you out in full, you devils,”
said MacGregor quietly. “I’ll give you an hour of
living hell for every prod you’ve given me, you poor
cur.”
</p>
<p>
Joey approached him and unhooked the traces from
his harness with an air that told how well he was
accustomed to such threats.
</p>
<p>
“Must call it a day, Shanty,” he said, loosening
the straps that bound MacGregor’s hands so the forearms
were free while the upper arms remained bound
tightly to his sides. “Old pit’s full o’ smoke.” In
bored sort of fashion he kicked MacGregor into the
creek. “To your stable, jackass. Day’s done.”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor, tripped by the traps about his ankles,
fell full length in the water, floundered across, and
crawled miserably out of sight behind the skin front
of the smaller dugout. Moir and his two henchmen
watched him, jeering and laughing. At a sign the
two on the other side of the creek came across and
drew close to their chief.
</p>
<p>
“And now, old son,” snarled Moir, swinging around
on Reivers like a flash, “now, you slick waster—now
we’ll attend to ’ee.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283'></a>283</span><a name='chXXXIX' id='chXXXIX'></a>CHAPTER XXXIX—JAMES MACGREGOR’S STORY</h2>
<p>
The three men moved forward until they were
within arm’s reach of Reivers, and stood regarding
him with open grins on their hairy faces. Reivers,
reading the import of their grins, knew that they
were bent upon enjoying themselves at his expense,
and tried swiftly to guess what form their amusement
might take. If it were only horse-play he would
be able to continue in the helpless character he had
assumed. If it were to be rougher than that, if they
set out to break him in real earnest, he feared that his
acting was at an end.
</p>
<p>
Even for the sake of the gold that he was after
he would hardly be able to submit, humbly and helplessly
as became a drunken squaw-man, to their efforts
to make a wreck of him. He calculated his chances
of coming through alive if the situation developed to
this extreme, and decided that the odds were a trifle
too heavy against him.
</p>
<p>
The element of surprise would be on his side, but
his right shoulder still was weak from the old bullet-wound.
With his terrible ability to use his feet he
calculated that he could drop Moir and Tammy with
broken bones as they rushed him. To do that he
would have to drop to his back, and Joey, the third
man, wore a long skinning-knife on his hip. No, if
he began to fight he would never get what he had come
after. He wiped his mouth furtively and swayed
from the knees up.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284'></a>284</span>
</p>
<p>
“I want some hooch, mister, that’s what I want,”
he whined shakily. “You promised you’d give me
a drink when we got here, you know you did. Haven’t
had a drop since morning. I wouldn’t ‘a’ come if
I’d known you were going to treat me like this.”
</p>
<p>
Then he did the best acting of his life. He jumped
sideways and shuddered; he frantically plucked imaginary
bugs off his coat sleeve; he stepped high as if
stepping over something on the ground; his eyes and
face muscles worked spasmodically.
</p>
<p>
“O-ooh! Gimme a drink,” he begged. “Please
gimme a drink. I gotta have it.”
</p>
<p>
The grins faded from the faces before him. They
knew full well the signs of incipient delirium tremens.
Tammy laughed dryly.
</p>
<p>
“Hast brought home more than an old ox and a
cow, Shanty,” he said. “Hast brought a whole menagerie.
Yon stick’ll have tuh Wullies in a minute if
he’s not liquored.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers dropped to his knees, shuddering, his arms
shielding his eyes from imaginary beasts of the bottle.
</p>
<p>
“Take ’em away, boys,” he pleaded. “Kill the
big ones, let the little ones go.”
</p>
<p>
With a snarl Moir leaped to his sledge and knocked
the neck off a bottle of hooch.
</p>
<p>
“Drink, you scut!” he growled. “I’ll have dealings
with you when you’re sobered up.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers drank and began to doze. Moir kicked
him upright.
</p>
<p>
“Get into the shed with t’other jackass,” he commanded,
propelling him toward the dugout into which
MacGregor had crawled. “And in tuh morning you
go to work, e’en though snakes be crawling all o’er
’ee.”
</p>
<p>
A faintly muttered curse greeted Reivers as he
crawled into the dugout.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285'></a>285</span>
</p>
<p>
“You poor curs! What do you want with me now?”
came MacGregor’s voice from a corner of the tiny
room. “You skunk——”
</p>
<p>
“Easy, MacGregor Roy,” whispered Reivers quietly.
“It’s not one of the ‘skunks.’”
</p>
<p>
“MacGregor Roy!” By the light that entered by a
slit in the skin-flap Reivers could see the Scotchman
painfully lifting his head from his miserable bunk, as
he hoarsely repeated his own name. “MacGregor
Roy! Who are you, stranger, to call James MacGregor
by his family name?”
</p>
<p>
“I’m the man that Shanty Moir brought in this
afternoon,” whispered Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“I know, I know,” gasped MacGregor weakly. “But
men do not call me MacGregor Roy. James MacGregor
they call me, unless—unless——”
</p>
<p>
“Unless they have the ‘Roy’ straight from the lips
of your daughter, Hattie.”
</p>
<p>
For a full minute MacGregor sat stricken speechless.
</p>
<p>
“Man, man! Speak!” The unfortunate man came
wriggling over and laid his hands pleadingly on Reivers.
“Don’t play with me. Is my daughter Hattie
alive and well?”
</p>
<p>
“Very much alive,” replied Reivers, “and as well as
can be expected of a girl who is worrying her heart
out over why her father doesn’t return or send her
word.”
</p>
<p>
“Have they no’ guessed—has no’ my brother Duncan
guessed by this time?” gasped MacGregor. “Can
not they understand that I must be dead or held captive
since I do not return? Speak, man, tell me how
’tis with them!”
</p>
<p>
Reivers waited until the poor man had become
more quiet before replying to him.
</p>
<p>
“You’d better quiet down a little MacGregor,” he
whispered then. “You can’t tell when your friends
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286'></a>286</span>
might be listening, and it wouldn’t do either of us
any good if they heard what we’re saying.”
</p>
<p>
“True,” said the old man more quietly. “I’m acting
like an old woman. But for three months I’ve been
trapped like this, and my head fairly swims when I
hear you speak of Hattie. How come you to know
of her?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers related briefly that he had been ill and had
been cared for at the MacGregor cabin.
</p>
<p>
“And my little Hattie is well? No harm came to
her from the black devil they sent to steal her? You
must know, man, they taunted me by sending——”
</p>
<p>
“I know,” interrupted Reivers; and he told how
he had disposed of the kidnapper.
</p>
<p>
“You—you did that?” MacGregor clutched Reivers’s
hand. “You saved my little Hattie?”
</p>
<p>
“None of that,” snapped Reivers, snatching away
his hand. “I did nothing for your little Hattie. Why
should I? What is your Hattie to me? I simply
put that black-beard out of business because I needed
food and he had it on the sledge.”
</p>
<p>
“Yet you’re not one of the gang here—now? You
are no’ anything but a friend of me and mine?”
</p>
<p>
“A friend?” sneered Reivers. “I’ll tell you, Mac:
I’m here as my own friend, absolutely nothing else.”
</p>
<p>
“But Hattie—and my brother Duncan—they understand
about me now.”
</p>
<p>
“They know you’re either dead or worse,” was the
reply. “And they’re at Dumont’s Camp now, waiting
for Moir to come there on a spree, when they expect
to trail him back to this camp.”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor nodded his head weakly.
</p>
<p>
“Aye. Taken the trail for revenge. No less could
be expected. Please Heaven, they’ll soon win here.
And James MacGregor will not forget what he owes
you, stranger, for the help you gave his daughter,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287'></a>287</span>
when the time of reckoning comes with Moir and his
poor curs.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers laughed coldly under his breath.
</p>
<p>
“You speak pretty confidently, old-times, for a man
who’s trussed up the way you are.”
</p>
<p>
“God willna let this dog of a Moir have his will
with me much longer,” said the Scot firmly. “It isna
posseeble.”
</p>
<p>
“‘This dog of a Moir’ must be a better man than
you are,” taunted Reivers. “He fooled you and
trapped you as soon as you’d found this mine.”
</p>
<p>
“Did he?” MacGregor flared up. “Shanty Moir a
better man than me? Hoot, no! He fooled me, yes,
for I didna know that he’d got word to these three
hellions of his that the mine was here. I trusted him;
he was my pardner. And when we returned with
proveesions for the Winter the three devils were waiting
for us, just inside the wall, where the creek
comes through. Shanty Moir alone never could ha’
done it. The three of them jumped on me from
above. I had no chance. Then they strapped me.
</p>
<p>
“They’ve kept me strapped ever since. I’m draft
beast for them. Twice a day they feed me. And
between whiles Shanty Moir taunts me by playing
before my eyes with the dust and nuggets that are half
mine.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, well, it doesn’t look to me as if there’d be
enough gold here to bother about,” said Reivers casually.
“It’s nothing but a little freak pocket by the
looks of it.”
</p>
<p>
“So it is. A freak pocket. It could be nothing else
in this district. ’Twas only by chance we found it,
exploring the creek in here out of curiosity. ’Twas in
the bowels of the warm spring up yon, where the
creek starts, that the pocket was originally. The
spring boiled it out into the creek, and the creek washed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288'></a>288</span>
it down here in its bed of sand. The sand lodged here,
against these rock walls. There’s about a hundred
feet of the sand, running down under the cliffs, and it’s
all pocket. Not a rich pocket, as you say, but Shanty
Moir is filthy with nuggets and dust now, and there’ll
be some more in the sand that’s left to work over.
</p>
<p>
“Not a bonanza, man, but a good-sized fortune.
‘Twould be enough to send my Hattie to school.
’Twould give her all the comforts of the world.
’Twould make folk look up to her. And Shanty
Moir, the devil’s spawn, has it in his keeping.”
</p>
<p>
“And he’ll probably see that it continues in his keeping,
too,” yawned Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“Never!” swore MacGregor, rising to the bait.
“Shanty Moir did me dirt too foul to prosper by it,
and I’m a better man than he is, besides. The stuff
will come into my hands, where it belongs, some way.
I dinna see just how for the present. But the stuff,
and my revenge I will have. E’en shackled as I am I’ll
have my revenge, though it’s only to bite the windpipe
out of Shanty Moir’s throat like a mad dog.”
