Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been correctedwithout note. Dialect spellings, contractions and discrepancies havebeen retained. 

THE PROMISE

A Tale of the Great Northwest

By

JAMES B. HENDRYX

A. L. BURT COMPANYPublishers New York

Published by Arrangements with G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

COPYRIGHT, 1915BYJAMES B. HENDRYX

Seventh Impression

BY JAMES B. HENDRYX

The PromiseThe Gun BrandConnie Morgan in AlaskaConnie Morgan with the Northwest Mounted

This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishersG. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

 I. --THE PACE 1

 II. --"BROADWAY BILL" 8

 III. --THE FINAL KICK 17

 IV. --LOVE OR HATE 26

 V. --"THIEF!" 34

 VI. --THE CROOKED GAME 39

 VII. --THE WRECK 47

 VIII. --NEW FRIENDS 53

 IX. --BILL GETS A JOB 59

 X. --NORTHWARD, HO! 65

 XI. --BILL HITS THE TRAIL 72

 XII. --THE TEST 83

 XIII. --ON THE TOTE-ROAD 90

 XIV. --AT BAY 99

 XV. --THE WERWOLF 106

 XVI. --MONCROSSEN 116

 XVII. --A TWO-FISTED MAN 125

 XVIII. --"BIRD'S-EYE" AND PHILOSOPHY 133

 XIX. --A FRAME-UP 138

 XX. --A FIRE IN THE NIGHT 147

 XXI. --DADDY DUNNIGAN 161

 XXII. --CREED SEES A GHOST 169

 XXIII. --HEAD-LINES 178

 XXIV. --THE LOG JAM 187

 XXV. --"THE-MAN-WHO-CANNOT-DIE" 196

 XXVI. --MAN OR TOY MAN? 209

 XXVII. --JEANNE 217

 XXVIII. --A PROPHECY 222

 XXIX. --A BUCKSKIN HUNTING-SHIRT 230

 XXX. --CREED 235

 XXXI. --THE ROBE OF DIABLESSE 246

 XXXII. --THE ONE GOOD WHITE MAN 253

 XXXIII. --THE PROMISE 259

 XXXIV. --THE NEW BOSS 263

 XXXV. --A HUNTING PARTY 274

 XXXVI. --TOLD ON THE TRAIL 282

 XXXVII. --IN THE OFFICE 287

XXXVIII. --CHARLIE FINDS A FRIEND 296

 XXXIX. --BILL'S WAY 306

 XL. --CHARLIE GOES HUNTING 314

 XLI. --THE BLIZZARD 319

 XLII. --BUCKING THE STORM 326

 XLIII. --IN CAMP AGAIN 338

 XLIV. --THE MISSING BONDS 347

 XLV. --SNOW-BOUND 358

 XLVI. --AN ANNOUNCEMENT 366

 XLVII. --MONCROSSEN PAYS A VISIT 374

 XLVIII. --THE WEDDING 382

 XLIX. --ON THE RIVER 391

 L. --FACE TO FACE 399

 LI. --THE PROMISE FULFILLED 406

 LII. --THE BIG MAN 415

THE PROMISE

CHAPTER I

THE PACE

Young Carmody awoke to the realization of another day. 

The sun of mid-forenoon cast a golden rhombus on the thick carpet, andthrough the open windows the autumnal air, stirred by just thesuspicion of a breeze, was wafted deliciously cool against his burningcheeks and throbbing temples. 

He gazed about the familiar confines of the room in puffy-eyedstupidity. 

There was a burning thirst at his throat, and he moistened his dry lipswith a bitter-coated tongue. His mouth was lined with a brown slime ofdead liquor, which nauseated him and sent the dull ache to his head ingreat throbbing waves. 

Upon a beautifully done mahogany table near the door stood a silverpitcher filled to the brim with clear, cold ice-water. It seemed milesaway, and, despite the horrible thirst that gnawed at his throat, helay for many minutes in dull contemplation of its burnished coolness. 

The sodden condition of his imagination distorted his sense ofproportion. The journey across the room loomed large in the scheme ofthings. It was a move of moment, to be undertaken not lightly, butafter due and proper deliberation. 

He threw off the covers and placed a tentative foot upon the floor. 

A groan escaped him as his right hand brushed the counterpane. Gingerlyhe brought the member within range of his vision--it was swollen to thewrist and smeared with dried blood, which had oozed from an ugly splitin the tight-drawn skin. Slowly he worked the fingers and frowned--morein perplexity than distress--at the sharp pain of the stiffenedknuckles. 

He crossed to the table and, springing the silver catch of a tiny door, cunningly empaneled in the wall, selected from the cellaret along-necked, cut-glass decanter, from which he poured a liberal drink. The sight of it sickened him, and for an instant he stood contemplatingthe little beads that rushed upward and ranged themselves in asparkling semicircle along the curve of the liquor-line. 

"The hair of the dog is good for the bite, " he muttered, and with aneffort closed his eyes and conveyed the stuff jerkily to his lips. Partof the contents spilled over his fingers and splashed upon the polishedtable-top. As the diffused odor reached his nostrils a wave of nauseaswept over him. With a shudder he drained the glass at a gulp andgroped blindly for the water-pitcher, from which he greedily swallowedgreat quantities of ice-water. 

He paused before a tall pier-glass and surveyed himself throughbloodshot eyes. The telephone upon the opposite wall emitted aperemptory ring. Young Carmody turned with a frown of annoyance. Heignored the summons and carefully scrutinized his damaged hand. 

His brain was rapidly clearing and, from out the tangled maze ofdancing girls, popping corks, and hilarious, dress-suited men, loomedlarge the picture of a policeman. Just how it all happened he could notrecollect. He must see the boys and get the straight of it. 

His mirrored image grinned at the recollection of the officer, thequick, hard-struck blow, and the hysterical screams and laughter of thegirls as they were seized in the strong arms of their companions, rushed across the sidewalk, and swung bodily into the waiting taxis. 

_B-r-r-r-r-r. B-r-r-r-r-r-r. B-r-r-r-r-r!_ Again the telephone bell cutshort his musing. There was a compelling insistency in the sound and, with a muttered imprecation, he jerked the receiver from the hook. 

"Well?" he growled. "Yes, this is William Carmody. Oh, hello, governor!I will be right down. I overslept this morning. Stay where I am! Why?All right, I'll wait. "

"Now what?" he murmured. "The old gentleman seems peeved. "

After a cold bath and a vigorous rub he began leisurely to dress. Hiseyes cleared and he noted with satisfaction that aside from a slightpouchiness, and the faint mottling of red that blotched his cheeks, alltraces of the previous night's orgy had disappeared. True his handpained him, but he had neatly mended the split with plaster and theswelling had, in a great measure, yielded to the cold water. 

"Getting fat, " he grunted, as he noticed the increasing heaviness athis girth. "Fat and soft, " he added, as a huge muscle yielded under thegrip of his strong fingers. 

In college this man had pulled the stroke oar of his crew, and on thegridiron had become a half-back of national renown. By the end of hissecond year no amateur could be found who would willingly face him withthe gloves, and upon several occasions, under a carefully guardedsobriquet, he had given a good account of himself against some of theforemost professionals of the squared circle. He was a man of mightymuscles, of red blood, and of iron, to whom the strain and sweat ofphysical encounter were the breath of life. 

He wondered as he carefully selected a tie, at the strange request hehad received at the telephone. He glanced at the French clock on themantel. His father, he knew, had been at his desk these two hours. 

They had little in common--these two. After the death of his youngwife, years before, Hiram Carmody had surrounded himself with a barrierof imperturbability beyond which even his son never ventured. Cold andunyielding, men called him--a twentieth century automaton of bigbusiness. Rarely, outside of banking hours, did the two meet. Never butonce did they hold extended conversation. It was upon the occasion ofthe younger man's return from a year's Continental travel that hisfather summoned him and, with an air of impersonal finality, laid outhis life work. The time had come for him to settle down to business. Inregard to the nature of this business, or any choice he might have inthe matter, William was not consulted. As a matter of course, being aCarmody, he was to enter the bank. His official position was that ofmessenger. His salary, six dollars a week, his private allowance, onehundred. And thus he was dismissed. 

It cannot be chronicled that young Carmody was either surprised ordisappointed at thus being assigned to a career. In truth, up to thattime he had thought very little of the future and made no plans. Herealized in a vague sort of way that some time he would engage inbusiness; therefore, upon receipt of the paternal edict he merelylooked bored, shrugged, and with a perfunctory, "Yes, sir, " quit theroom without comment. 

He entered upon his duties stoically and without enthusiasm. At the endof a year his salary had increased to twelve dollars a week, and hissphere of usefulness enlarged to embrace the opening and sorting ofmail. The monotony of the life palled upon him. He attended to hisduties with dogged persistence and in the evenings haunted thegymnasiums. His athletic superiority was soon demonstrated and after atime, neither in the ring nor on the mat could he find an opponentworthy the name. 

More and more he turned for diversion toward the white lights ofBroadway. Here was amusement, excitement--life! He became immenselypopular among certain of the faster set and all unconsciously foundhimself pitted against the most relentless foeman of them all--JohnBarleycorn. 

Gradually the personnel of his friends changed. Less and lessfrequently did he appear at the various social functions of the Avenue, and more and more did he enter into the spirit of the Great White Way. On every hand he was hailed as "Bill Carmody, " and by the great forceof his personality maintained his universal popularity. Many smiled atthe rumors of his wild escapades--some even envied--a few frowned. Ifhis father knew he kept his own council--it was his way. 

Only one warned him. Ethel Manton, beautiful, imperious, and altogetherdesirable, with just the suspicion of a challenge in her daringlyflashing eyes, was the one person in all the world that Bill Carmodyloved. And loving her, he set her high upon a pedestal and entered thelists with all the ardor of his being. His was the love of desire--thelove of a strong man for his mate, bringing out by turns all that wasbest and worst in him. 

Yet she remained cold--this girl of his golden dreams. Only at rareintervals did she unbend and allow him a fleeting glimpse of her verysoul. At such times her eyes grew tender and she seemed very near tohim--and very dear. And then he would tell her of his great love, andalways her answer was the same: She would marry no man who was contentto live upon an allowance. He must make good--must win to the fore inthe business world as he had won in the athletic. And above all he mustforswear the pace!

In vain he explained that business held no interest for him; that itwas no man's game, but a sordid struggle of wits for the amassing ofunneeded gold. In vain he argued that his father, already rich, would, in the event of their marriage, settle a large amount upon them intheir own right. In answer to her reference to his habits he wouldlaugh. He was not afraid; _there_ was a man's game!

Of course, once married, all that would be changed. But, pshaw; it isall in a lifetime! And then he would lightly promise to mend hisways--a promise that was forgotten within the hour. What do women knowof a strong man's play?

But one woman did know, and, knowing, cared. 

CHAPTER II

"BROADWAY BILL"

William Carmody had scarcely completed his careful grooming when, witha tap at the door, his father entered, closely followed by a ratherburly individual in citizen's clothing, whose jaw was correctly andartistically swathed in bandages. 