</p>
<p>
“Huh!” Reivers was lying face down on some
blankets, apparently but little interested. “And suppose
you do get Shanty Moir? What good will that
do you? I’ll bet Shanty’s got the gold hid where
nobody could find it without getting directions from
him. Suppose you get him. Suppose you get all
three of ’em. Shanty Moir being dead, the nuggets
and dust probably’d be as completely lost as they were
before you two boys found the pocket in the first
place.”
</p>
<p>
For a long time MacGregor sat in his corner of the
dugout without replying. Reivers could see that at
times he raised his head, even opened his mouth as if
to speak, then sank back undecided. At last he hunched
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289'></a>289</span>
himself forward inch by inch to the front of the dugout
and lifted the flap.
</p>
<p>
The light of day had gone from the cavern. On
the sand before the larger dugout blazed a brisk cooking-fire.
In the confined space the light from its
flames was magnified, reflecting from rock-wall and
running water, and illuminating brightly the miserable
hole in which Reivers and MacGregor lay.
</p>
<p>
MacGregor held up the flap for several minutes,
studying Reivers, and though Reivers looked back
with the look in his eyes that made most men quail,
the old man’s sharp grey eyes studied him unruffled,
even as the eyes of his daughter had done before.
</p>
<p>
“By the Big Nail, ’tis a man’s man!” muttered MacGregor,
dropping the flap at last. “How in the name
of self-respect did the likes of you fall prey to the cur,
Shanty Moir?”
</p>
<p>
“Self-respect?” sniggered Reivers. “Did you notice
me out there when you were laying your curse on
Moir?”
</p>
<p>
“Aye. You were far gone in liquor then—by the
looks of you. You’ll mind I say ‘by the looks of
you.’ You are not in liquor now. That’s what
puzzled. A man does not throw off a load of hooch
so quickly. You were playing at being drunk. Now,
why might that be?”
</p>
<p>
“To enable me to get into his hole and leave Moir
thinking I’m a drunken squaw-man without brains or
nerve enough to do anything but sponge for hooch.”
</p>
<p>
“Aye? And your reason for that?”
</p>
<p>
“My reason for that?” Reivers laughed under his
breath. “Why, did you ever hear of a more popular
reason for a man risking his throat than gold? I
heard the story of this deal from your brother Duncan
and your daughter. I need—or rather, I want
money. Shanty Moir had won over you and had
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290'></a>290</span>
gold. I came to win over Moir and get the gold away
from him. Isn’t that simple?”
</p>
<p>
“Simple and spoken well,” said MacGregor calmly.
“Will you answer me one question: Did you serve
notice on my brother Duncan that you were out on
this hunt?”
</p>
<p>
“I did.”
</p>
<p>
“Fair enough again. A man has a right to take trail
and do what he can if he speaks out fair. I take it
you hardly calculated to find me here alive?”
</p>
<p>
“No, I didn’t think Moir was such an amateur as
to take any chances.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah, he needed a draft beast, lad; that’s why I’m
alive, and no other reason. And finding me here alive,
does it alter your plans any?”
</p>
<p>
“Only a trifle. You see, I’d made up my mind to
bring Moir and your daughter Hattie face to face to
see if she could make good on her big talk of taking
revenge for putting you out of business. Now that I
see you’re still alive—well, I won’t let any little foolishness
like that interfere with the business I’ve come
on.”
</p>
<p>
“I mean about the gold, man?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers looked at his questioner in surprise.
</p>
<p>
“About the gold?” he repeated.
</p>
<p>
“Yes. Finding me, the rightful owner of half of the
gold, here, alive and hoping to win back with my share
to my daughter Hattie—does it make any change in
your plans?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers chuckled softly.
</p>
<p>
“Not in the slightest,” he replied. “I came to get
the stuff that’s come out of this mine. Take a look
at me. Do I look like a soft fool who’d let anything
interfere with my plans?”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor looked and shook his head, puzzled.
</p>
<p>
“I dinna understand ye, mon,” he said. “I canna
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291'></a>291</span>
make you out. By the look of you I’d be wishful to
strike hands with you as one good man to another; but
your talk, man, is all wrong, all wrong. Half of the
stuff that’s been taken out of this mine—Shanty
Moir’s half—I have made up my mind shall be yours
for the strong blow you dealt to save my Hattie from
black shame. Will you na’ strike hands on a partnership
like that between us?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers yawned.
</p>
<p>
“Why should I? You’re ‘all in.’ You can’t help
me any. I’ll have to do the job of getting the gold
away from Moir. I came here to get it all. I don’t
want any help, and I certainly won’t make any unnecessary
split.”
</p>
<p>
“Man,” whispered MacGregor in horror, “is there
naught but a piece of ice where your heart should
be? Do you not understand it’s for a poor, unprovided
girl I’m talking? A man you might rob; but have you
the coldness in your heart to rob my little, unfortunate
Hattie?”
</p>
<p>
“‘Little, unfortunate Hattie!’” mocked Reivers.
“Consider her robbed already. What then?”
</p>
<p>
“A word to Shanty Moir and you’re as good as
dead,” retorted MacGregor hotly.
</p>
<p>
Reivers’ long right arm shot out and terrible fingers
clutched MacGregor’s throat. The old man wriggled
and gasped and tried to cry out, but Reivers held him
voiceless and helpless and smiled.
</p>
<p>
“One word to Shanty Moir, and—you see?” he said,
releasing his hold. “Then your little, unfortunate
Hattie would be robbed for sure.”
</p>
<p>
“Man—man—what are you, man or devil?” gasped
MacGregor.
</p>
<p>
“Devil, if it suits you,” said Reivers. “But, remember,
I’ll manage to be within reach of you when
Shanty Moir’s about, and I rather fancy Moir would
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292'></a>292</span>
be glad to have me put you out of business. Now
listen to me. I’ve no objection to your getting out of
here alive—if you can. I’ve no objection to your getting
your revenge on Moir, if you can, provided that
none of this interferes with my getting what I came
after. You know now what I can and will do if necessary.
Your life lies right there.” He opened and
closed his right hand significantly. “Well, I’ll trade
you your life for a little information. Where does
Shanty keep his gold?”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor ceased gasping. He began to laugh.
He leaned over and laughed. He rocked from side to
side.
</p>
<p>
“Man, man! Do you not know that? That proves
you’re only human!” he chuckled. “You came out
here, like a lamb led to slaughter, to find where Shanty
Moir keeps his gold. You were on the trail with
Shanty. You had him where it was only one man
to one. Well—well, the joke is too good to keep:
Shanty Moir, day and night, wears a big buckskin
belt about the middle of him, and the gold—the gold
is in the belt!”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293'></a>293</span><a name='chXL' id='chXL'></a>CHAPTER XL—THE WHITE MAN’S SENTIMENT</h2>
<p>
It was very still in the dugout. Suddenly Reivers
leaned forward to see if MacGregor were telling
the truth. Satisfied with his scrutiny he sat back and
laughed softly.
</p>
<p>
“In a belt, around his middle, eh?” he said. “Good
work. Mr. Moir is cautious enough to be interesting.”
</p>
<p>
“Cautious!” MacGregor threw up the flap of the
dugout. “Look out there, man.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers looked. On the sand directly before the
door lay chained a huge, husky dog, an ugly, starved
brute with mad eyes.
</p>
<p>
“Try but to crawl outside the shack,” suggested
MacGregor.
</p>
<p>
Reivers tried. His head had no more than appeared
outside when the dog sprang. The chain jerked him
back as his teeth clashed where Reivers’ head had been.
He leaped thrice more, striving to hurl himself into the
dugout, then returned to his place and lay down, growling.
</p>
<p>
“Very cautious,” agreed Reivers.
</p>
<p>
He peered carefully out toward the cooking-fire.
The fire had died down now and was deserted. By
the sounds coming from the larger dugout Reivers
knew that Moir and his men were occupied with their
supper, supplemented by occasional drafts of liquor,
and once more he crawled out upon the sand.
</p>
<p>
With a snarl the great dog leaped again, his bared
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294'></a>294</span>
fangs flashing in the night. The snarl died in a choke.
Reivers’ long arms flashed out and his fingers caught
the dog by the throat so swiftly and surely that not
another sound came from between its teeth. It was
a big, strong dog and it died hard, but out there on
the sand Reivers sat, silently keeping his hold till the
last sign of life had gone from the brute’s body. Not
a sound rose to attract attention from the larger dugout.
</p>
<p>
When the animal was quite dead Reivers crawled
forward and untied the chain that held it to a rock.
Noiselessly he crawled farther on and noiselessly
slipped the carcass into the brook. The brisk current
caught it and dragged it down. Reivers waited until
he saw the thing disappear into the dark tunnel at
the lower end of the cavern, then returned to the dugout
and quietly lay down on his blankets.
</p>
<p>
“God’s blood!” gasped MacGregor and sat silent.
</p>
<p>
“Well,” yawned Reivers, “our friend Moir is short
one dog.”
</p>
<p>
“You crazy fool!” MacGregor was grinding his
teeth. “Ha’ you no’ thought of what Shanty Moir
will do when he finds what you’ve done to his watch-dog?”
</p>
<p>
“What I have done?” Reivers laughed his idiotic
squaw-man’s laugh. “D’you suppose a poor old bum
like me could throttle a man-eater like that beast?
You’ll be the one to be blamed for it. Why should I
touch Moir’s dog? Moir and I came here together,
chummy as a couple of thieves.”
</p>
<p>
“You would not—you could not do that? You
could not put it on me? Man, they’d drop me in
the river after the beast, if you got them to believe it.”
</p>
<p>
“Well?” said Reivers gently.
</p>
<p>
The Scot bit his lip and grew crafty.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295'></a>295</span>
</p>
<p>
“Well,” he said, “there’d be only you left then to
do the dirt-hauling for Shanty Moir.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers nodded appreciatively.
</p>
<p>
“You deserve something for that, Mac,” said he.
</p>
<p>
He lay silent for a few minutes. Then he chuckled
suddenly as if he had thought of a good joke.
</p>
<p>
“Watch me closely now, Mac,” he ordered, “and if
you ever feel like speaking that word to Moir, I’ll
holler at you worse than this.”
</p>
<p>
He rolled himself to the front of the dugout, and
suddenly there rang out in the cavern such a shriek of
terror as stopped the blood in the veins of all who
heard. Twice Reivers uttered his horrible cry. Then
he began to shout drunkenly:
</p>
<p>
“Take him off, take him away! Oh, oh, oh! Big
dog coming out of the river. Take him away. Big
dog swimming in the river. Take him away. Help,
help!”