The two advanced a few paces into the room and paused. Father and sonregarded each other in silence. At length the older man spoke:

"Where were you last night?"

William flushed at the tone and cast an inquiring glance at the man inbandages, who awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His father motioned him to proceed. 

"I was out with a bunch from Philly. Chesterton, '05; Burke, '03;little Hammond, '06; and old Busk Brater, star guard of thenaughty-naughts. "

"Drunk, were you?" The words sounded coldly impersonal, and the toneshowed no surprise. 

"Why, no, that is, I wouldn't exactly say----" his father silenced himwith a gesture. 

"Did you ever see this man before?"

William scrutinized the other carefully. 

"I think not. "

"Oh, you hain't, eh?"

The man's awkwardness disappeared, he advanced a step and it wasevident that he spoke with difficulty. 

"How about last night in front of Shanley's? Guess you wasn't there, eh? Guess I just dreamt about a bunch of souses turkey-trottin' alongthe sidewalk? I'd of stood for it, at that, but the girls got topullin' it too raw even for Broadway. 

"I know'd you by sight an' started in to give you the tip to put thesoft pedal on the wiggle stuff, when, zowie! I guess you didn't reachout an' soak me--a cop!" He tapped the bandage upon the aggressivelyadvanced jaw. 

"Maybe the Times Building just tangoed across the square an' fell onme!" he went on with ponderous sarcasm. "An' that ain't all; when Igathers myself up, here's the tail-lights of a couple of taxisdisappearin' into Forty-fourth Street, an' the crowd laughin' an'joshin' me somethin' fierce. I guess I dreamt that, too, eh?

"An' that ain't the worst of it. Down to headquarters I draws athirty-day space--without! An' then, again, I guess they'll shove meright along for promotion on top of this. Not! I tell you I'm in badall the ways around, with the whole force passin' me the grin an'askin' me have I saw Broadway Bill lately? An' in comes the inspectorthis mornin' with an order when I came back on, to report to McClusky, up in Harlem, an' help shoo the goats away from eatin' up the newsidewalks in front of the five-dollar-instalment lots. 

"Nice kettle of fish for me, that was in line for a lieut. I ain'tlayin' it up again' you so much for the jolt; you're sure there withthe punch, nor for the thirty-day space, neither, though with my familyI can't afford that none. But, damn it, kid, you've broke me! With thishere again' me I'll never be a lieut in a thousand years. I'm done!"

During the recital, the officer's voice lost its belligerent tone. Hespoke as man to man, with no hint of self-pity. Young Carmody washonestly sorry. Here was a man who, in the act of giving him a friendlywarning, had been felled by a brutal and unexpected blow. A hot blushof shame reddened his cheeks. He was about to speak but was interruptedby the voice of his father. 

The old man seemed suddenly to have aged. His fine features, alwayspallid, appeared a shade paler. Gone was the arrogant poise of the headwhich for forty years had dominated boards of directors. The square-setshoulders drooped wearily, and in the eyes was the tired, dumb look ofa beaten man. 

"Officer, it seems hardly necessary for me to express my thanks for theconsideration you have shown in coming directly to me with thismatter, " he said at last. "Had you been so inclined you could havestirred up a nasty mess of it, and no one would have blamed you. "

He stepped to a small table and, seating himself, produced check-bookand pen. 

"I trust this will reimburse you for any financial loss you may haveincurred by reason of this most unfortunate affair, " he went on; "andas for the rest, leave that to me. I have, I believe, some littleinfluence at headquarters, and I shall personally call upon theinspector. "

The officer glanced at the slip of paper which the other thrust intohis hand. It was written in four figures. He looked up. Something inthe old man's attitude--the unspoken pain in the eyes--the patheticdroop of the shoulders, struck a responsive chord in the heart of theofficer. 

Impulsively he extended the hand in which the check remained unfolded. 

"Here, Mr. Carmody, I can't take your money. You didn't get me right. Istart out to knife you for what I can get, an' you wind up by treatin'me white. It wasn't your fault, nohow, an' I didn't know how you feltabout--things. "

There may have been just the shadow of a smile at the corners of HiramCarmody's mouth as he waved a dismissal. 

"We will consider the incident closed, " he said. 

At the door the officer turned to the younger man, who had been asilent listener. 

"It's a pity to waste yourself that way. It's a punk game, kid, take itfrom me--they don't last! Where's your Broadway Bills of ten years ago?Stop an' think, kid. Where are they at?"

"My God, " he muttered, as he passed down the broad stairway, "how manyold fathers in New York is hidin' their feelin's behind a bold front, an' at the same time eatin' their hearts out with worry for their boys!An' folks callin' _them_ good fellows!

"Money ain't everything in this here world, after all, " he added, ashis gaze traveled over the paintings and tapestries that lined thegreat hall. 

Above stairs an uncomfortable atmosphere of constraint settled uponfather and son. Both felt the awkwardness of the situation. 

Young Carmody was a man with a heart as warm as his ways were wild. Hiswas an impulsive nature which acted upon first impressions. Lovingalike a fight or a frolic, he entered into either with a zest that madeof them events to be remembered. He glanced across to where his fatherstood beside the table toying with a jade ink-well, and noted theunwonted droop of the shoulders and the unfamiliar gaze of the grayeyes in which the look of arrogance had dulled almost to softness--apathetic figure, standing there in his own house--alone--unloved--astranger to his only son. 

The boy saw for the first time, not the banker, the dictator of highfinance--but the _man_. Could it be that here was something he hadmissed? That through the long years since the death of his wife, thesweet-faced mother whom the boy remembered so vividly, this strange, inscrutable old man had craved the companionship of his son--had lovedhim?

At that moment, had the elder man spoken the word--weakened, he wouldhave called it--the course of lives would have been changed. But themoment passed. Hiram Carmody's shoulders squared to their accustomedset, and his eyes hardened as he regarded his son. 

"Well?" The word rang harsh, with a rising inflection that stung. Theyounger man made no reply and favored the speaker with a level stare. 

"And _you_ a Carmody!"

"Yes, I am a Carmody! But, thank God, I am only half Carmody! It is nofault of mine that I bear the Carmody name! At heart I am a McKim!"

The young man's eyes narrowed, and the words flashed defiantly from hislips. The shaft struck home. It was true. From the boy's babyhood thefather had realized it with fear in his heart. 

The beautiful, dashing girl he had wooed so long ago; had married, andhad loved more deeply than she ever knew, was Eily McKim, descendant ofthe long line of Fighting McKims, whose men-children for five hundredyears had loomed large in the world-wars of nations. Men of red bloodand indomitable courage--these, who pursued war for the very love ofthe game, and who tasted blood in every clime, and under the flag ofevery nation. Hard-riding, hard-drinking, hard-fighting cavaliers, uponwhose deeds and adventures the staid, circumspect Carmodys lookedaghast. And this girl-wife, whose soft eyes and gentle nature had wonhis love, had borne him a son, and by some freak of atavism hadtransmitted to him the turbulent spirit of the Fighting McKims. 

Again the old man spoke, and his voice was the voice that Wall Streetknew--and feared. 

"I suppose you are well pleased with yourself. You are referred to asone of 'a bunch of souses. ' You were 'pulling it too raw even forBroadway. ' You are known to fame as 'Broadway Bill. ' You are a sport!You, and your college friends. And last night you achieved the crowningsuccess of your career--you 'soaked a cop'! You, the last of a line ofmen, who for a hundred years have dominated the finances of a nation!You, the last of the Carmodys, are Broadway Bill, _the sport!_"

The biting scorn of his father's tone was not lost upon the youngerman, who paled to the lips. 

"Where are the securities you were supposed to have delivered toStrang, Liebhardt & Co. ?"

"Here, in my desk. I intended to deliver them on my way to the bankthis morning. The boys blew in yesterday and it was up to me to showthem around a bit. "

"I will relieve you of the securities. The deal with Strang, Liebhardt& Co. Is off. It depended upon the delivery of those bonds duringbanking hours yesterday. "

Without a word William crossed to the desk and, withdrawing a packetsealed in a heavy manila envelope, handed it to his father. 

"The bank no longer requires your services, " went on the old mancoldly. "That a Carmody should prove himself absolutely untrustworthyand unreliable is beyond my ken. I do not intend to take you to taskfor your manner of living. It is a course many have chosen with varyingresults. You have made your bed--now lie in it. I need only say that Iam bitterly disappointed in my son. Henceforth we are strangers. 

"Here is my personal check for ten thousand dollars. That is the lastcent of Carmody money you will receive. Properly invested it will yieldyou a competence. Many men have builded fortunes upon less. As pocketmoney for a Broadway Bill it will soon be squandered. "

Mechanically the younger man picked up the check from the table. 

"I think, sir, " he answered, "that you have succeeded in makingyourself perfectly clear. As a Carmody, I am a failure. You spoke of aninvestment. I am about to make one of which any McKim would approve. "

With slow, deliberate movements he tore the check into tiny pieces andscattered them upon the carpet. "I shall leave your house, " hecontinued, meeting the other's gaze squarely, "without a dollar ofCarmody money, but with ten thousand dollars' worth of McKimself-respect. Good-by. "

There was a note of cold finality in those last two words and the elderCarmody involuntarily extended his hand. He quitted the room abruptlyas the boy, ignoring the civility, turned away. 

An hour later William walked hurriedly down the steps of the Carmodymansion and, with never a backward glance, hailed a taxi and waswhirled rapidly uptown. 

CHAPTER III

THE FINAL KICK

It was Saturday, and Ethel Manton was lunching early that she mightaccompany her fifteen-year-old brother on a ride through the park. 

A certain story in the morning paper arrested her attention, and shereread it with flushed face and tightening lips. It was well done, asnewspaper stories go, this account of a lurid night on Broadway whichwound up in a crescendo of brilliance with the flooring of a policeman. No names were mentioned, but the initiated who read between the linesknew that only one man could have pulled off the stunt and gotten bywith it. 

"For goodness' sake, Eth, aren't you ever going to finish? You'll wastethe whole afternoon over that old paper!"

Young Charlie had bolted his luncheon and waited impatiently in a deepwindow-seat overlooking the park. His sister laid down the paper with asigh. 

"Are the horses ready?" She asked the question in a dull, listlesstone, so unlike her usual self that even Charlie noticed. 

"Gee! You don't seem very keen about it. And look what a day! You looklike you were going to a funeral. "

Before the girl could reply he turned again to the window: "Look, ataxi is stopping and somebody is getting out. Oh, it's Bill Carmody!Ain't he a crackerjack, though? Say, Eth, why don't you marry Bill?He's just crazy about you--everybody says so, and----"

"Charlie!" The word was jerked out hysterically, and the boy waspuzzled at the crimson of her face. 

"Well, I don't care, it's so! And then I'd be a brother-in-law to BillCarmody! Why, he can lick everybody down to the gym. He put on thegloves with _me_ once, " he boasted, swelling visibly, "just sparring, you know; but he promised to teach me the game. And football! Therenever was a half-back like Bill Carmody! Why he----"

"Do hush! He might hear you. Run along, now. You ride on and I willovertake you. I--I must see Mr. Carmody alone. "

"_Mr. _ Carmody! So you two have had a scrap! Well, if I was a girl, andBill Carmody wanted to marry _me_, you bet, I'd marry him before he gota chance to change his mind. You bet, when I grow up I'm going to bejust like him--so there!"

The boy flounced defiantly out of the room, leaving the girl alone witha new fear. 

Since the death of her parents she had bravely and capably undertakenthe management of the household, and her chief care was this impulsiveboy who was so dear to her heart. 

"Look after Charlie as long as he shall need you. " The words of herdying mother came to her vividly. "He is really a noble littlefellow--but hard to manage. "

And now, added to the sorrow that already seemed crushing her, was thisnew anxiety. 

Charlie had set up an idol--and the fact that his idol was also heridol--although she never admitted it--struck fear to her heart. For theundiscerning eyes of the boy were blind to the feet of clay. 

In the library across the hall, William Carmody paced nervously up anddown, pausing at each turn to gaze abstractedly out of the window. 

After what seemed an interminable wait, the portières parted and thegirl stepped into the room. In her hand she carried a carefully foldednewspaper. She crossed to the table and, regarding the man with a cold, disconcerting stare, waited for him to speak. 

"Hello, Ethel! No, thank you, I have had luncheon. I----" His gazeencountered the unwavering blue eyes, and he suddenly dropped the airof flippant assurance. "Er, I came to see you, " he added lamely. 

"Yes?" There was little of encouragement in the word with itsaccompanying inflection. 

"You see, I am leaving New York. "

"Indeed?"

"Yes, I am going away. " He paused, but receiving no answer, continued, "I am going away to--to make good. And I came to say good-by. When Ireturn, if--if you are still free, I will have something to tellyou--something I have often told you before, but--well, things will bedifferent, then. "

"I suppose you said good-by to your _other_ friends last night?" Herglance rested for a moment on the folded newspaper, and the silky sneerof her retort was brutal--with the studied brutality of the female ofthe species who would inflict pain. The man winced under its sting. 

"Last night cannot be recalled, " he replied gravely. "Whatever happenedthen is past and gone. You are right; figuratively speaking, I _have_said good-by to the others--to Broadway, and all it stands for. Youalone know of my going. I am making no promises. If I fail no one willknow--nor care. When I make good I will return--and then----"

The girl looked up. Their glances met, and in the depths of the steadygray eyes the soft blue ones read purpose--unflinching purpose to fightand win for the glory of an infinite love. 

Her eyes dropped. She felt the hot blood mount to her face under thecompelling magnetism of his gaze. She loved this man. In all the worldno other could so move her. She loved--yet feared him. The verystrength of him--the overmastering force of his personality--hisbarbaric disregard of conventionality at once attracted and frightenedher. 

In that moment she knew, deep down in her heart, that if this manshould take her in his arms and hold her close against the throbbing ofhis great heart, his lips find hers, and should he pour into her earsthe pent-up torrent of his love, her surrender would be complete. 

His was the master mind, and in all the years to come that mind wouldrule, and she, the weaker one, would be forced under the yoke of itssupremacy. She prayed for strength. 

Let those who believe that once the living flesh has turned to clay thespirit dies, ascribe to a trick of memory the vision of her dyingmother that flashed before the eyes of the girl, and the whisperedwords: "Look after Charlie as long as he shall need you. "

But those there are who know that in that momentary vision spoke infaint memory-whispers the gentle spirit-mother, who--ranking high inthat vast army which, in the words of the immortal Persian, "Before us passed the door of Darkness through, "

--would guide the footsteps of her loved ones. 

Thus strength came and steeled the heart of one great little woman whobattled alone against love for her right to rule and shape the destinyof lives. The momentary flush receded from her face, and when her eyesagain sought the man's, their glance was coldly repellent. She evenforced a smile. 

"Is it so amusing, then--my going?" he asked a little grimly. 

"Yes, rather amusing to consider where a man would go and what he woulddo. A man, I mean, whose sole recommendation seems to be that he can'lick' most anybody, and can 'drink more and stay soberer than any ofthe sports he travels with. '"

The dull red flooded the man's face at her words. Unconsciously hesquared his shoulders and there was an unwonted dignity in his reply:

"I am well aware that my accomplishments are more in the nature ofliabilities than assets. In spite of this I will make good--somewhere. "

He stepped closer to the girl, and his voice grew harsh, almost raspingin its intensity. "I _can_ beat the game. And I will beat it--now! Justto show you and your kind what a _man_ can do--a man, I mean, " headded, "'whose sole recommendation seems to be that he can lick mostanybody--and can drink more and stay soberer than any of the sports hetravels with. ' Incidentally, I am glad to know your real opinion of me. I once believed that you were different from the others--that in you Ihad found a woman who possessed a real soul. "

He laughed, a short, grating laugh--deep down, as though rude fingersdrew a protest from raw heart-strings--a laugh that is not good tohear. 

"I even thought, " he went on, "that you cared for me--a little. Thatyou were the one woman who, at the last of things, would give a man ahelping hand, a little word of encouragement and hope, perhaps, insteadof the final kick. "

He bowed stiffly and turned toward the door. "Good-by!" he said, andthe heavy portières closed behind him. 

In the room the girl, white as marble, heard the click of the frontdoor, the roar of a newly cranked motor, and the dying _chug, chug_ ofthe retreating taxi. 

That afternoon Charlie Manton rode alone, and when he returned, hungryas a young wolf, to be told that his sister had retired with a sickheadache, he drew his own conclusions, nodding sagely over his solitarydinner. 

Later, as he passed her door on the way to his room, he placed his earat the keyhole and listened a long time to her half-muffled sobs. 

"Gee!" he muttered as he passed down the hall, "they must have had anawful scrap!" He turned and quietly retraced his steps. In the libraryhe switched on the lights and crossed to the telephone. 

"There isn't any sense in that, " he said, speaking to himself. "Billloves Eth--that's a cinch. And she does love him, too, even if shewon't let on. 

"She wouldn't stick up in her room all day bawling her eyes out if shedidn't. I'll call Bill up and tell him so, then he'll come and they'llmake up. I bet he's sorry, too, by now. "

At the Carmody residence he was told that Bill was not in. He receivedthe same answer from several clubs, at each of which he left explicitinstructions for Mr. Carmody to call him up at the first possiblemoment. 

Thereafter Charlie frequented the gymnasiums and made industriousinquiry, but it was many a day before he again saw his idol. BillCarmody was missing from his accustomed haunts, and none could tellwhither he had gone. 

Those were days fraught with anxiety for the boy. Ethel, to whom he wasdevoted, went about the house listless and preoccupied, in spite of herefforts to appear cheerful. When he attempted to reason with her sheburst into tears and forbade him to mention Bill Carmody's name in herhearing as long as he lived. Whereupon the youngster retireddisconsolately to his room to think things over. 

"Love's a bum thing, " he told himself. "If they do get married they dieor get a divorce or something; and if they don't--well, Bill hasprob'ly committed suicide and Eth is moping around, and most likely nowshe'll marry that dang St. Ledger. " He made a wry face as he thought ofSt. Ledger. 

"Runty little mollycoddle! Couldn't lick a chicken--him and hismonocle. And that day the wind took his hat and rolled it through themud, and he said: 'Oh, pshaw!' instead of damn it! Oh--_slush!_ And Ipromised mother I'd take care of Eth. "

He burrowed his face deep into the pillow, as, in spite of himself, tears came to his eyes. 

CHAPTER IV

LOVE OR HATE

Thus a week passed, in the course of which the heart of the girl wastorn by conflicting emotions. Love clashed with hate and self-pity withself-reproach. Was it true--what he had said? Had she administered thefinal kick to a man who was down--who, loving her--and deep down in herheart she knew that he did love her--had come to her in the extremityof his need for a word of encouragement?

Now that he was gone she realized how much he had meant to her. How, inspite of his reckless disregard of life's serious side, she loved him. Try as she would she could not forget the look of deep hurt that dulledhis eyes at her words. 

Had she not been justified? Had he not needed just that to bring him toa realization of his responsibilities? Had she not, at the sacrifice ofher own love, spurred and strengthened his purpose to make good? Or, had she, by raising a barrier between them, removed his one incentiveto great effort?

Over and over the girl pondered these things. One moment her heartcried out for his return, and the next she reiterated her undying hatefor the man in whose power it was so sorely to wound her with a word. 

And so she sat one evening before an open fire in the library which hadbeen the scene of their parting. Mechanically she turned the pages of anovel, but her mind was elsewhere, and her eyes lingered upon thedetails of the room. 

"He stood there, " she mused, "and I here--and then--those awful words. And, oh! the look in his eyes that day as the portières closed betweenus--and he was gone. Where?"

Somehow the idea obsessed her that he had gone to sea. She pictured himbig and strong and brave, battling before the mast on some wallowing, storm-hectored trading ship outbound, bearing him away into themelting-pot of strange world-ways. 

Would he come clean through the moil, winning honor and his place amongmen? And thus would he some day return--to _her_? Or would the seaclaim him for her own, roughen him, and buffet him about through thelong years among queer Far Eastern hell-ports where, jostling shoulderto shoulder with brutish men and the women who do not care, he woulddrink deep and laugh loud among the flesh-pots of society's discards?

The uncertainty was terrible to the girl, and she forced her thoughtsinto the one channel in which there was a ray of comfort. 

"At least, " she murmured, "he has ceased to be a menace to Charlie. "

"Mr. Hiram Carmody, miss. "

The old manservant who had been with the Mantons always, stood framedin the inverted V of the parted portières. 

Ethel started. Why had he called? During the lifetime of her father theelder Carmody had been a frequent visitor in the Manton home. 

Was it about Bill? Was he sick? Had there been an accident, and was hehurt--possibly dead? There was an icy grip at her heart, though hervoice was quite firm as she replied:

"I will see Mr. Carmody at once, Craddon. "

As the man silently withdrew from the doorway a new thought came toher. 

Could it be that Bill was still in New York? That his going away hadbeen an empty threat? And was he now trying to bring about areconciliation through the medium of his father? How she could despisehim for that!

Her lips thinned, and there was a hint of formality in her greeting asshe offered her hand to the tall, gray-haired man who advanced towardher. 

"Well, well! Miss Ethel, " he began, "all alone with a book and a cozyfire. That is what I call solid comfort. " He crossed the room andextended his hands to the blaze. 

"It is a long time since you have called, Mr. Carmody. "

"Yes. We old fellows rarely drift outside the groove of our fixed orbit. One by one we drop out, and as each one passes beyond it shortens theorbit of the others. The circle is always contracting--never expanding. The last one of us will be found in his dotage never venturing beyondthe circle of his own fireside until he, too, shall answer the call. "

The voice held a note of sadness which touched the girl deeply, and shesuddenly noted that the fine patrician face had aged. 