</p>
<p>
Shanty Moir got to the front of the little dugout
in advance of the others. He came with a six-shooter
in his hand, and the gun covered Reivers,
huddled up on the sand, as steadily as if held in a
vise. But Reivers observed that Moir stopped well
out of reach.
</p>
<p>
“What tuh ——!” roared Muir, as he noted the
absence of the watch-dog. “What devil’s work——”
</p>
<p>
“The dog!” chattered Reivers. “Big dog; big as a
house. Came out of the river. Tried to jump on me.
Jumped back into the river. Swimming—swimming
out there.”
</p>
<p>
Shanty Moir swung the muzzle of his six-shooter till
it pointed straight at Reivers’s forehead. He did
not step forward, but remained well out of reach.
</p>
<p>
“Steady, old son,” he said quietly, “steady, or this’ll
go off.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296'></a>296</span>
</p>
<p>
Under the influence of the threat Reivers pretended
to come back to his senses.
</p>
<p>
“Gimme a drink, mister,” he pleaded. “I’m seeing
things. I was sure there was a big dog out there.
I’d ‘a’ sworn I saw him jump into the river. Now
I see there isn’t, but gimme a drink—quick!”
</p>
<p>
“Bring tuh old sow a cup of hooch, Joey,” snapped
Moir over his shoulder. “Wilt see about this.” He
turned the weapon on the cowering MacGregor.
“Speak quick, Scotch jackass, or I pull trigger. What’s
been done here; where’s Tige?”
</p>
<p>
“Was it a real dog?” cried Reivers before MacGregor
could reply. “I saw something—he went
into the river.”
</p>
<p>
“Speak, you!” said Moir to the Scotchman. “Speak
quick.”
</p>
<p>
“He’s telling you straight,” replied MacGregor,
with a nod toward Reivers. “The dog went into the
river. I saw him go down, out of sight.”
</p>
<p>
“Out of sight,” muttered Reivers, swallowing the
drink which Joey had brought him. “So it was a real
dog, was it? He jumped at me, and then he jumped
back, and I guess he broke his chain, because he
went into the river and never came out.”
</p>
<p>
Moir stepped over and examined the rock from
which Reivers had slipped the dog’s chain.
</p>
<p>
“Tammy,” he said quietly. Tammy came obediently,
stopping a good two paces away from Moir.
</p>
<p>
“See that?” said Moir, pointing at the rock. Tammy
nodded.
</p>
<p>
“You tied Tige out for tuh night, Tammy?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but——”
</p>
<p>
“And you tied so well tuh beast got loose, and
into tuh river and is lost.”
</p>
<p>
“Shanty, I swear——”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297'></a>297</span>
</p>
<p>
“Swear all you want to, lad,” said Moir and dropped
him cold with a light tap on the jaw.
</p>
<p>
“Pick him up.” Moir’s moving revolver had seemed
to cover every one present, but now the muzzle hesitated
on Joey. “Carry him into tuh shack.”
</p>
<p>
As Joey obeyed Moir stepped back toward the little
dugout, but stopped well out of reach of a possible
rush.
</p>
<p>
“Old son,” he said slowly, and the gun barrel pointed
at Reivers’ right eye, “old son, if you yell again tonight
let it be your prayers, because you’ll need ’em.
Dost hear? I suspect ’twas thy yelling scared Tige
into the river. Wouldst send thee down after him,
only I’ve use for you in tuh pits. Crawl in and lie
still if wouldst live till daylight, —— you. Wilt pay
for the loss of Tige, I warn you that.”
</p>
<p>
He turned away and Reivers fell back on his blankets
chuckling boyishly. He was in fine fettle. The
Snow-Burner was coming back to his old form, and in
the delight of the moment’s difficulties he had temporarily
lost the softening memories that had disturbed
him of late.
</p>
<p>
“How was it, old-timer?” he laughed. “Could you
pick any flaw in it?”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor shook his head in wonder.
</p>
<p>
“I had a man go fey on me once, up on the Slave
Lake trail,” he said slowly. “He let go just such
yells as came from your mouth now. I’m thinking
no man could yell so lest he’s fey himself, or has
travelled wi’ auld Nickie and stole some of his music.”
</p>
<p>
“Quite so. Exactly the impression I wished to
create,” said Reivers. “I thank you for your compliment,
but your analysis is all wrong. Complete
control of your vocal organs, that’s all. You see I
wished to let out just such a yell. It was rather hard,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298'></a>298</span>
because my vocal organs never had made such a sound
before, and they protested. I forced them to do it.
</p>
<p>
“The man with the superior mind can force his body
to do anything. Understand, Mac? It’s the superior
mind that counts. If you’d had a mind superior to
Moir’s you’d be top dog here, with Moir fetching
bones for you. As it is, you’re doing the fetching,
and Moir’s growing fat. And here I come along,
with a mind superior to Moir’s, and I’m going to be
top dog now and gobble the whole proceeds of your
squabbling. The mind, Mac, the grey stuff in the little
bone-box at the top of your neck, that’s all that counts.
Nothing else. And I’ve got the best grey matter in
this camp, and I’m going to be top dog as a matter of
course.”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor flared up hotly.
</p>
<p>
“You say, that’s all that counts?” he said. “D’you
mean to tell me to my face that after I’d struck hands
with a man to be my partner, as I did with Shanty
Moir, that I’d turn on him and play him the scurvy
trick he played me, just because I could? Well, if
you say that, mon, you lie, and I throw the word
smack in your teeth. Go back on my hand-shake,
just to be top dog and get the bones! God’s blood!
There’s other things better than bones, and there’s
other things that count besides a superior mind. How
many times do you suppose I could have shot Shanty
Moir after we’d found this mine?”
</p>
<p>
“Not once. You didn’t have it in you. You couldn’t
do it. If you could you’d have been the superior
man, and you’re not.”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor thought it over.
</p>
<p>
“You’re right, mon, I couldn’t do it. I thank God
I couldn’t. I’d rather be the slave I am at present
than be able to do things like that.”
</p>
<p>
“Sentiment, Mac; foolish, unreasonable sentiment.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299'></a>299</span>
</p>
<p>
“Sentiment!” MacGregor spoke hotly, then suddenly
subsided. “Yes, you’re right, lad,” he admitted
after awhile. “It’s naught but sentiment. I see now.
It’s the kind of sentiment that white men die for, and
that makes them the boss men of the world. Well, lad,
I am sorry to hear you talk as if ’twas only your
skin was white. But I do not see you top dog of
this camp yet. I’ll warrant Shanty Moir didn’t allow
you to slip a gun or knife into camp. And did you
notice the little tool he had in his hand?”
</p>
<p>
“A six-shooter,” said Reivers. “A crude weapon
compared to a good mind, MacGregor.”
</p>
<p>
“Aye? I’m glad to hear you say so, lad, for I’ve
only a mind, such as it is, left me for a weapon, and
I’m quite sure I must overcome the six-gun in Shanty’s
hand ere I ever win back to lay eyes on my daughter
Hattie.”
</p>
<p>
“Your daughter Hattie!” Reivers sat up, jarred out
of his composure. “You forget your daughter Hattie;
you hear, MacGregor? And now shut up. There’s
been enough yawping to-night; I want to sleep.”
</p>
<p>
He rolled himself tightly in his blankets. MacGregor
crawled miserably to his corner and huddled
down to sleep as best he could in his cruel shackles.
The dugout grew as still as a tomb. Faint sounds
came from the place where Moir and his men were
living, but as the night grew older these ceased, and
a silence as complete and primitive as it knew before
man bent his steps thither fell over the isolated cavern.
</p>
<p>
Reivers did not sleep. MacGregor’s last words
had done the work. “My daughter Hattie.” Hattie
with the clean, pure face of her. Hattie with the
wide grey eyes; with the look of pain upon her.
Curse MacGregor! What business had he mentioning
that name? Reivers had forgotten, or thought he
had. He was himself again. And then this old fool—curse
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300'></a>300</span>
him! Curse the whole MacGregor tribe. And
especially did he curse himself for being weak and
foolish enough to permit such trifles to interfere with
his sleep.
</p>
<p>
He dozed away toward daylight and dreamed that
Hattie MacGregor was looking at him. The hard
look on her face had softened a little, and she said she
was glad he had sent Neopa back to her lover, Nawa.
</p>
<p>
“—— you, get out of there!”
</p>
<p>
In his half-waking Reivers fancied it was his own
voice driving the picture from his mind.
</p>
<p>
“Get out, beasts, and get out quick!”
</p>
<p>
It was Shanty Moir’s voice and he was calling to
MacGregor and Reivers to get up.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301'></a>301</span><a name='chXLI' id='chXLI'></a>CHAPTER XLI—SHANTY MOIR—TEMPERANCE ADVOCATE</h2>
<p>
Reivers came forth from the dugout, stooped
and shaking, the drunken squaw-man’s morning
condition to perfection, but in reality alert and watchful
for the opportunity he was seeking. He had had a
bad night, and he was anxious to have the job over
with and get away with his loot to some place where
he could forget.
</p>
<p>
A surprise awaited him outside. Two tin plates
loaded with meat and a tin cup half full of liquor
were placed on the sand before the dugout. Ten feet
away stood Shanty Moir, his six-shooter covering the
two men as they emerged. With the instinct of the
wild animal that he was, Moir knew the value of
clamping his hold firmly on his victims in the cold
grey of morning.
</p>
<p>
“Drink and eat,” he said, satisfied with the humility
with which the two went to their food. “Eat fast, or
you’ll go into tuh pit with tuh belly empty.”
</p>
<p>
“I thought you hired me for a cook, mister,” whined
Reivers, as he raised the tin cup to his lips. “I want
to cook.”
</p>
<p>
“Cook, ——!” sneered Moir. “Tuh squaw’ll do all
tuh cooking done here. Draft beast with tuh Scotch
jackass, that’s what ’ee be, old ox. Hurry up. Wilt
have a little of tuh prod?”
</p>
<p>
Out of the corner of his eye Reivers saw that MacGregor
was eying the cup of liquor wistfully. Moved
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302'></a>302</span>
by an impulse that was strange to him he took a small
drink and held out the cup to his companion. As MacGregor
eagerly reached for it Moir’s gun crashed out
and the cup flew from Reivers’s hand.