"You should not speak of being old, " she said gently. "Why, you arecalled the Wizard of Wall Street. "

"A man is only as old as he feels. Until recently I have consideredmyself a young man. But of late I feel that I am losing my grip. "

"Isn't that a dangerous admission? If it should become known on theStreet----"

"Ha!"--the heavy gray eyebrows met with a ferocity which belied thesmile that curved the thin lips--"if it were but whispered upon theStreet the wolves would be at my throat before morning. But they wouldhave a fight on their hands! However, all that is beside the purpose. Isuppose you are wondering why I called?"

The girl was momentarily at a loss for a reply. "Why, I--You know youare always welcome here. "

"Yes, yes. But, as you must have surmised, I called with a definiteobject in view. A matter that concerns you and--er, my son. "

The girl turned a shade paler. 

"I do not understand, " she replied. 

"Nor do I. I have come to you at the risk of being thought a meddlingold fool! But the fact is, I have several times lately heard your namementioned in connection with William's, and recently there came into mypossession this packet of letters addressed to my son in a femininehand and bearing the Manton crest. "

The girl's face flushed as she took the proffered packet and waited forhim to continue. 

"Fred Manton was my best friend, " went on the old man, "and I won't seeharm come to his daughter, if I can prevent it. You two may be justfriends; you may be engaged--or married, for all I know. My son neverdeemed it worth while to take me into his confidence. In either case, Iam here--and I will have my say. I shall put myself in the place ofyour father and speak as, I believe, he would have spoken. I may seemharsh and bitter toward my own son, but remember, Miss Ethel, I havehad vastly more experience in the ways of the world than you have--andI know whereof I speak. 

"Slight as is the difference between your ages, you are but aninexperienced girl, as the world knows experience, and William is aman--and a man, I am sorry to say, who is no fit associate for a womanlike you. "

Surprised and perplexed the girl felt her anger rise against this man. Instinctively she rallied to Bill's defense:

"He is not bad at heart!" she said resentfully. 

"What worse can you say?" returned Carmody with a harsh laugh. "Of allexpressions coined to damn a man with faint praise, there is only onemore effective: 'He means well. '"

Ethel was thoroughly angry now. She drew herself up, and her blue eyesdarkened as she faced him. 

"That is not so!" she cried. "Bill is _not_ bad at heart! And he _does_mean well! Whose fault is it that he has grown up reckless and wild?Who is to blame? What chance has he had? What have you done for him?Filled his pockets with money and packed him off to school. Filled hispockets with money and sent him to college. Filled his pockets withmoney and shipped him abroad. 

"Then, without consulting his taste or desire, you peremptorily thrusthim into a business which he loathes--on an office boy's salary and anallowance out of all proportion to his requirements. 

"You say he has never taken you into his confidence. Have you everinvited that confidence? Have you ever sought his companionship--evenhis acquaintance?"

The man was astonished at her vehemence. Uncomfortably he found himselfforced to the defensive. 

"He had his chance. I placed him in the bank that he might learn thebusiness as I learned it. If he had had the right stuff in him he wouldhave made good. As it was, he attended to his duties in the mostperfunctory and superficial manner. He showed not the slightestinterest in the business. In fact, his position could have been ablyfilled by the veriest gutter-snipe. And _he_ is the man who one day, inall probability, would have come into control of the Carmody millions!And he would have scattered them in a riot of dissipation the lengthand breadth of Broadway. 

"But I have forestalled him. He is foot-loose--gone, God knows where, to follow the fortune of adventure, perhaps, at the ends of the earth. For in him, transmitted in some unaccountable manner through the bloodof the gentlest, sweetest little woman who ever warmed a heart, is therestless spirit of the roistering, fighting McKims. "

"Is it the boy's fault that he is a McKim?" returned the girl a littlesharply. "Who chose his mother? Of all men you should be the last tospeak disparagingly of a McKim. Turn the pages of history and you willfind written large in the story of the upbuilding of nations the nameof McKim. Carmody gold is the cabala of Carmody suzerainty. But theMcKim name has been carved deep in the annals of nations by sheer forceof the personalities behind blades of naked steel. 

"Even now the crying world-need for men--big men--is as great as in thedays when the fighting McKims deserted their hearthstones to answer thecall of the falchion's clash or the cannon's roar. And some day youwill realize this--when your bank messenger makes good!"

The old man regarded her with a look of admiration. 

"You love him!" he said quietly. 

The girl started. Her eyes flashed and the play of the firelight gavean added touch of crimson to her cheeks. 

"I do not love him! I--I _hate him!_" Her voice faltered, and the mansaw that she was very near to tears. 

"A strange hate, this, Miss Ethel. A strange and a most dangerous hatefor a girl to hold against a man who is a _thief_. "

CHAPTER V

"THIEF!"

"A man who is a thief!" The words fell distinctly from Carmody's lipswith the studied quiet of desperation. Ethel stared wild-eyed at thespeaker, and in the frozen silence of the room her tiny fists doubleduntil the knuckles whitened. 

Noting the effect upon the girl, he continued, speaking more rapidlynow that the dreaded word had been uttered. 

"I had no wish to tell you this thing. It is a secret I would gladlyhave kept locked within my own breast. But I came here this eveningwith a purpose--to save, in spite of herself, if need be, the daughterof my dead friend from a life of suffering which would inevitably fallto the lot of any pure-hearted woman who linked her life with that ofan unscrupulous scoundrel, in whom even common decency is dead, if, indeed, it ever lived. "

"He is _not_ a thief! He----" began Ethel vehemently, but the maninterrupted her. 

"Wait until you have heard the facts. Last week, on Friday, there wasentrusted to my son's care for delivery a heavy manila envelopecontaining fifty thousand dollars' worth of negotiable bonds. It was amatter of vital importance that these be delivered within a specifiedtime. Ignoring this fact, he pocketed the bonds, and, in company with anumber of his acquaintances, indulged in a drunken spree whichculminated after midnight in a disgraceful street scene in the Broadwaytheatre district. 

"The following morning, when I confronted him, he flouted me to myface, whereupon I virtually disinherited him. Not wishing to turn himaway penniless, I handed him a check for a considerable amount which hesaw fit to destroy melodramatically in my presence. Upon my request forthe return of the securities, he handed me an envelope identical withthat in which the bonds had been placed. I carried the packet to thebank where it was opened and found to contain not the bonds--but thoseletters. 

"To avoid a scandal I made good the loss. I learned later, throughinvestigation, that upon leaving home he came directly to this house, where he remained for upward of a half-hour. 

"Further than this I know nothing of his movements except that hereëntered the taxi and proceeded down-town. At Thirty-Fourth Street, where the chauffeur slowed down for instructions, he found the cabempty. "

"And _these_ are the facts upon which you base your accusation?" askedthe girl coldly. "You, his own father!"

"To an unbiased mind the evidence allows but one interpretation. "

"But his eyes! Oh, can't you see there has been some mistake? His eyesare not the eyes of a thief!"

"There has been no mistake. A most thorough search of the premises hasfailed to disclose a trace of the missing securities. In his desk fromwhich he took the substituted packet were found several similarenvelopes, but these contained only worthless rubbish--newspaperclippings of sporting events and the like. 

"No, Miss Ethel, when William Carmody left my house that morning hecarried with him those bonds. And he came here, knowing that he was athief, with his pocket bulging with plunder!

"As I told you, I know nothing of the relations existing between youand my son. I only hope that he has gone forever out of your life, ashe has gone out of mine. "

The light died out of the girl's eyes and her voice sounded strangelydull as she replied:

"Yes, he has gone out of my life--maybe forever. He came to me here, totell me that he was going away to make good. And I--I was not bigenough to see it. I sent him away with a sneer. Bill is no thief. Forwhat he has been you are to blame--you and the Carmody money. For thefirst time in his life he has a fair chance. He has left New York theman you made him. He will return the man he makes himself. Oh! If--if Ionly----"

"There, there, Miss Ethel, your loyalty is admirable, if misplaced----"

"Don't speak to me of loyalty! I have been as narrow and as _mean_as--as _you_ have!"

"My dear girl, you are overwrought. The sooner we learn that WilliamCarmody has ceased to exist the better it will be for both of us. I bidyou good-night. "

The girl sank into the depths of her big chair and watched thesputtering little jet-flames lick futilely at the artificial logs ofthe fireplace. Believing herself alone, she was startled by the soundof footsteps hurrying noisily across the room. The next instant atousle-headed boy with eyes ablaze was at her side working her handslike pump-handles. 

"By Jimmy, Eth, you're a brick--the way you gave it to him! You betI'll tell Bill how you stuck up for him. "

"Charlie Manton! You were listening--eavesdropping. "

"I didn't! I wasn't! I mean I couldn't help hearing! The door of theden was open and I was in there studying. Old man Carmody is an oldliar!"

"Charlie!"

"Well, he is, and you know it! I hate him! You bet he wouldn't darecall Bill a thief to his face! Bill could lick forty-seven like himwith one hand tied behind his back. Bill is square. He wouldn't swipe amillion dollars--let alone a rotten, measly fifty thousand!"

"Charlie Manton! What kind of talk is that? You ought to be ashamed!"

"Well, I ain't--so there! And I'm Bill's friend, and I ain't afraid tosay so, either. You do love Bill--and you know it! You can claim youhate him till you're black in the face, but you can't fool _me_! Whatdid you stick up for him for if you hated him? I bet old man Carmodyswiped the bonds himself!"

"Stop right there! Aren't you ashamed to speak so disrespectfully ofMr. Carmody? He was an old friend of father's. "

"I don't care if he was. I'm an old friend of Bill's, too. And Bill_ain't_ a thief, no matter what he says!"

"You go to bed this minute. I am surprised and mortified to think thatyou would be so contemptible as to listen to other people's affairs. "

"'Taint any worse than lying!"

The boy stamped angrily from the room, and the girl sat long by thefire and, one by one, fed letters to the flames. 

CHAPTER VI

THE CROOKED GAME

"Clickity-click, clickity-click, clickity-click, " the monotonous songof the rails told off the miles as the heavy train rushed westwardbetween the endless cornfields of a flat middle State. To thewell-built athletic young man who was one of the four occupants of thelittle end-room, smoking compartment, the outlook was anything butcheerful. 

As far as the eye could reach long rows of shriveled husks, from whichthe season's crop of yellow ears had been torn, flapped dejectedlyagainst their dried and broken stalks. Here and there a square of rich, black loam, freshly turned, bespoke the forehanded farmer; while in thefields of his neighbors straggling groups of cattle and hogs gleanedhalf-heartedly in the standing roughage. 

"Not much for scenery, is it?" The offensively garrulous passengerdirected his remarks to the young man, who abstractedly surveyed thelandscape. "No, sir, " he continued, "you've got to go West for Scenery. Ever been West?"

The young man nodded without removing his gaze from the window. 

"I live in Colo_ray_do, " the other persisted. "Went out there for myhealth--and I stayed. Johnson's my name. I'm in the mining business. "

His eyes swept the compartment to include the others in the too evidentgeniality of their glance. 

"Now that we're all acquainted, " he ventured--"how about a little gameof seven-up, just to pass away the time? How about you, dad?"

Thus flippantly he addressed the ruddy-faced, middle-aged gentleman ingray tweeds, whose attention was apparently concentrated upon thelengthening ash of his cigar. 

With enthusiasm undampened by the curtness of the latter's refusal, heturned to the remaining passenger--a youth upon whose lip sprouted atenderly pruned mustache, so obviously new that it looked itchy. 

"How about you, captain?" The top-heavy youth closed his magazine andunlocked a brain-cell. 

"I don't mind. " He ostentatiously consulted a very gold watch. "Must bein Chicago this evening, " he muttered quite audibly, pulling a ten, twent, thirt frown that caused his labial foliage to rustle withimportance. 

He drew from his pocket a card upon which the ink was scarcely dry andhanded it to the effervescent Johnson, who read aloud:

 Mr. LINCOLN S. TARBEL Municipal Investigator

"You see, " explained its owner, "it has reached the ears of themanaging editor of my paper in South Bend that vice in various formsflourishes in Chicago! Thereupon he immediately sent for me and ordereda sweeping investigation. "

Further information was forestalled by the entrance of a suave-manneredindividual who introduced himself as a cigar salesman, and who wasreadily induced to take a hand in the game. 

The lightning-like glances that passed between the newcomer and theWestern Mr. Johnson, while entirely unnoted by the investigator ofmunicipal vice, aroused the interest of the athletic young man to thepoint of assenting to make the fourth. Here, evidently, was somethingabout to be pulled off, and he decided to be actively among thosepresent. 

The game progressed through several uneventful deals. Suddenly Johnson, scrutinizing a hand dealt him by the cigar salesman, emitted a lowwhistle. 

"If we were playing poker now I'd have something to say!"

"Oh, I don't know! I've got some poker hand myself, " opined the dealer. "Discard one, to make a five-card hand, and I bet you five dollars Ibeat you. "

"You're on!" Each produced a bill which he handed to the athletic youngman to hold. 

"Three eights and a pair of deuces, " boasted the Westerner, exposingthe full hand upon the board. 

"Beats three kings, " admitted the other, ruefully laying down his hand. The winner pocketed the money with an exaggerated wink in the directionof the newspaper youth who had been an interested spectator. 

The game progressed, and before many deals another challenge was passedand accepted between the two. This time it was the salesman whoprofited to the extent of twenty-five dollars which he received fromthe stakeholder with the remark that he would bet his whole roll on ajack full any old day. 

The elderly gentleman smoked in silence and amused himself by mentallycataloguing the players. Suddenly his attention became riveted. 

What he saw jarred harshly upon his estimate of the athletic young manwho, at the conclusion of his deal, dexterously slipped some cardsbeneath the table from his pile of tricks, then, bunching the pack, passed it to the Westerner for the next deal. 

He was on the point of exposing this cheap bit of knavery when theyoung man glanced in his direction. Something in the steady gaze of thegray eyes, though for the life of him he could not have told what, stayed his purpose, and he settled into his seat, more puzzled thanbefore. 

"If it had been any one of the others, " he thought to himself; "andthen to think that he turns around and with a look virtually makes me aparty to his tuppenny trickery!"

His reflections were cut short by a sharp exclamation from theinvestigator of vice who, in spite of his desire to appear composed, was evidently laboring under great excitement. 

"I'll bet twenty-five dollars I've got the best poker hand this time!"He was staring at his tight-gripped cards. Johnson looked his handover--and with a careless:

"Here's where I get even, " tossed the amount to the athletic young man, who laid his cards upon the table. The cigar salesman broke in:

"Hold on! I'm in on this, too! Got a pretty fair hand myself. And justto show you sports I'm game, I'll make it a hundred. "

He passed a handful of bills to the stakeholder and glared defiantly atthe newspaper person who was in the act of returning a bill-fold to hispocket. 

"Why, that is all I've got!" he gasped, "and it's expense-money!"

"Well, of course, " the other replied, "if you don't care to see myhand, and I don't mind telling you it's more than a middling goodone----"

"I'll bet"--the hand that extracted the neatly folded bills from theleather case shook and the voice rose to a ludicrous falsetto--"I'vegot you beat, and if I had any more money with me I'd come back atyou. "

"You've got a watch there, " remarked Mr. Johnson. "Let's see it. Iain't going to stay for the raise. My three sevens don't look as goodas they did. "

"I paid fifty dollars for it!" piped the youth, passing the watchacross the board. Both men examined it. 

"Oh, well, I don't know anything about watches, but I'll take your wordfor it. Stick her up--here's the fifty. "

"I've got _four_ aces!" squealed the reporter as he spread them outface upward. He stared wildly at the other, and his hands made wetmarks where they touched the board. 

"No good, " remarked his opponent blandly. "Mine's hearts--all in a row, with the jack at the top. " One by one he laid them down--a straightflush. South Bend stared incredulously at the cards. 

"All right, Mr. Stakeholder, " laughed the salesman, "pass over thekale. Just slip out a five for your trouble. "

"Just a minute. " The voice of the stakeholder was quiet and his lipssmiled. The two across the board bristled aggressively and the pluckedone sniffled. 

"Well"--there was an ugly note in the cigar salesman's voice--"astraight flush beats four aces, don't it?"

"Oh, yes, there is no question as to that. Are these the same cards wehave been using?"

"Of course they are! What do you mean?" asked the dealer. 

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted to know. Our friend here has the right toknow that he got a square deal. Count the cards. " The look ofapprehension on the faces of the two men faded into smiles. 

"Sure thing. That's fair enough, " acquiesced the dealer, proceeding togather the cards from the board. Slowly and deliberately he counted;"fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, " he finished. "Here, captain, count themyourself. " He handed them to the youth, who mechanically ran themthrough. 

"They are all here, " he admitted. 

"Now, that is funny, " smiled the stakeholder, "because last deal Idropped several cards onto the floor. This gentleman saw me do it. "

He nodded toward the elderly gentleman, who was now keenly interested, and reached under the table. 

"See--here they are. And, by the way, the nine and ten of hearts areamong them. And now, you cheap crooks, " he added as he flung a handfulof bills onto the board, "take your money and beat it!"

The two men opposite looked for an instant into the narrowing grayeyes, noted a certain tightening of the square jaw and the clenching ofa pair of very capable fists, and tarried not upon further orders. Sweeping the money into their pockets they quit the compartment, casting venomous back glances toward the young man whose lips couldsmile while his eyes threatened. 

"Here is yours, kid. And let me put you wise to something. The firstthing you do when you strike Chicago, buy a ticket to South Bend. Theyare waiting for you in the wicked town--they can see you coming. Thenext ones will spring a real live game, green goods, or wire tapping. They will roll you before you can locate a rescue mission. About theonly form of vice they will give you time to investigate will be whatthe taxi boy does to you. 

"The cold-deck stunt you just fell for, sonny, is so old it totters. Itis the identical trick that started the coolness between Brutus andJulius Cæsar. "

CHAPTER VII

THE WRECK

The early darkness of late autumn settled over the flat country. Tinylights twinkled from distant farmhouses as the Limited plowed throughthe night. 

The athletic young man continued to stare moodily out of the window. 

The black expanse of country became more thickly studded with lights. They flashed in the foreground in regular constellations as the trainwhizzed with undiminished speed past tall block towers and tinysuburban stations. 

Long parallel rows, narrowing to a point under a distant hazy nimbus, marked the course of the outreaching arteries of a great city. Warningbells clanged peremptorily at the lowered gates of grade crossings. 

The car wheels crashed noisily over an ever-increasing number of frogsand switch points, an occasional brilliantly illuminated trolley carcrept slowly over its rails, and the hundreds of green and red andyellow lights of the widening railroad yards lent a variety of color tothe scene. 

That infallible harbinger of an approaching terminal, the coloredporter, had appeared in the doorway, whisk-broom in hand, when--suddenly--there was a grinding jar; the heavy coach trembledthrough its length, and from forward came a muffled roar followed bythe tearing crash of riven metal. 

The car reared upward--higher and higher it climbed to theaccompaniment of the terrible crunching grind that proclaims undirectedpower and benumbs the brain with the horrid possibilities of energyuncontrolled. When almost perpendicular the sleeper toppled and crashedsidewise across other tracks at right angles to its course. 

New sounds supplanted the mighty noise of tearing and rending--littlesounds--the sharp jangle of smashing glass, and the thin wail of aninfant. These were borne to the young man's ears as from a distance. 

It was very dark and he was conscious of a great weight which seemed tobe crushing the breath from his body. He raised his arms and tore atthe thing on his chest. It yielded slightly to the pressure of hishands but remained immovable. He reached above it and encounteredmetal--a large iron cylinder with projecting pipes twisted and bent. Frantically he tore at the weight, exerting to the utmost the mightystrength of his shoulders. Inch by inch he worked it sidewise, usingthe pipes as levers until at length it rolled free and settled with acrash among the wreckage at his side. The other--the thing thatyielded--he lifted easily and sat up, filling his exhausted lungs withgreat drafts of cool air. 

His head ached terribly. He passed his hand across his forehead andwithdrew it wet and dripping. He struck a match and as the tiny flameflickered and went out he struck another and another. 

At his side lay the torso of the young reporter, his head mashed by theheavy water-cooler. He shuddered as he realized that this was the thinghe had lifted from his chest. 

In the opposite corner the elderly man struggled to release his armfrom the grip of a wedging timber. The body of the porter, doubledgrotesquely, partially protruded from under a seat. 

His last match died out and he crept to the side of the imprisoned man. A heave at the timber satisfied him as to the futility of accomplishinganything in the darkness and without tools. 

He stood erect and groped for the door of the compartment which helocated in the ceiling almost directly above him. Drawing himselfthrough the aperture, he made the narrow passage, but such was theposition of the car that it was only with the greatest difficulty hesucceeded in worming his way along, using the dividing wall as a floor. 

He gained the body of the coach, and from the darkness about him camegroans and curses mingled with great gasping sobs, and that mostterrible of all sounds, the shriek of a woman in the night-time. 

He located a window and, smashing the glass with his elbow, crawledthrough. 

From every direction men were running toward the scene of the wreck, calling to each other in hoarse, throaty bellows, while here and therein the darkness lanterns flashed. 

Sick and dizzy he lowered himself to the ground and staggered acrosssome tracks. He snatched a lantern from the hand of a bewilderedswitchman and stumbled again toward the overturned car. 

Others swarmed upon it. He heard the blows of axes and the smashing ofglass. Already an army of men were engaged in the work of rescue. 

Inert forms were passed through windows into waiting arms to bedeposited in long, ghastly rows upon the cinders of the road-bed, underthe flaring torches. A cold, drizzling rain was falling and the smellof smoke was in the air. 

A group of firemen hurried past carrying hand-extinguishers. Thelantern-light gleamed wetly upon their black rubber coats and metalhelmets, from under the brims of which their set faces showed grimlywhite. Far up the track an ambulance gong clanged frantically. 