</p>
<p>
“Tuh motto of this camp is, ‘No treating,’” chuckled
Moir. “Hooch is good on tuh trail. We’re on tuh
job now. You get liquor, old son, because ’tis medicine
to you, and any hooch drinked here, I must prescribe.”
</p>
<p>
Across the creek, Tammy, at work building a fire
under the thawing-pan, heard his chief’s words and
growled faintly.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, and ’ee prescribe terrible small doses, too,
Shanty,” he muttered. “A good thing can be over-played.
Hast no reason for refusing Joey and me a
nip before starting work this morning.”
</p>
<p>
Moir, moving like a soft-footed lynx, was across
the creek and behind Tammy before the latter realised
what was coming. From his position Moir now
dominated the whole camp, and a sickly smile appeared
on Tammy’s mouth.
</p>
<p>
“Aw, Shanty!” he whined. “Didst only mean it for
a joke. Can take a joke from an old chum, can’t ’ee,
Shanty?”
</p>
<p>
“Get into tuh pit, Tammy,” said Moir quietly,
pointing with his gun to the tunnel where sounds indicated
that Joey already was at work.
</p>
<p>
“Aw, Shanty——”
</p>
<p>
“Get in!”
</p>
<p>
Slack-jawed with terror Tammy crawled into the
dark tunnel.
</p>
<p>
“Eh, Joey, ma son!” called Moir down the pit-mouth.
</p>
<p>
“Aye?” came back the answer.
</p>
<p>
“Dost ’ee, too, think ’ee should have a drink this
morn’?”
</p>
<p>
“Aye, Shanty,” replied the unsuspecting Joey.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303'></a>303</span>
</p>
<p>
“Have a hot one, then!” roared Shanty and kicked a
blazing log from Tammy’s fire into the pit.
</p>
<p>
A mingling of shrieks and protests greeted its arrival.
</p>
<p>
“Aw, Shanty! Blood of tuh devil, chief! Canst not
take a joke?”
</p>
<p>
“Am taking it now, ma sons,” laughed Moir, and
kicked more brands down the tunnel.
</p>
<p>
Gasping and choking from the smoke that filled the
tiny pit, Joey and Tammy essayed to crawl out. <i>Bang!</i>
went Moir’s six-shooter and they hastily retreated.
The tunnel was filled with smoke by this time. Down
at the bottom, choking coughs and cries told that the
two unfortunate men were being suffocated. Moir
waited until the faintness of the sounds told how far
gone the men were. Then he motioned to Reivers
with his revolver. The smoke was leaving the pit
by this time.
</p>
<p>
“Step down and drag ’em out, old son,” he said.
“Come now, no hanging back. Tuh trigger on this
gun is filed down so she pulls very light.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers obeyed, climbing into the pit as if trembling
with fear, and toiling furiously as he dragged the unconscious
men out, though he could have walked away
with one under each arm.
</p>
<p>
“Throw water on ’em. Splash ’em good.”
</p>
<p>
Ten minutes later Joey and Tammy were sitting
up, coughing and sneezing, and trying their best to
make Moir believe they had only been joking.
</p>
<p>
“Good enough, ma sons; so was I,” chuckled Moir.
“Now back to tuh job, and if ever you doubt who’s top
man here you’ll stay in tuh pit till you’re browned
well enough to eat. Dost hear me?”
</p>
<p>
“Aye, Shanty,” said the two men humbly, and
hurried back to their tasks.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304'></a>304</span>
</p>
<p>
“And now, jackass and old ox, step over here and
get into tuh harness,” commanded Moir.
</p>
<p>
He continued to hold the gun in his hand and
motioned to the sledge near the thawing-pan. High
side-boards had been placed on the sledge, making it
capable of holding twice its former load, and a looped
rope supplemented the traces to which MacGregor was
so ignominiously hitched.
</p>
<p>
“Take hold of the rope, old son,” directed Moir.
</p>
<p>
He did not approach as MacGregor resignedly led
the way to the sledge. Tammy turned from his
thawing-pan to hitch the Scotchman to his traces
and to strap down his hands. Moir stood back, the
gun in his hand, dominating all three.
</p>
<p>
“Now into tuh pit; Joey’s got a load waiting,” he
commanded. “And one whine out of you, old ox, and
you get the prod. Hi-jah! Giddap!”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305'></a>305</span><a name='chXLII' id='chXLII'></a>CHAPTER XLII—THE SNOW-BURNER WORKS FOR TWO</h2>
<p>
With MacGregor leading the way, Reivers humbly
picked up his rope and helped drag the
sledge into the mine. The tunnel, high and broad
enough only for two men to crawl abreast, ran at a
steep slant into the sand for probably twenty-five
feet. At its end it spread into a small room in which
Joey was at work, chopping loose chunks of frozen
earth.
</p>
<p>
One glance around and Reivers knew from experience
that this room had been the home of the pocket,
and that, unless the signs lied, the pocket soon would
be worked out. Judging by the extent of the excavation
the pocket had been a good-sized one, and the
amount of dust and nuggets taken from it undoubtedly
would foot up to a neat sum. Yes, it would be a tidy
fortune. It would be plenty to give him a new start in
life, plenty to pay him for the trouble he had gone to,
plenty even to pay him for the baseness of his present
position.
</p>
<p>
He obeyed Joey meekly when ordered, with curses
and insults, to load the sledge. He could have throttled
Joey down there in the mine without a sound coming
up to warn those above of what was happening,
but Moir’s conduct of the morning had made an impression
upon Reivers. A man who kept himself
out of reach, who kept his six-shooter pointed at you
all the time, and who could shoot tin cups out of your
moving hand, was not a man to be despised.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306'></a>306</span>
</p>
<p>
The first hour of work that day convinced Moir
and his henchmen that their original unflattering estimate
of Reivers was correct. Even a close observer,
regarding him during that period of probation, would
have seen nothing to indicate that he was anything
but what Shanty Moir had judged him to be. A miserable,
broken-down squaw-man, without a will of his
own, and only one ambition—to clamour for as much
liquor as possible—that was the character that Reivers
played perfectly for the benefit of Moir and his two
men.
</p>
<p>
At first, they kept an eye on him, watching to see
if by any chance the old fool might be dangerous.
They discovered that he would be dangerous if turned
loose—to their supply of liquor. Beyond that he had,
apparently, not a single aim in the world. His physical
weakness, they soon discovered, was exactly what was
to be expected of a whisky bloat. He was able to help
haul the sledge-loads of frozen earth up the incline of
the shaft, and that was all. Even that left him puffing
and trembling.
</p>
<p>
“Is an old ox, as ’ee said, Shanty, with even tuh
horns burnt off him by tuh hooch,” said Joey, after
the first few loads. “Keep a little o’ tuh liquor running
down his throat each day and he’ll be a good
draft beast to us. Nothing to fear o’ him. Didst
well when ’ee picked him out, chief.”
</p>
<p>
They stopped watching him. He was harmless.
Which was exactly the frame of mind which Reivers
had worked to create.
</p>
<p>
MacGregor alone knew how cleverly Reivers was
playing his part, and he regarded his new companion
in misery with greater awe and swore beneath his
breath in unholy admiration. He had excellent opportunity
to appreciate Reivers’s ability to play the
part of a weakling, for the Snow-Burner, when not
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307'></a>307</span>
observed, caught his free hand in MacGregor’s traces
and pulled the full weight of the heavy sledge as if it
had been a boy’s plaything.
</p>
<p>
“Eh, mon!” gasped the weakened Scotchman in relief.
“I begin to comprehend now. ’Tis a surprise
you’re planning for Shanty Moir. Oh, aye! ’Tis
a braw joke. But you maun l’ave me finish him, man;
’tis my right. And I thank you and will repay you
well for the favour you are doing me in my present
bunged-up condition.”
</p>
<p>
“Favour your eye!” snapped Reivers. “It’s easier
to pull the whole thing than to have you dragging on
it. Don’t think I’m doing it for your sake. You’ll
have a rude awakening, my friend, if you’re building
any hopes on me.”
</p>
<p>
“I dinna understand you,” said MacGregor with a
shake of his head. “You’re different from any man I
ever met. But at all events, you’ve made the loads
lighter, and I think I must have perished soon had you
not done so.”
</p>
<p>
“Shut up!” hissed Reivers irritably. “I tell you
I’m doing it because it’s easier for me.”
</p>
<p>
His attitude toward the old man was brutally domineering
when they were alone and openly abusive when
they were in the presence of Moir or the others. He
showered foul epithets upon him, pretended to shoulder
the greater part of the work on him, and abused
him in a fashion that won the approval of the three
brutes over them.
</p>
<p>
“Make him do his share, old sonny,” roared Moir.
“Wilt have tuh prod? Joey, give him tuh prod so he
can poke up tuh jackass when he lags back.”
</p>
<p>
“Don’t need no prod,” boasted Reivers. “I can
handle him without any prod. Come on, pull up there,
you loafer. Think I’m going to do it all?”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor on such occasions would hold his head
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308'></a>308</span>
low to hide the gleam in his eyes and the grin that
strove for room on his tightly pressed lips. His harness
was hanging slack; Reivers took more of the load
upon himself with every curse that he uttered.
</p>
<p>
All through the day it was Reivers’ strength that
pulled the heavy sledge up the dirt incline of the tunnel,
and at night, when the day’s work was done, and
MacGregor, tottering feebly toward his bunk, fell
helpless through the dugout’s flap, Reivers picked him
up, laid him down gently and placed his own blanket
beneath his head.
</p>
<p>
“God bless you, lad!” whispered MacGregor.
</p>
<p>
“Shut up!” hissed Reivers. “I don’t want any talk
like that.”
</p>
<p>
He looked down at the prostrate man for a moment.
Then with a muttered curse he unloosened the straps
that bound MacGregor’s arms to his sides and hurled
himself over to his own side of the shack. He was
very angry with himself. Pity and succour for the
helpless had never before been a part of his creed.
Why should he trouble about MacGregor?
</p>
<p>
“I’ll have to strap you up again in the morning,” he
flung out suddenly, “but it won’t hurt to have your
hands free for the night. Shut up—lay still! I hear
somebody coming.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309'></a>309</span><a name='chXLIII' id='chXLIII'></a>CHAPTER XLIII—“THE PENALTY OF A WHITE MAN’S MIND”</h2>
<p>
“Oh, Snow-Burner!” It was Tillie who came,
bearing the evening food, and Reivers crept
out on the sand to meet her. “Oh, Snow-Burner,”
she whispered quietly, “I am weary of this camp. The
air is bad, and the country is not open. It is in my
heart to poison Iron Hair as soon as the Snow-Burner
says we are ready to go from this place.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers stared at her. A short while ago he would
not have been shocked in the slightest degree to have
heard this—to her, natural speech—fall from Tillie’s
lips. But of late another woman, another kind of
woman, had been in his thoughts, and Tillie’s words
left him speechless for the moment.