The young man reëntered the coach through a window and made his wayslowly toward the smoking compartment, pushing his lantern before him. Reaching the door, he peered over the edge. 

Some one was kneeling beside the elderly man, working swiftly by thenarrow light of an electric pocket lamp. As his eyes became accustomedto the dim light of the interior, he realized that the elderly manseemed to be resisting the efforts of the other who knelt upon hisunpinioned arm. From between the lips, which were forced wide apart, protruded the ends of a handkerchief--he was gagged!

The hands of the kneeling man worked rapidly, but not in the pryingloose of the timber which lay across the other's arm. From the sidepocket of his coat, where it evidently had been hurriedly thrust, dangled a watch chain which the young man recognized as belonging tothe dead reporter. 

Suddenly the atrocity of the situation dawned upon him. He had heard ofsuch things, of the ghouls who haunt the scenes of great disaster, preying upon the bodies of the dead--robbing the helpless. 

With a curse he seized the wirebound railway lantern. At the sound theman looked up--it was the cigar salesman. The young man swung theweapon with all his might. It cut the air in a descending arc, but theother avoided the blow and the heavy lantern crashed against the walland went out. 

Without an instant's hesitation he dived through the opening and metthe fiend as he was rising to his feet. Together they rolled among thewreckage. While no match for his antagonist in size, the pickpocket wastough and wiry and apparently uninjured. He fought viciously, with theviolence of desperation. 

The athlete could hear the voice of the elderly man, who with his freehand had torn the gag from his mouth, roaring encouragement. Hereceived a stinging blow on the cheek from which the warm blood gushedinstantly. Knucks, he thought, the cur!

Suddenly his groping hand came in contact with the other's throat justabove the rim of his collar. Instantly his fingers closed aboutyielding flesh, their ends biting deep between the muscles. 

As the clutch tightened the man redoubled his efforts. His body writhedand he lashed out furiously with hands and feet. Blows rained upon theyoung man's head but he burrowed close, shielding his face--and alwayshis grip tightened--the finger ends drawing closer and closer together. 

He was only half-conscious now and the blows ceased to hurt. Heexperienced a sense of falling from a great height. His subconsciousmind concentrated upon one idea--to maintain his hold. He must griptighter and ever tighter. 

The other ceased to struggle and lay limp beneath his body, but of thishe knew nothing. The muscles of his arms were rigid, the clampedfingers, nearly together now, were locked, and all the world was ablank. 

CHAPTER VIII

NEW FRIENDS

William Carmody opened his eyes to a sense of drowsy contentment andwell-being. That the elegantly appointed room over which his glancetraveled was not his room, disturbed him not at all. 

He realized that his head was heavily bandaged and that thewhite-capped, linen-clad young woman at the window was a nurse. Hewatched her fingers move swiftly and surely in the fashioning of asmall round of needlework. 

Her face was turned from him but somehow he knew that she was youngand, in a dreamy sort of way, hoped she was pretty. He thought ofattracting her attention but decided to prolong the suspense--thechances were against it--so many girls are not. 

He closed his eyes and tried to think. The fact that he was in astrange room with his head swathed in bandages, and that a young andpossibly pretty nurse sat at the window, evidently for the purpose ofministering to him, suggested a hospital. 

Young Carmody had never been in a hospital, but the atmosphere of thisroom did not in any way conform to his rather vague notion of what ahospital should be. There was no long row of white beds all just alike, nor white walls, nor tiled floors over which people tip-toed to and froand talked in hurried, low-voiced tones; nor was the air laden with thesmell of drugs which he had always associated in his mind with suchplaces. He must ask the nurse. 

He was so drowsily comfortable that it was with an effort he opened hiseyes. A rebellious lock of hair strayed from under her cap as sheleaned over her work. The sunlight caught it and through the richthreads of its length shot tiny glints of gold. 

"Ethel!" The name sprang involuntarily from his lips and even as hespoke he smiled at the thought. The girl laid aside her work andcrossed to the bed. 

"You called?" she asked, and the man realized vaguely that her voicewas low and very pleasant. 

"Yes--that is, no--I mean, you _are_ pretty, aren't you?" He smiledfrankly up at her, and somehow the smile was contagious--she evenblushed slightly. 

"You must excuse me this time, " he continued, "I must have beenthinking out loud. "

"You seem to be a--well, a rather abrupt young man, " she smiled. "Butyou must not try to think--yet. And my name is not Ethel. "

"Oh, that's all right. You can't help that, you know--I mean, I thinkyour name is very pretty--whatever it is, " he floundered. "The truthis, I don't seem to be able to say what I do mean. But really I am nota fool, although I don't suppose you will ever believe it. "

"There, you have talked quite enough. The doctor said you must rest andnot get excited. " She smoothed the covers with little pats of her softhands. 

"But what I want to know, " he persisted, with a frown of perplexity, "is, where am I?"

"You are all right, " she soothed. "You are here. "

"But why am I here?"

"Because. Now go to sleep like a good boy. The doctor will be herebefore long and he will hold me responsible for your condition. "

Oddly enough her answers seemed eminently sufficient and satisfactory, and he closed his eyes and slept contentedly. 

Hours later he was awakened by the opening of a door. 

A tall, dark man, with a brown beard neatly trimmed to a point, enteredclosely followed by an elderly man who carried his arm in a sling, andwhom young Carmody recognized as his fellow-passenger of the smoker. 

At once the whole train of recent events flashed through his brain: thewild escapade on Broadway, the scene with his father, his parting withEthel Manton, the wreck, and his fight in the dark--each in its propersequence. 

He was very wide awake now and watched the brown-bearded man eagerly ashe picked up a chart from the table and scrutinized it minutely. 

"How is the head?" the man asked, with his fingers on the pulse. 

"Fine, doctor. Wouldn't know I had one if it were not for thesebandages. And your arm, sir?" he added, with a smile of recognitiontoward the elderly man. 

"Doing fairly, thank you. It is broken, but our friend here thinks itwill come along all right. "

The doctor, with a nod of approval returned the watch to his pocket andwas preparing to leave when his patient detained him with a question. 

"I have not been able to locate myself. This is not a hospital, is it?"

"Hardly, " smiled the other, "although it answers the purpose admirably. This is the Brownstone Hotel. "

"With rooms at twenty per!" gasped the invalid. "Doctor, some one hasblundered. After buying my railroad ticket I had just four dollarsleft, and no chance in the world of getting hold of any more until Iconnect with a job. "

The men laughed. 

"I must be going, " said the doctor. "You two can chat for a while. Don't tire yourself out, young man, and in a day or two you will be fitas a fiddle. Wish I had your physique! That system of yours is anatural shock absorber. We run across them once in a longwhile--half-killed one day and back the next hunting for more on therebound. "

At the door he paused: "Take care of yourself, eat anything that looksgood to you, smoke if you want to, talk, read, sleep, and in themorning we will let you get up and stretch your legs. Good by!"

"Some doctor, that, " laughed the patient. "Does a man good just to hearhim talk. Most of them go away leaving the patient guessing whether thenext visit will be from them or the undertaker--and rather hoping forthe latter. But with this fellow the professional man is swallowed upin the human being--he fairly radiates life. "

The other smiled as he settled himself into the chair near the bedside, vacated by the physician. 

"Yes, he is a great doctor. Stands well toward the head of hisprofession. We have no finer in the Northwest. " Young Carmody's faceclouded. 

"But how am I to pay for all this? It is all well enough for you tolaugh, but to me it is a serious matter. I----"

"Young man, you are my guest. I don't know who you are, nor where youcame from, but, by gad, I know a man when I see one! From the time yousat in that game to save that poor young fool from being fleeced untilyou dove into that black hole and throttled that skunk----"

"They caught him, did they?"

"Caught him! They had to pry him loose! You have got the grip of thedevil himself. The police surgeon told me they would have to put awhole new set of plumbing in his throat. Said he wouldn't have believedthat any living thing, short of a gorilla, could have clamped down thathard with one hand. 

"And there I had to lie pinned down and watch him go through a deadman's pockets--it was our friend the reporter. And then he turnedaround and calmly went through mine. Gad! If I'd had a gun! All thetime he kept up a run of talk, joking about the wreck and the easypickings it gave him. 

"He was disappointed when he failed to find you--said he owed yousomething for gumming his game. Well, he found you all right--and whenhe gets out of the hospital he is slated for twenty years in Joliet. "The man paused and glanced at his watch. 

"Bless my soul! It is after two o'clock! We will have luncheon servedhere. "

"It is a peculiar situation, " mused the invalid. "The last thing Iremember is being in the thick of a railroad wreck, and here I wake upin bed, with a trained nurse in the room, to find myself the guest of aman whose name I do not even know. "

"Appleton--H. D. Appleton, of Minneapolis. I am a lumberman--justreturning from the National Lumberman's Convention in Buffalo. Andyours?"

He was interrupted by a tap at the door and a couple of waiters enteredbearing trays. 

CHAPTER IX

BILL GETS A JOB

After luncheon, over cigars, the conversation again became personal. Appleton regarded the younger man thoughtfully. 

"You spoke of being temporarily out of funds. Allow me to loan you whatyou require. "

"Thank you, sir, but I could not think of it. I am already deeplyindebted to you. If it were only a temporary embarrassment I wouldn'tmind. But I have no definite plans. I must find work, and I freelyconfess I don't know exactly how to go about it. It might be a longtime before I could repay the loan. Then, too, if a man is broke hewill tackle the first job that comes along, whereas if he had money inhis pocket he would be tempted to wait for something better, no matterwhat was offered. "

"If you work it right you can easily get a couple of thousand out ofthe railroad company--damages, you know. "

The younger man looked up quickly. "Not me, " he smiled. "I have notsustained any loss to speak of. That crack on the head when the coachtipped over didn't even knock me out. And as for the pummeling I gotafterward with the knucks--that was my own lookout--the railroadcompany is not to blame for that. No. Getting something for nothing isnot playing the game--it savors too strongly of the methods of ourfriend the pickpocket. "

As he talked the elder man subjected him to a careful scrutiny. Henoted the deep-set, unwavering eyes, the smiling lips, and the firm, square set of the jaw. 

"So you are really in earnest about going to work?"

"In earnest! Mr. Appleton, you have just witnessed a fair demonstrationof the demands of my appetite, " with a nod toward the array of emptydishes. "I am subject to those attacks on an average of three times aday. In my pocket are just four one-dollar bills. Can you guess theanswer?"

The lumberman smiled. 

"What kind of position were you thinking of? What is your business?"

"Haven't any. And I am not thinking of a position--what I want is a_job_. "

"Know anything about lumber?"

"No. "

The two smoked in silence while the waiters removed the remains of theluncheon. When the door closed behind them the lumberman spoke. Hedropped the conversational tone and his words cut crisp and to thepoint:

"Young man, I can use you. If you are foot-loose and are willing towork, I will give you your chance. I am going to put it up to youstraight and let you decide for yourself. 