</p>
<p>
The squaw continued placidly—
</p>
<p>
“The Snow-Burner comes here after gold?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
</p>
<p>
“And when he has the gold we go away?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
</p>
<p>
“Good. The pig, Iron Hair, wears a great belt of
buckskin about his middle. The gold is in there, much
of it. I will poison him to-night, and we will take
the belt and go away from here in the morning.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers made no reply. Here was success offered
him without so much as a move of his hand. He need
have no part in it, none at all. Tillie would bring him
the gold belt. That was what he had come for; and
hitherto he had never let anything in the world stand
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310'></a>310</span>
between him and the gratification of his desires. Yet
he hesitated.
</p>
<p>
“Is there more gold here than Iron Hair wears in
his belt?” asked Tillie.
</p>
<p>
Reivers shook his head.
</p>
<p>
“Then why wait?” Her whisper was full of amazement.
“It is not like the Snow-Burner. Was there
ever a man who could make him do his will? And
yet now the Snow-Burner labours for Iron Hair like
a woman.”
</p>
<p>
“Like a woman?” He repeated her bold words in
surprise, while she sat humbly awaiting the careless,
back-hand blow which knocked her rolling on the sand.
“And was that hand like the hand of a woman?” he
asked.
</p>
<p>
Tillie picked herself up with a gleam of hope in
her eyes. It was long since the Snow-Burner had
struck her strongly.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, Snow-Burner!” she whispered proudly as she
crawled back to his side. “Why do we wait? It is
all ready. The Snow-Burner knows where the gold
is that he came for. Tillie will do her share. The
sleep-medicine is sewed in the corner of my blanket.
There is enough to kill this big pig, Iron Hair, and his
men three times over. Will not the Snow-Burner give
the sign for Tillie to put the sleep-medicine in their
food? Then they will sleep and not awaken, and the
Snow-Burner and Tillie can go away with the gold.
Was it not so that the Snow-Burner wished to do?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers nodded. That was what he wished.
</p>
<p>
It was very simple. Only a nod. After that—the
sleep-medicine, the tasteless Indian poison, the
secret of which Tillie possessed, and which she would
have used on a hundred men had Reivers given the
word.
</p>
<p>
Yes, it was very simple—except that he could not
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311'></a>311</span>
forget Hattie MacGregor. The memory of her each
hour had grown clearer, more torturing. Because of
it he had taken the killing load of work from her
father’s shoulders; because of it he was growing weak.
He swore mutteringly as he thought of it. He had permitted
her memory to soften him, to make a boy of
him. But now he was himself again. Tillie’s words
had done their work. He turned toward the squaw,
and she saw by the look in his eyes that the Snow-Burner
at last was going to give the fatal sign.
</p>
<p>
“To-night,” she pleaded. “Let it be to-night. It is
a bad camp here. The air is not good. Iron Hair is a
pig. Let me give the sleep-medicine to-night; then
we go from here in the morning—together.”
</p>
<p>
She crept closer to him, slyly smiling up at him; and
suddenly Reivers flung her away with a movement
of loathing and sprang up, tall and straight.
</p>
<p>
“No,” he said quietly, “not to-night.” And Tillie
crouched at his feet.
</p>
<p>
“Snow-Burner,” she whispered, “I hear Iron Hair
and his men talk. They go away soon. They take
the gold with them. Does not the Snow-Burner
want the gold?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers looked down upon her. He was standing
up, stiff and proud, as he should stand, but as he had
not stood since he had begun to play at being a drunken
squaw-man.
</p>
<p>
“I do not want you to help me get the gold,” he
said slowly. “I do not want you to give Iron Hair the
sleep-medicine, to-night, or any night. I will take the
gold from Iron Hair without your help. I have
spoken.”
</p>
<p>
He stood looking down at her, and Tillie, looking up
at him, once more was reminded that he was a white
man and that the vast gulf between them never might
be bridged. Wearily, hopelessly, she rose to her feet.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312'></a>312</span>
</p>
<p>
“The Snow-Burner has spoken; I have heard,” she
whispered, and went humbly back into the large dugout.
</p>
<p>
Reivers laughed a small laugh of bitterness as he
heard the flap drop behind her. He threw his head
far back and gazed up at the slit of starlit sky that
showed above the mouth of the cavern, and for once in
his life he felt the common insignificance of human-kind
alone in the vast scheme of Nature. He was
weak; he had thrown away the easy way to success;
he had let the memory of Hattie MacGregor’s face,
flaring before his eyes in the instant that Tillie thrust
her lips up to his, beat him.
</p>
<p>
He threw up his great arms and held them out,
tense and hard as bars of living steel. He felt of
his shoulders, his biceps, his chest, his legs, and he
laughed sardonically.
</p>
<p>
“Body, you’re just as superior to other men’s bodies
as you ever were,” he mused. “Yes, Body, you’re
just as fit to rend and prey on others as ever. But
you’re handicapped now. You’re not permitted to do
things as you used to do them. Body, you’re paying
the penalty of being burdened with a white man’s
mind.”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor looked up as Reivers re-entered the dugout
bearing the evening food. A tiny fire in one corner
lighted up the room and by its flickering flames
he saw Reivers’ face.
</p>
<p>
“Blood o’ God!” whispered the old man in awe.
“What’s come over you, man?”
</p>
<p>
He rose on his elbow and peered more closely.
</p>
<p>
“Man—man—you ha’ not overcome Shanty Moir?
You have not finished him without letting me——”
</p>
<p>
Reivers laughed.
</p>
<p>
“What are you talking about? Do I look as if
I’d been fighting?”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313'></a>313</span>
</p>
<p>
MacGregor studied him seriously.
</p>
<p>
“I donno,” said he slowly. “I donno that you look
as if you had been fighting. But you come in with
your head high up, and the look in your eyes of a
man who has conquered. That I do know. Tell me,
lad, what’s taken place wi’ you outside?”
</p>
<p>
“None of your business,” snapped Reivers. “Here’s
your supper.” And he returned to his side of the
dugout to sit down to think.
</p>
<p>
He was on his mettle now. He had put to one side
the easy, certain way to success that Tillie had offered.
Success was not to be so easy as he had thought.
Thus far it had been easy. He had met Moir, he had
won his way into the mine, he had learned where the
gold was hidden, all as he had planned. Remained
to get the gold and get safely away. The time to
do it in was short.
</p>
<p>
Reivers’ experienced miner’s eyes had told him that
the pocket was perilously near to being mined out.
Any day, any hour now, and the pay-streak which they
were following might end in barren dirt. That would
be the end of his opportunity. Moir and his men
would waste no time in the Dead Lands after making
their cleanup. They would pack and travel at once,
southward, to the railroad. They would not permit
even so harmless an individual as a sodden squaw-man
to trail them. Hence, Reivers knew that he must
find or make his opportunity without waste of time
and strike the instant it was found or made.
</p>
<p>
He had been unable to find an opportunity that first
day. Moir in his camp was a different man from Moir
on the trail. He was the boss man here, and Reivers
granted him ungrudged admiration for it. Liquor
was his master on the trail; here he was master of it.
His treatment of Joey and Tammy in the morning
had explained his attitude on that question too clearly
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314'></a>314</span>
to make it worth while to attempt to entice him into a
bout at drinking. Moir was boss here, boss of himself
and others, and he always had his six-shooter
handy to prove it.
</p>
<p>
Tammy and Joey wore knives at their hips, but no
guns. Moir’s 30.40 rifle hung carelessly on a nail
near the door of his dugout. This had puzzled Reivers
at first. Would a bad man like Moir be so simple as
to leave his rifle where any one might lay hands on
it, and carry a six-shooter in a manner to provoke
a gun-fight? When he was ordered to carry a pail of
water to the dugout Reivers managed to take a careful
look at the rifle, and the puzzle was explained.
The breech-block had been taken out and the fine
weapon was no more deadly than any club eight
pounds in weight.
</p>
<p>
His respect for Moir had increased with this discovery.
Evidently Moir was not so thick-headed
after all. He took no chances. The only effective
shooting-iron in camp was his six-shooter and, with
this he was thoroughly master of the situation.
</p>
<p>
In the first hour Reivers had noticed that Moir had
a system of guarding himself. It was the system of
the primitive fighting man and it consisted solely of:
let no man get at your back. At no time, whether in
the mine, at the washing-pans, in the open, or in the
dugout did Moir permit any one to get behind him.
He made no distinction. In the pit he stood with
Joey before him. At the pans he worked behind
Tammy. When the others grouped together he whirled
as smoothly as a lynx if any one made to pass in his
rear. Even when he sat at ease in the dugout with
Tillie he placed his back against the bare stone wall
at the rear of the room. So much Reivers had seen
during his first day in the camp.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315'></a>315</span>
</p>
<p>
“Does he sleep soundly at night?” he asked suddenly.
</p>
<p>
“Who?” asked MacGregor.
</p>
<p>
“Moir, of course.”
</p>
<p>
“Soundly?” The Scotchman gritted his teeth. “Aye
as soundly as a lynx lying down by its kill in a wolf
country.”
</p>
<p>
Reivers smiled a grim smile. There was no chance,
then, of rushing Shanty Moir in his sleep. It would
be harder to get the gold and get away than he had
expected. In fact, the difficulties of it presented quite
a problem. He liked problems, did the Snow-Burner,
and his smile grew more grim as he rolled himself
in his blankets and lay down to wait, dream-tortured
by pictures of Hattie MacGregor, for the coming of
daylight of the day in which he had resolved to force
the problem to solution.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316'></a>316</span><a name='chXLIV' id='chXLIV'></a>CHAPTER XLIV—THE MADNESS OF “HELL-CAMP” REIVERS</h2>
<p>
The day opened as the day before had opened. A
bellow from Shanty Moir, and Reivers strapped
MacGregor into his harness again and they tumbled
out to their rude morning meal. Again Moir stood
a distance away, the big six-shooter balanced easily
in his hand. But this morning Joey and Tammy, over
by the pit-mouth, also were awaiting the appearance
of their two beasts of burden, and Reivers instantly
sensed something new and sinister afoot. At the
sight of MacGregor’s decrepitude, as, stiff and tottering,
he made his way to his meal, Joey and Tammy
strove vainly to conceal the wolfish grins that appeared
on their ugly faces.
</p>
<p>
“Aye, Shanty, art quite right. Is worth his keep
no longer,” said Tammy. “Hast been a fair animal
for a Scotch jackass, but does not thrive on his oats
no more.”
</p>
<p>
“One fair day’s work left in him,” said Joey, appraising
MacGregor shrewdly. “Will knock off a little
early, eh, Shanty, so’s to have tuh light to see him
swim.”
</p>
<p>
“Would not miss tuh sight of that for a pound of
dust,” replied Shanty, and the three roared fiendishly
together.
</p>
<p>
“You poor, misbegotten spawn,” said MacGregor,
quietly beginning to eat, eyeing them one after the
other. “I’ll live to spit on the shamed corpses of the
lot of you.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317'></a>317</span>
</p>
<p>
As the day’s work began, Reivers started to calculate
each move that he and Moir made with a view to discovering
the opportunity he was looking for. All
that he wished was a chance to rush Shanty without
giving the latter an opportunity to use his gun.
</p>
<p>
The odds of three to one against him, and Joey and
Tammy armed with knives, he accepted as a matter of
course. But a six-shooter in the hands of a man who
could use one as Shanty Moir could was a shade
too much even for him to venture against. The manner
in which Moir had shot up the tin cup the morning
before proved how alert and sure was his trigger-finger.
To make the suspicion of a move toward him,
with the gun in his hand, would have spelled instant
ruin.
</p>
<p>
As he watched now, Reivers saw that Moir was
more vigilant than ever. He kept far away from the
pit-mouth. The gun either was in his hand or hanging
ready in the holster. And when Reivers saw the first
load of sand he understood why.
</p>
<p>
The pay-streak had paid out. They were winnowing
the drippings of dust washed down from the
pocket now, and this job soon would be done. Moir
was not taking any chances of losing at this stage of
affairs. The fortune was in his grasp; he would
break camp and be off in the same hour that the sand
began to run low-grade.
</p>
<p>
He took no part in the work to-day. He merely
stood and watched. And Reivers watched back, and
the hours passed, and the short day began to draw to a
close, and still not the slightest chance to rush Shanty
Moir and live had presented itself.
</p>
<p>
As the early twilight began to creep down into the
cavern, the ugly grins with which Joey and Tammy
regarded MacGregor began to increase. Suddenly
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318'></a>318</span>
Tammy, washing a pan of sand in the brook, threw
up both hands.
</p>
<p>
“Not a trace in the last load, Shanty!” he shouted.
</p>
<p>
“All out!” came Moir’s bellow, as if he had been
waiting for the signal.
</p>
<p>
Joey and Tammy threw down their tools and came
over and stood behind Reivers and MacGregor who
came up dragging a loaded sledge behind them.
</p>
<p>
“Take that load down yonder!” ordered Moir,
pointing to the black tunnel into which the creek disappeared
in leaving the cavern.
</p>
<p>
Tammy and Joey followed, grinning, two paces
behind the sledge. Moir, gun in hand, walked ten
feet behind them.
</p>
<p>
“Whoa!” he laughed when Reivers and MacGregor
had drawn up against the cliff beside the stream’s
exit. “You can unhitch tuh old jackass now, ma sons.
Then over with it quick.”
</p>
<p>
With a yelp Tammy and Joey tore loose MacGregor’s
traces. They held him between them, and in his
bound and weakened condition he was unable to
struggle or turn around.
</p>
<p>
Before Reivers could move they had hurled MacGregor
into the deep water in the tunnel. He sank like
a stone and the current sucked him in.
</p>
<p>
“Good-by, MacGregor of the big boasts!” laughed
Moir, but he laughed a trifle too soon.
</p>
<p>
In the instant that the current bore MacGregor into
the darkness of the tunnel his face bobbed up above
the waters. He looked up, and looked straight into
Reivers’s eyes. It was not a look of appeal; it was
the same look that had been in the eyes of Hattie MacGregor
the day when Reivers had left her cabin.
</p>
<p>
Then Hell-Camp Reivers felt himself going mad.
He hit Tammy so hard and true that he flew through
the air and struck against Moir. The next instant
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319'></a>319</span>
Reivers was diving like a flash into the black water,
groping for MacGregor, while the current swept him
into the total darkness.
</p>
<p>
He heard the bullet from Moir’s revolver strike the
water behind him in the instant that his hands found
MacGregor; heard mocking laughter as he pulled the
old man’s head above water; then the current whirled
him and his burden away. It whisked him downstream
with a power irresistible. It threw him from
side to side against the ragged rock walls. It sucked
him and the load he bore down in deep whirlpools
and spewed them up again.
</p>
<p>
He bumped his head against the stone roof of the
tunnel and swore. The roof was a scant foot above
the water. He put his hand up. The roof was getting
closer to the water with every yard. Soon there was
only room for their upturned faces above the water.
</p>
<p>
Reivers laughed heartily. So this was to be the
end! The joke was on him. After all he had gone
through, he was to drown like a silly fool through a
fool’s impulse.
</p>
<p>
Presently roof and water came together. For a
moment Reivers fought with his vast strength, holding
his own for an instant against the current, hanging
on to the last few seconds of life with a fury of effort.
The current proved too strong. It sucked them under;
the water closed above them. They were whirled and
buffeted to the last breath of life in them, and then
suddenly their heads slipped above water and they
were looking straight up at the gray Winter sky.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320'></a>320</span><a name='chXLV' id='chXLV'></a>CHAPTER XLV—A SURPRISE FOR SHANTY MOIR</h2>
<p>
Reivers caught hold of a spear of rock the instant
his head came out of water, and held on. He
did not try to think or understand at first. Sufficient
to know that he was alive and to pump his lungs full of
the air they were crying for. He held MacGregor
under his left arm, and he rather wondered that he
hadn’t let him go in that moment when he went under.
MacGregor was beginning to revive, too. Reivers
looked around.
</p>
<p>
There was not much to see. They were in a tiny
opening in the rocks, a yard or two in length. It was
a duplicate of Moir’s cavern on a miniature scale, except
that here the rock walls were not high or impossible
to climb. For this space the brook showed itself
once more to the sun, then vanished again under
the cliffs.
</p>
<p>
“Is it Heaven?” gasped MacGregor, only half conscious.
</p>
<p>
“Nearer hell,” laughed Reivers.
</p>
<p>
He lifted himself and his burden out of the water to
a resting-place on a shelf of rock. For a minute or
two he sat looking up at the rock walls and the grey
sky above them. He looked down at the water, at
the spot where they had been spewed from death back
into life. And then he leaped upright and laughed,
laughed so that the rocks rang with it, laughed so
that MacGregor’s senses cleared and he looked at his
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321'></a>321</span>
saviour in consternation. His laughter was the uncontrollable,
heart-free laughter of the man who suddenly
sees a great joke upon his enemy.
</p>
<p>
He smote MacGregor between the shoulder-blades so
he gasped and coughed. He tore the straps and harness
from his arms, body and legs, tossed him up in
the air, shook him and set him down on the rock.
</p>
<p>
“I’ve got him!” he said at last. “Oh, Shanty Moir,
what a surprise you have coming to your own black
self!”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor, with his senses cleared enough to realise
that he was alive, and to remember how the miracle
had come about, said quietly—
</p>
<p>
“Man, that was the bravest thing I ever saw a man
do.”
</p>
<p>
“What?”
</p>
<p>
“Diving into that hole after me.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, to —— with that! That’s past. The past
doesn’t count—not when the very immediate future
is so full of juice and interest as happens to be the
case just now. I’ve got Shanty Moir, old-timer. Do
you understand? He’s mine and all that he’s got is
mine, and he’s going to be surprised. Oh, how surprised
he’s going to be!”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor looked down at the two yards of rushing
water, up at the rock walls and then at the jubilant
Reivers.
</p>
<p>
“I dinna see it,” he said dryly.
</p>
<p>
“Really?” Reivers suddenly became interested in
him as if he presented a rare mental problem. “Can’t
you make that simple mind of yours work out the
simple solution of this problem?”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor shook his head.
</p>
<p>
“What I see is this: we’re alive, and that only for
the present. We’re in a little hole in the Dead Lands.
Happen we climb out of the hole, we have no dogs,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322'></a>322</span>
food, or weapons. The nearest camp is two good
days’ mushing, with good fresh dogs. Too far. If
I could manage to stagger five miles I’d surprise myself.
There is not so much as a dry match on us.
No, I maun say, lad, my simple mind does not see the
solution of the problem.”
</p>
<p>
“Try again, Mac,” urged Reivers. “Make your
mind work. What do we need to make our condition
blessed among men; what do men need to be well-fitted
on the Winter trail? You can make your mind
do that sum, can’t you?”
</p>
<p>
“We need,” replied MacGregor doggedly, “dogs,
and food, and fire, and weapons.”
</p>
<p>
“Correct. And now what’s the next thought that
your grey matter produces after that masterpiece?”
</p>
<p>
“That the nearest place where we may obtain these
things is too far away for us to make, unless happen
we meet some one on the trail, which is not likely.”
</p>
<p>
“Pessimism!” laughed Reivers. “Too much caution
stunts the possibility of the mind. Interesting demonstration
of the fact, with your mind as an example.”
He turned and smote with the flat of his hand the stone
wall from under which they had just emerged. “What’s
the other side of those rocks, Mac?”
</p>
<p>
“Shanty Moir and his six-shooter.”
</p>
<p>
“And dogs, and food, and matches, and cartridges,
and gold, everything, everything to make us kings
of the country, Mac! And they’re ours—ours as
surely as if we had ’em in our hands now.”
</p>
<p>
“I dinna see it,” said MacGregor.
</p>
<p>
“Pessimism again. How can Moir and his gang
get out of their camp?”
</p>
<p>
“Up-stream, by the creek, of course.”
</p>
<p>
“Any other way?”
</p>
<p>
“There’s the way we came—but they do not know
that.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323'></a>323</span>
</p>
<p>
“Correct, and when we’ve plugged up that single
exit they can’t get away from us, Mac, and then we’ve
got ’em!”