"I can use you in my office at a very fair salary. In two or threeyears you will, in all probability, become a valuable clerk--later, alumber salesman at a good salary and better commissions. 

"Your duties will not be strenuous, and as you enlarge youracquaintance you will naturally assume the social position to which youare entitled. 

"Or I can use you in the woods. Send you into a logging camp to learnthe business where it starts. Up there the work is not easy. Instead ofa salary you will receive wages--and you will earn them--every cent ofthem. There are no snap jobs in a logging camp. Everybody, from theboss down, works--and works hard. Instead of roast lamb and green peasyou will eat salt pork and baked beans. 

"You will be called a lumberjack--a social pariah. Your associates willbe big men--some good and some bad--bad as they make them--and allrough. Good and bad, they would rather fight than eat, and they wouldrather watch others fight than fight. 

"In summer you can loaf and blow in your wages, or you can go into themills and learn how lumber is made--learn to tell at a glance whether alog will saw to the best profit into bridge timber or lath. 

"It is no sinecure--the life of the logging camp. A hundred times youwill be called upon to face battle, murder, and sudden death, and itwill be up to you to make good. 

"In the office I have clerks who will be found at the same desk twentyyears from now. And in the woods I have hundreds of swampers, skidders, and sawyers who will always be swampers, skidders and sawyers. I havecamp bosses who will always be camp bosses, and a few who will becomelumbermen. 

"But the man who comes up through that school is the man who learns thegame--the man who eventually will sit behind locked doors and talk inmillions, while the office-made salesman is out on the road dickeringin car-loads. "

He paused and relighted his cigar. 

"And you are offering me the choice of these jobs?"

"Just so. Take your time. Think it over carefully and give me youranswer in the morning. "

"I have already made up my mind. If it is just the same to you I willgo to the woods. I need the exercise, " he grinned. 

"By the way, you have not told me your name. "

"Bill, " he answered, and watched the blue smoke curl upward from theend of his cigar. 

"Bill what?" Appleton regarded him through narrowing lids. 

"Bill, " he repeated. "Just Bill, for the present--and no references. Sometime--if I make good, perhaps--but surely Bill ought to be nameenough for a lumberjack. "

"Well, Bill, you are hired! Most men would call me a fool! Maybe Iam--but it's got to be proven. I came up through the woods myself and Iknow men. It is my business to know men. A name is nothing to me--norreferences. Both are easy to get. I hire men--not names. And as forreferences--I don't pay for past performances. It is up to you to makegood!

"I like your eyes. There is honesty in those eyes--and purpose. Yourmother's eyes, I should say. " The young man turned his face away andthe blood surged upward, reddening the skin below the white bandages. 

Thoughts of his mother crowded his brain--the beautiful, gentlegirl-mother, who used to snatch him up and hold him close--way back inthe curly-locks days. 

He remembered her eyes--deep, soft blue eyes that shone bright andmysterious with love for the little boy--so often such a bad, self-willed little boy--and he thought of the hurt in those eyes. Itwas his very worst punishment in the long ago--to read the pain andsorrow in those eyes. 

"No, no, no!" he murmured. "Not her eyes--not mother's! Oh, I am gladthat she did not live to know--" He stopped abruptly and faced theother, speaking quietly:

"Mr. Appleton, I am not a criminal--not a fugitive from justice--as youmay have guessed. But I have been an--an awful fool!" The older manarose and extended his hand:

"Good-by, Bill. You better sleep now. I will see you in the morning. "

As the door closed behind Appleton, the pleasant-voiced nurse appearedat the bedside. She straightened the covers, patted the pillows intoshape, and fed the patient medicine out of a spoon. She hesitated whenshe finished and smiled down at him. 

"Would you like to send any messages, " she asked--"telegrams, to letyour people know you are safe?"

Young Carmody returned the smile. The nurse looked into his face andknew that behind the smile was sadness rather than mirth. 

"No, " he said; "there is no one to tell. " She leaned over and laid softfingers on his bandaged brow. 

"Isn't--isn't there a real Ethel--somewhere?" He did not resent thequestion of the sweet-faced nurse. 

"Yes, " he answered, "there _is_ a real Ethel--but she would not care. Nobody cares. "

CHAPTER X

NORTHWARD, HO!

Buck Moncrossen was a big man with a shrunken, maggoty soul, and noconscience. 

He had learned logging as his horses learned it--by repetition ofunreasoning routine, and after fifteen years' experience in the woodsAppleton had made him a camp boss. 

His camps varied from year to year in no slightest detail. He made nosuggestions for facilitating or systematizing the work, nor would helisten to any. He roared mightily at the substitution of horses foroxen; he openly scoffed at donkey engines, and would have none of them. 

During his years as a sawyer, by the very brute strength and doggednessof him, he had established new records for laying down timber. And now, as boss, he bullied the sawyers who could not equal those records--andhated those who could. 

Arbitrary, jealous, malignant, he ruled his camps with the bluff andbluster of the born coward. 

Among the lumber-jacks, he was known and hated as a hard driver of menand a savage fighter. In the quick, brutish fights of the camps, menwent down under the smashing blows of his huge fists as they would godown to the swing of a derrick-boom, and, once down, would be jumpedupon with calked boots and spiked into submission. 

It was told in the woods that whisky flowed unchallenged in BuckMoncrossen's camps. His crews were known as hard crews; they "hired outfor tough hands, and it was up to them to play their string out. "

At the first cry of "gillon" (stormy days when the crews cannot work)flat flasks and round black bottles circulated freely in thebunk-house, and the day started, before breakfast, in a wild orgy ofrough horse-play, poker, and profanity. 

But woe betide the man who allowed overindulgence to interfere with themorrow's work. Evil things were whispered of Moncrossen's man-handlingof "hold-overs. "

In the office, back in Minneapolis, if these things were known theywere winked at. For Moncrossen was a boss who "got out the logs, " andthe details of his discipline were unquestioned. 

On the Appleton holdings along Blood River the pine stood tall andstraight and uncut. 

In the years of plenty--those wasteful years of frenzied logging, whenwhite pine lumber brought from twelve to twenty dollars a thousand andrival concerns were laying down only the choicest of logs--Appleton'screws were ordered to clean up as they went. 

Toothpick logging it was called then, and H. D. Appleton wascontemptuously referred to as "the toothpicker. "

Twenty years later, with the market clamoring for white pine at anyprice, Appleton was selling white pine, while in the denuded forest thecrews of his rivals were getting out cull timber and Norway. 

And this fall Appleton sent Buck Moncrossen into the Blood Rivercountry with orders to put ten million feet of logs into the river byspring. 

So it was that the few remaining inhabitants of Hilarity were arousedfrom their habitual apathy one early fall evening by the shrill shrieksof an engine whistle as Moncrossen's ten-car train, carrying crew andsupplies for the new camp, came to a stop at the rusty switch. Therewas something reminiscent in this whistle-sound. It came as a voicefrom the past. 

Time was, some eight or ten years before, when the old No. 9 and hercompanion engine, No. 11, whistled daily and importantly into Hilarity, pushing long strings of "flats" onto the spurs; and then whistled outagain with each car groaning and creaking under its towering pyramid oflogs. 

But that was in the days of Hilarity's prosperity--in the days when thelittle town was the chief loading point for two thousand square milesof timber. 

It had been a live town then--work and wages and the spirit tospend--quick, hot life, and quick, cold death danced hand in hand tothe clink of glasses. 

Everything ran wide open, and all night long rough men sinned abysmallyin their hell-envied play, and, crowding the saloons, laughed andfought and drank red liquor in front of long pine bars, where therattle of chips and the click of pool-balls, mingled with luridprofanity, floated out through the open doors and blended with theincessant tintinnabulation of the dance-hall pianos. 

These were the days of Hilarity's prosperity, when twenty train-loadsof logs were jerked from her spurs by day, and the nights rang loudwith false laughter. 

A vanished prosperity--for now the little town stood all but desertedin its clearing, with the encircling hills denuded of all vegetationsave a tangle of underbrush and a straggling growth of stunted jackpine. 

Even the "pig-iron loggers"--the hardwood men--had gleaned the laststick from the ridges, and Hilarity had become but a name on the map. 

Only those remained who were old or crippled, and a few--a veryfew--who had undertaken to grub out tiny farms among the stumps. 

Each evening these forlorn remnants were wont to forsake theirstolid-faced wives and yammering offspring and pick their way throughthe solitary stump-dotted street, past windowless, deserted buildingswhich were the saloons and dance-halls of better days, to foregatheraround the huge stove in the rear of Hod Burrage's general store, whichwas decrepit Hilarity's sole remaining enterprise, and there to bragand maunder over the dead town's former glory. 

The fact that certain of Hod's jugs never tilted to the filling of thevinegar bottles or molasses pails of the women, not only served toinsure unflagging attendance, but the sale of their contents affordedthe storekeeper a small but steady income which more than offset anyloss incident to the preoccupied inroads upon his cracker barrel. 

The sound of the once familiar whistle brought the men tumbling fromBurrage's door, while up and down the deserted street aproned formsstood framed in the doorways, beflanked by tousled heads which gazedwonder-eyed from behind tight-gripped skirts. 

Not a person in town, except the very newest citizens, and they weretoo young to care--for nobody ever came to Hilarity except by the storkroute--but recognized old No. 9's whistle. 

Strange, almost apologetic, it sounded after its years of silence; notat all like the throaty bellow of derision with which the long, vestibuled coast trains thundered through the forsaken village. 

A brakeman leaped from the cab and ran ahead. Stooping, he cursed thecorroded lock of the unused switch which creaked and jarred to the pullof the lever as old No. 9 headed wheezily onto the rust-eaten rails ofthe rotting spur. 

An hour later she puffed noisily away, leaving Moncrossen's crewencamped in the deserted cabins and dilapidated saloons of the worn-outtown. 

Moncrossen, by making use of old tote-roads, saved about forty of theeighty miles of road building which lay between Hilarity and the BloodRiver. 

Toward the end of October the work was completed, the camp buildingserected, and a brush and log dam thrown across the river at the narrowsof a white water rapid. 

Swampers and axe-men set to work building skidways and cross-hauls, andthe banks of the river were cleared for the roll-ways. The ground wasstill bare of snow, but the sawyers were "laying them down, " and thelogs were banked at the skidways. 

Then one morning the snow came. 

Quietly it fell, in big, downy flakes that floated lazily to earth fromthe even gray of the cloud-spread sky, tracing aimless, zigzag patternsagainst the dark green background of the pines, and covering the brownneedles of the forest floor and the torn mold of the skidways with asoft blanket of white. 

The men sprang eagerly to their work--heartened by the feel of thesnow. The tingling air was filled with familiar man-sounds--theresonant stroke of axes, and the long crash of falling trees, themetallic rattle of chains, the harsh rasp of saws, and the good-naturedcalls of men in rude banter; sounds that rang little and thin throughthe mighty silence of the forest. 

Gradually the flakes hardened and the zigzag patterns resolvedthemselves into long, threadlike lines which slanted earthward with asoft, hissing sound. 