</p>
<p>
MacGregor’s eyes lighted up, then he grew dour
again.
</p>
<p>
“We have got ’em, if we plug up the river, I see,”
he admitted, “but when we have got them, what good
does it do us? What are you going to do, then?”
</p>
<p>
“That’s the surprise, Mac; I won’t tell even you.”
He looked swiftly for a way up the rock walls and
found one. “The first question is: Do you think you
can climb after me up that crevice there?”
</p>
<p>
“I could climb through hell and back again if it
would help in getting Shanty Moir.”
</p>
<p>
“All right. I can’t quite give you hell, but I’ll
give Shanty Moir an imitation of it before he’s much
older. Come on. We’ve got some work to do before
it gets dark.”
</p>
<p>
He led the way into the crevice he had marked
for the climb up from the hole and boosted MacGregor
up before him. It was slow, hard work, but MacGregor’s
weak hold slipped often, and he came slipping
down upon Reivers’ shoulders. In the end Reivers impatiently
pulled him down, took him on his back and
crawled up, and with a laugh rolled himself and his
burden in the snow on top of the cliffs. A few rods
away smoke was rising through the opening above
Moir’s camp, and at the sight of it MacGregor’s
numbed faculties came to life.
</p>
<p>
“Lemme go, man!” he pleaded as Reivers caught
him as he staggered toward the opening. “It’s my
chance, man. I can kill the cur with a rock from up
here.”
</p>
<p>
“Save your strength; I’ve got use for it,” said Reivers.
“Can you walk? All right. Come on, then, and
don’t try to get near that gap.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324'></a>324</span>
</p>
<p>
Taking MacGregor by the hand he led the way
carefully around the big opening till they came to the
opposite side of the mass of rocks, where the creek
entered the tunnel by which Moir reached his camp.
Crawling and slipping, they made their way down
until they stood beside the bed of the stream.
</p>
<p>
“Now to work, Mac,” said Reivers, and seizing
a rock bore it to the tunnel’s mouth and dropped it
into the water.
</p>
<p>
“Aye, aye!” chuckled MacGregor, as he understood
the significance of this move. “We’ll wall the curs in.”
</p>
<p>
For half an hour they laboured. Reivers carried
and rolled the heaviest rocks he could move into position
across the tunnel, and MacGregor staggered beneath
smaller pieces to fill up the chinks. When their
work was finished there was a rock wall across the
mouth of the tunnel which it would have been almost
impossible to tear down, especially from the inside.
</p>
<p>
It was growing dark when the task was completed,
and Reivers nodded in great satisfaction.
</p>
<p>
“That’ll hold ’em long enough for my purpose, and
we just made it in time,” he said. “Now come on
up the mountain again, and then for the surprise.”
</p>
<p>
“The surprise, man?” panted MacGregor as he toiled
up the rocks. “What are you going to do? Tell
me what’s in your head?”
</p>
<p>
“Hush, hush!” laughed Reivers, pulling him up to
the top. “Your position is that of the onlooker. It
would spoil it for you if you knew what was going to
happen.”
</p>
<p>
“An onlooker—me—when it’s a case of getting
Shanty Moir? Don’t say that, lad. Don’t leave
me out. He’s mine. You know that by all the rights
of men and gods it’s my right to get him. Give me
my just share of revenge.”
</p>
<p>
“Shut up!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325'></a>325</span>
</p>
<p>
They were nearing the brink of the opening. Reivers’
hand covered MacGregor’s mouth as they leaned
over and looked down upon the unsuspecting men in
the cavern below.
</p>
<p>
In the shut-in spot night had fallen. On the sand
before the dugout Tillie was cooking over a brisk
fire, going about her work as calmly as if nothing of
moment had happened during the afternoon. Near by,
Moir and Joey were packing the dog-sledge and repairing
harness, evidently preparing to take the trail after
the evening meal. Tammy sat by the fire, holding
together with both hands the pieces of his nose which
Reivers’ blow had smashed flat on his face.
</p>
<p>
Reivers scarcely looked at the men, but began to
scan the walls for a way to get down. The walls
slanted inwardly from the top, and at first it seemed
impossible that a man could get safely into the cavern
without the aid of a rope. But presently Reivers saw
that for thirty feet directly above the large dugout
the rocks were ragged enough to afford plenty of holds
for hands and feet.
</p>
<p>
The walls were nearly fifty feet high. If he could
reach to the bottom of this rough space he would be
hanging with his feet, ten or twelve feet above the
cavern floor.
</p>
<p>
“Good enough,” he said aloud. “It’s a cinch.”
</p>
<p>
“A cinch it is,” breathed MacGregor softly. “We’ll
roll up a pile of rocks and kill ’em like rats in a pit.
But you maun leave Shanty to me, lad, I——”
</p>
<p>
“Shut up!” Reivers thrust the Scotchman back from
the brink. “Do you want me to go after the harness
for you? I told you that your job was to be the onlooker.
I settle this thing with Shanty Moir myself.”
</p>
<p>
“But man——”
</p>
<p>
“Moir kicked me. Do you understand? He placed
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326'></a>326</span>
his dirty foot on me. Do you see why I’m going to
do it by myself?”
</p>
<p>
“Placed his foot on you? God’s blood! What has
he done to me—robbed me, made an animal of me,
stabbed me with a prod! Who has the better right
to his foul life?”
</p>
<p>
“It isn’t a case of right, but of might, Mac,”
chuckled Reivers. “I’ve got the better might. Therefore,
will you give me your word that you’ll refrain
from interfering with my actions until I’ve paid my
debt to Mr. Moir, or must I go back after the harness
and strap you up?”
</p>
<p>
“Cruel——”
</p>
<p>
“Promise!”
</p>
<p>
“I promise,” said MacGregor. “But it’s wrong,
sore wrong. I protest.”
</p>
<p>
“All right. Protest all you want to, but do it
silently. Not another word or sound out of you now
until the job’s done.”
</p>
<p>
Together they crawled back to the brink above
the large dugout and peered down into the darkening
cavern. In a flash Reivers had his mackinaw
and boots off. The cooking-fire was deserted. No
one was in sight. Moir and his men and Tillie were
at supper in the dugout, and Reivers’s chance had come.
He swung himself silently over the brink and hung
by a handhold on the rock.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t interfere, Mac,” he said warningly. “Not
till I’ve paid Shanty Moir for the touch of his foot.”
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327'></a>327</span><a name='chXLVI' id='chXLVI'></a>CHAPTER XLVI—A FIGHT THAT WAS A FIGHT</h2>
<p>
With a twist of his body he threw his stockinged
feet forward and caught toe-holds on the
rough surface of the wall. Next he released his right
hand and fumbled downward till he found a solid
piece of protruding rock. Having tested it thoroughly
he let go his holds with both feet and left hand and
dropped his full weight into the grip of his right.
Above him, MacGregor, with his face glued to the
brink of the opening, gasped twice, once because he
was sure Reivers was dropping straight to the bottom,
and again when his right hand took the shock of his
full weight without loosening its grip.
</p>
<p>
Reivers heard and looked up and smiled. Then he
swung his feet inward again, secured another hold,
lowered his right hand to another sure grip, and so
made his startling way down the inwardly slanting
cliff.
</p>
<p>
At the third desperate drop MacGregor drew back,
unable to stand the strain of watching. Had Reivers
been able to see on top of the cliff he would have
laughed, for the Scotchman was down on his knees in
the snow, earnestly praying.
</p>
<p>
Finally MacGregor summoned up courage to peer
down once more. Then he knew his prayers had been
answered. Reivers was hanging easily by his hands,
directly above the front of the large dugout, and
his feet were less than ten feet above the bottom
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328'></a>328</span>
of the cave. MacGregor gave a whoop of thanksgiving
and gathered to him an armful of stones.
</p>
<p>
For a moment Reivers hung there, looking down and
appraising the situation. He loosened his hold until
his whole weight hung on the ends of his fingers.
</p>
<p>
“Come out and fight, Shanty!” he bellowed suddenly.
“Come out, you cheap cur, and fight like a
man!”
</p>
<p>
Nothing loath Moir came, responding like a wild
animal on the instant of the weird challenge from
above. Like a wild man he came, six-shooter in hand,
tearing the front of the dugout away in his rush, and
Reivers dropped and struck him neatly the instant
he appeared.
</p>
<p>
It was a carefully aimed drop. Landing on Moir’s
neck, Reivers would have killed him. He had no
wish to kill him—yet. He landed on Moir’s shoulders
and the six-shooter went flying away as the two
bodies crashed together and dropped on the sand with a
thud.
</p>
<p>
Reivers was up first. It was well that he was.
Tammy and Joey were only a step behind Moir. Like
wildcats they clawed at Reivers and like wildcats they
rolled on the ground when his fists met them. Then
Moir was up on his feet. His senses were a little dull,
but he saw enough of the situation to satisfy him. Before
him was something to fight, to rush, to annihilate.
And he rushed.
</p>
<p>
Up on the cliff the maddened MacGregor yelped
joyously, a stone in each hand, as Reivers leaped forward
to meet the rush and struck. Shanty Moir had
expected a grapple, and Reivers’ fist caught him full in
the mouth and threw him back on his shoulders a
man’s length away.
</p>
<p>
When Moir arose then, the lower part of his face
had the appearance of crushed meat, but he growled
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329'></a>329</span>
through the blood and rushed again. Reivers struck,
and Moir’s nose disappeared in a welter of blood and
gristle. He struck again, but Moir came on and
locked him in his huge arms.
</p>
<p>
Joey and Tammy were up now. Their knives were
out. They saw their chance and leaped forward to
strike at Reivers’ back. With his life depending upon
it, the Snow-Burner swung Moir’s great body around,
and Joey and Tammy stayed their hands barely in time
to save plunging their knives into the back of their
chief.
</p>
<p>
Growling a wild curse, MacGregor dropped two
stones the size of his head. One struck Joey on the
shoulder and sent him shrieking with pain into the
dugout; the other dropped at Reivers’ feet. With a
yell he hurled Moir from him and snatched up the
stone. Joey, reading his doom in the Snow-Burner’s
eyes, backed away into the brink of the brook. The
heavy stone caught him in the chest. Then he struck
the water with a splash and was gone.
</p>
<p>
But Moir was up in the same instant and his arms
licked around from behind and raised Reivers off his
feet. The hold was broken as suddenly as it was
clamped on. They were face to face again, and face
to face they fought, trampling the sand and the fire
indiscriminately. Each blow from Reivers now
splashed blood from Moir’s face as from a soaked
sponge, and at each blow MacGregor shouted wildly:
</p>
<p>
“That for the kick you gave him, Shanty! That
for the dirt you did me!”
</p>
<p>
The dogs, mad with terror, fled up the brook, met
the stone wall and came whining back. They cowered,
jammering in fright at the terrible combat which raged,
minute after minute, before them.
</p>
<p>
Out of the dugout softly came stealing Tillie. A
knife, dropped by Joey or Tammy, gleamed in the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330'></a>330</span>
light of the fire. She picked it up. With a smile of
great contentment on her face she crept noiselessly
toward the struggling men. They were locked in a
clinch now, and with the smile widening she moved
around behind Moir’s broad back. The knife flashed
above her head. Reivers saw it. With an effort he
wrenched an arm free and knocked the knife away.
</p>
<p>
“Keep away!” he roared, springing out of the clinch.
“This is between Iron Hair and me.”
</p>
<p>
Up on the cliff MacGregor groaned. In freeing
himself Reivers had hurled Moir to one side, and
Moir had dropped with his outstretched hands nearly
touching his six-shooter, where it had fallen when
Reivers had dropped upon him. Like the stab of a
snake his hand reached out and snapped it up.
</p>
<p>
“Your soul to the devil, Shanty Moir!” shrieked
MacGregor and hurled another stone.
</p>
<p>
His aim was true this time. The stone struck Moir
squarely on his big head and drove his face into the
sand. He never moved after it.
</p>
<p>
Reivers looked up. On the brink of the cliff MacGregor
on his knees was chanting his war-cry, his
thanks that vengeance had not been denied him.
Reivers smiled.
</p>
<p>
“That’s a good song, Mac, whatever it is!” he
laughed, when the maddened Scotchman had grown
quieter. “But the fact remains that you disobeyed
my orders and interfered.”
</p>
<p>
“Aye! I interfered. I hurled a stone and sent the
black soul of Shanty Moir back to his brother the
devil!” chanted MacGregor. “But, lad, I did not interfere
until you’d paid him in full—until you’d paid
double—for the kick he gave you. Three of them
there were, and they were armed and you with bare
fists! God’s blood! Never since men stood up with
fist to fist has there been such fighting. One disabled,
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331'></a>331</span>
and two men dead! Dead you are, you poor pups!
And I can tell by the way you lived where you’re
roasting now.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, ah! I ha’ seen a man fight; I ha’ seen what
I shall never forget, and, poor stick that I am compared
to him, I ha’ e’en had a hand in it myself. Man,
man! Would you grudge me a little bite after your
belly’s full of battle?”
</p>
<p>
Reivers spoke quietly and coldly.
</p>
<p>
“Go down and tear out as much of the stone wall
as you can. I’ll take the heavy stones from this side.”
He turned to Tillie. “Take the big belt from Iron
Hair and give it to me. Then make all ready for the
trail. We march to-night.”
</p>
<p>
And Tillie, as she harnessed the dogs, spat upon Iron
Hair, the beaten.
</p>
<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332'></a>332</span><a name='chXLVII' id='chXLVII'></a>CHAPTER XLVII—THE SNOW-BURNER PAYS</h2>
<p>
“And now the Snow-Burner has his gold. He
has robbed the great Iron Hair in his own
camp. Great is the Snow-Burner! Now he has the
gold which he longed for. Now he is rich. The
white men will bow down to him. Great is the Snow-Burner!”
</p>
<p>
Tillie crouched beside Reivers as, an hour later, he
stood on the edge of the Dead Lands, and triumphantly
crooned the saga of his success. The gold belt of
Shanty Moir hung heavily over his shoulder, its great
weight constantly reminding him of the fortune that it
contained. The dogs were held in leash, eager to be
quit of the harsh rock-chasms through which they had
just travelled, and to strike their lope on a trail over
the open country beyond.
</p>
<p>
MacGregor sat wearily on one side of the sledge.
The exertions and excitement of the afternoon had exhausted
him in his weakened condition. He sat
slumped together, only half conscious of what was
going on. In a moment he would be sound asleep.
</p>
<p>
And Reivers had the gold. He had succeeded. He
had the gold, and he had a supply of food and a
strong, fresh team of dogs eager for the trail. All
that was necessary was to turn the dogs toward the
south. Two, three, four days’ travelling and he would
strike the railroad. And the railroad ran to tide-water,
and on the water steamboats would carry him
away to the world he had planned to return to.
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333'></a>333</span>
</p>
<p>
It was very simple, as simple as had been Tillie’s
scheme for getting rid of Moir. But he couldn’t do
it. He didn’t want to do it. He wanted to do just
one thing now, above all others, and that was what he
set out to do.
</p>
<p>
He stood down and strapped the belt of gold around
MacGregor’s middle. MacGregor was sound asleep
now, so he placed him on the sledge and bound him
carefully in place. Tillie’s chant died down in astonishment.
</p>
<p>
“We take the old one with us?” she asked.
</p>
<p>
“We do,” said Reivers. “Hi-yah! Together there!
Mush, mush up!”
</p>
<p>
To Tillie’s joy he turned the dogs to the northwest,
in the direction of the camp of her people. The Snow-Burner
was lost to her; she knew that, when he had
refused her help with Shanty Moir; but it was something
to have him come back to the camp.
</p>
<p>
Reivers, driving hard and straight all night, brought
his team up the river-bed to Tillie’s camp in the morning.
MacGregor was out of his head by then, and for
the day they stopped to rest and feed. Reivers sat
in the big tepee alone with MacGregor and fed him
soft food which the old squaws had prepared. In the
evening he again tied the old man and the belt of
gold to the sledge and hitched up the dogs. Tillie
had read her doom in his eyes, but nevertheless she
came out to the sledge prepared to follow.
</p>
<p>
“You do not come any farther,” said Reivers as
he picked up the dog-whip.
</p>
<p>
Tillie nodded.
</p>
<p>
“I know. With gold the Snow-Burner can be a
great man among the white women. Will the Snow-Burner
come back—some time?”
</p>
<p>
“I will never come back.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah-hh-hh!” Tillie’s breath came fiercely. “So
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334'></a>334</span>
there is one white woman, then. If I had known——”
</p>
<p>
But Reivers was whipping and cursing the dogs and
hurrying out of hearing.
</p>
<p>
MacGregor, clear-headed from the rest and food,
but still weak, lifted his head and looked around as
the sledge sped over the frozen snow.
</p>
<p>
“A new trail to me, lad,” he said. “Where to,
now?”
</p>
<p>
“On a fool’s trail,” laughed Reivers bitterly, and
drove on.
</p>
<p>
Next morning MacGregor recognised the land
ahead.
</p>
<p>
“Straight for Dumont’s Camp we’re heading, lad,”
he said. “Is it there we go?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
</p>
<p>
They came to Dumont’s Camp as night fell. Reivers
halted and made sundry enquiries.
</p>
<p>
“In a shack half ways between here and Fifty Mile,”
was the substance of the replies.
</p>
<p>
“Hi-yah! Mush, mush up!” and they were on the
trail again.
</p>
<p>
At daylight the next day, from a rise in the land,
he saw the shack that had been designated. Smoke
was rising from the chimney, and a small figure that
he knew even at that distance came out, filled a pail
with snow and went in again.
</p>
<p>
Reivers stopped his dogs some distance from the
shack. He threw MacGregor, gold belt and all, over
his shoulder and went up to the door and knocked.
For a second or two he smiled triumphantly as Hattie
MacGregor opened the door and stood speechless at
what she saw. Then he bowed low, laid his burden
on the floor and went out without a word.
</p>
<p>
The dogs shuddered as they heard him laugh coming
back to them.
</p>
<p>
“Hi-yah, mush!”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335'></a>335</span>
</p>
<p>
He drove them furiously into a gully that shut out
the sight of the shack and sat down on the sledge.
The dogs whined. It was the time for the morning
meal and the master was making no preparations to
eat.
</p>
<p>
“Still, you curs!” The whip fell mercilessly among
them and they crouched in terror.
</p>
<p>
The time went by. The sun began to climb upward
in the sky. Still the man sat on the sledge, making no
preparations for the morning meal. The memory of
the whip-cuts died in the dogs’ minds under the growing
clamour of hunger. They began to whine again.
</p>
<p>
“Still!” The master was on his feet, but the whip
had fallen from his hand.
</p>
<p>
Down at the end of the gully a small figure was
coming over the snow. She was running, and her
red hair flowed back over her shoulders, and she
laughed aloud as she came up to him. The pain was
gone from Hattie MacGregor’s lips, and her whole
face beamed with a complete, unreasoning happiness,
but the pride of her breed shone in her eyes even
unto the end.
</p>
<p>
“Well, well!” sneered Reivers. “Aren’t you afraid
to come so near anything that pollutes the air?”
</p>
<p>
She laughed again. She did not speak. She only
looked at him and smiled, and by the Eve-wisdom in
the smile he knew that his secret was hers. He felt
himself weakening, but the Snow-Burner died hard.
He tried to laugh his old, cold laugh, but the ice had
been thawed in it.
</p>
<p>
“What do you want?” he sneered. “I’m not a good
enough man for you. Why did you come out here?”
</p>
<p>
“Because I knew you would not go away again,”
she said, “and because now I know you are a good
enough man for me.”
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336'></a>336</span>
</p>
<p>
“You red-haired trull!” He raised his hand to
strike her.
</p>
<p>
She did not flinch; she merely smiled up at him
confidently, contentedly. Suddenly she caught his
clenched fist in her hands and kissed it. With a curse
Reivers swung around on his dogs.
</p>
<p>
“Hi-yah! Mush, mush out of here!”
</p>
<p>
Out of the gully into the open he kicked and drove
them. He did not look back. He knew that she was
following.
</p>
<p>
She followed patiently. She knew that there was
nothing else for her to do. She had known it the
first day she had looked into his eyes. He was her
man, and she must follow him.
</p>
<p>
So she trudged on behind her man as he forced the
tired dogs to move. She smiled as she walked, and
the wisdom of Eve was in her smile. She had reason
to smile, for the Snow-Burner was driving straight
toward the little shack.
</p>
<p>
&#160;<br />
</p>
<div class='center'>
<p>THE END</p>
</div>







<pre>





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