Fast it fell, and faster, until the background disappeared, and all theworld was a swift-moving riot of white. 

It was a real snow now--a snow of value which buried the soft blanketof the feathery flakes under a stable covering which would pack hardunder the heavy runners of the wide log sleds. 

It lodged in thick masses in the trees whose limbs bent under theweight, and the woods rang to the cries of the sawyers when thetottering of a mighty pine sent a small avalanche hurtling through thelower branches, half-burying them in its white smother. 

As the early darkness of the North country settled about them the menplowed heavily to the bunk-house through a foot and a half offresh-fallen snow--and still it snowed. 

CHAPTER XI

BILL HITS THE TRAIL

In a long-abandoned shack midway between Moncrossen's Blood River campand Hilarity, Bill Carmody hugged close the rusty, broken stove. 

All day he had tramped northward, guided through the maze of abandonedroads by the frozen ruts of Moncrossen's tote wagons, and it was longafter dark when he camped in the northernmost of the old shacks withcivilization, as represented by Hilarity's deserted buildings and thejug-tilting, barrel-head conclave of Hod Burrage's store, forty milesto the southward. 

It had been a hard day--this first day of his new life in theNorthland. And now, foot-sore, dog-tired, and dispirited, he sat closeand fed sticks to his guttering fire which burned sullenly and flaredred for want of draft. 

The chinking had long since fallen from between the logs and the nightwind whipped the smoke in stinging volleys from gaping holes in therust-eaten jacket of the dilapidated air-tight. 

Tears streamed from the man's smoke-tortured eyes, every muscle of hisbody ached horribly from the unaccustomed trail-strain, and his feet, unused to the coarse woolen socks beneath heavy boots, were galled andblistered until the skin hung in rolls from the edges of raw scalds. 

He removed his foot-gear and the feel of the cold wind was good to hisburning feet. He scowled resentfully at the galling newness of hishigh-laced boots and with a tentative finger explored his hurts. 

Unbuckling his pack, he drew forth the ready prepared food with whichhe had supplied himself at the store. The pack had seemed trifling whenhe swung lightly into the trail that morning, but twelve hours later, when he stumbled painfully into the disused shack, it had borne uponhis aching shoulders as the burden of Atlas. 

Hungry as he was, he glared disgustedly at the flaunting label of thesalmon can and the unappetizing loaf of coarse bread dried hard, ratherthan baked, from sodden dough, by Hod Burrage's slovenly spouse. 

And as he glared he pondered the words of advice offered by the old manwith the twisted leg who sat upon Burrage's counter and punctuated hisremarks with quick, jerky stabs of his stout, home-made crutch. 

"Tha' cann't fish ben't no good f'r trail grub, son. Ye're a greener, you be. Better ye lay in what'll stay by ye--a bit o' bacon, like, orsome bologny--an' a little tin coffee-pot yonder. 

"Ye'll be thinkin' o' steppin' out the door wi' ye're new boots an'ye're pack an' trippin' up to Blood River in maybe it's two walks, wi'naught in ye're belly but a can o' cold fish an' a stun weight o' MaryBurrage's bread, which there ain't no more raisin' into it nor atoggle-chain. 

"'Tis plain ye're a greener, son; but take an old fool's advice an' getye a pair o' the shoe-packs yonder to spell off the boots. Bran' new, they be, an' they'll gald ye're feet till ye'll be walkin' ankle-deepin hell again' night. F'r Oi'll be tellin' ye Blood River lays a finetwo walks f'r a _good_ man, an' his boots broke in to the wear. "

Now Bill Carmody was, by environment, undemocratic, and he resentedbeing called a greener. Also the emphasis which old Daddy Dunnigan hadplaced upon the words "good man, " in evident contrast to himself, rankled. 

How he wished, as he sat in the cold discomfort of the shack, that hehad heeded the timely and well-meant advice. His was not an arrogantnature, nor a surly--but the change in his environment had beenpainfully abrupt. All his life he had chosen for companions men whom helooked upon as his social equals, and he knew no others except as paidhirelings to do his bidding. And all his life money had removed fromhis pathway the physical discomforts incident to existence. 

But all this was in the past. Unconsciously he was learning a lessonand this first lesson would be hard--but very thorough, and the nexttime he met Daddy Dunnigan he would take him by the hand. For here wasa man--a good man--in the making. But a man new to his surroundings. Aman who would learn hard--but quickly--and who would fight hard againstthe very conditions which were to make him. 

His perspective must first be broken on the wheel of experience, thathe might know human nature, and the relative worth of men. Hisunplastic nature would one day be his chief bulwark; as now, it was hischief stumbling block. For in his chosen life-work he must takemen--many men--rough men--of diverse codes and warring creeds, and withthem build an efficient unit for the conquering of nature in her ownfastnesses. And this thing requires not only knowledge and strength, but courage, and the will to do or die. 

Alighting from the caboose of the local freight train on the previousevening, he entered Hod Burrage's door as he had entered the doors oftrades-places all his life. To him, Hod Burrage was not a personality, but a menial existing for the sole purpose of waiting upon andattending to the wants of him, Bill Carmody. The others--the old men, and the crippled ones, and the hard-handed grubbers of stumps, who satabout in faded mackinaws and patched overalls--he regarded not at all. 

He deposited his pack-sack on the floor where its canvas sides, outbulging with blankets and duffel, fairly shrieked their newness. 

After some minutes of silence--a silence neither friendly nor hostile, during which Bill was conscious that all eyes were turned upon him infrank curiosity, he spoke--and in speaking, inadvertently antagonizedthe entire male population of Hilarity. For in his speech was no wordof greeting. 

He addressed no one in particular, but called peremptorily, and with atrace of irritation, for a salesman. 

Now, Hod Burrage was anything but a salesman. His goods either soldthemselves or remained on their shelves, and to Mr. Burrage it was amatter of supreme indifference which. He was wont to remark tohesitating or undecided customers that "if folks didn't know what theywanted when they come into the store, they better keep away till theyfind out. "

So, in answer to the newcomer's demand, Hod shifted his quid and, withexasperating deliberation, spat in the direction of a sawdust-filledbox near which the other was standing. 

Without rising from his seat in the one undamaged chair, he answered:"If it's the storekeeper you mean, I'm him. " Then, as an after-thought. "Was they somethin' you wanted?"

Bill resented the implied rebuke in the storekeeper's words even morethan he resented the bombardment of tobacco juice which barely missedhis boots. Take it all in all he was having a rather rough time of it. 

The railway people had refused to stop their fast train at Hilarity forhis special benefit, and he had been compelled to get off at thenearest division point, some forty miles to the westward, and continuehis journey in the evil-smelling caboose of the local freight-trainwhich crawled jerkily over the rails, and stopped to shunt cars atevery siding. 

Nearly the whole day had been consumed for the trip, during which timehe had sat in the stuffy, superheated car, whose foul air reeked ofcheap tobacco and drying garments, and listened to the guffaws of thetrain-crew as they regaled each other with vile stories and longaccounts of revolting personal experiences among the dives of cities. 

So now, tired, grimy, and with his head aching dully from the longbreathing of foul air, he was in no humor for comprehensive amiability. 

He made his few purchases and replied curtly to the questions of thestorekeeper. It is doubtful if he would have replied at all but for thefact that he must have information in regard to the whereabouts ofMoncrossen's Blood River camp. 

There was a roar of merriment, which he answered with a scowl, when heinquired the location of the hotel. 

"Jest help yourself, stranger, " said Burrage, with a generous sweep ofthe arm which included all Hilarity not within the confines of theroom. "They's about fifty buildin's, cabins, an' shacks along thestreet, an' you can take your pick. Rent's the cheapest thing they isin Hilarity--jest kick out the rats an' spread your blankets. "

It was when Bill stooped to add the gaudy-labeled cans to his pack thatDaddy Dunnigan, of the twisted leg, volunteered the bit of advice thatfell upon his ears unheeded. 

He was openly resentful now, having detected certain smiles, winks, andnudgings with which the assembled men called each other's attention tovarious details of his clothing and pack. 

During the storekeeper's temporary cessation of vigilance while waitingupon his customer, the others had seized the opportunity to refreshthemselves at his expense. 

A thick, heavy tumbler, so cloudy and begrimed as to be almost opaque, was filled from a large jug placed conveniently upon a sack ofpotatoes, and passed from one to the other, each absorbing little ormuch as the thirst was upon him, and passing it on to his neighbor. 

Daddy Dunnigan offered it to Bill along with the advice; but the latterungraciously refused and, turning abruptly away, shouldered his packand proceeded to select his "hotel. "

"Wonder who's he?" remarked Hod Burrage as he lazily resumed his seat. 

"Too damned upity to suit me!" vociferated Creed, Hilarity'sself-alleged bad man, with a fierce exhalation that dislodged a thinvolley of cracker-crumbs from his overhanging mustache. "A heap toodamned upity for this camp, says I. "

He shook a hairy fist menacingly toward the door through which the manhad departed. "It's lucky for him it was old Daddy there 'stead of mehe wouldn't drink with or I'd of went to the floor with him an' teachedhim his manners. "

"Naw ye wouldn't, Creed, " said the old man. "Ye'd done jest loike yedone--set there atop yer barr'l an' blinked. An' when he'd went outye'd blowed an' bragged an' blustered, an' then fizzled out like a wetfuse. 'Stead of which Oi predic' that the young feller's a realman--once he gets strung out. Anyways, Oi bet he does his foightin'whiles the other feller's there 'stead of settin' 'round an' snortin'folks' whisky full o' cracker-crumbs. "

He gazed ruefully into his half-filled glass. 

"Throw it out, Daddy, an' have one on me, " offered Burrage, reachingfor the jug. 

With a sly wink toward the others, the old man drained the glass at agulp and passed it innocently to be refilled. 

"I'll let him go this time, " rumbled Creed with a frown. "He's headin'for Buck Moncrossen's camp--Moncrossen'll break him!"

"Or he'll break Moncrossen!" interrupted Daddy, bringing his crutchdown upon the floor. "The one camp'll not hold the two o' thim f'rlong. Heed ye now, Oi predic' there'll be hell a poppin' on BloodRiver, an' be this time a year fr' now one o' thim two'll be broke f'rgood an' all, an', not to mention no names, it won't be yon stranger. "

The strong liquor had loosened the tongue of the ordinarily silent oldman and he continued:

"Oi catched his eye fair; an' 'tis the eye of a foightin' man--an eye, the loike o' which Oi ain't seen since Oi looked f'r the last time inthe dead eyes o' Captain Fronte McKim, in the second outbreak o' thewild Boh, Hira Kal, in the brown hills o' the Punjab. "

The men listened expectantly, for when the liquor was right the old mancould tell of strange wars in far climes. 

"One night the little hillmen sneaked up on Captain Barkley's flyin'battery. They left his head an' his men's stickin' atop a row o' stakesan' dragged the guns to a hilltop overlookin' the pass. An' in themornin' they unlimbered, sweepin' our left wing. 

"Fronte McKim was captain o' the Lights an' Oi was a corp'l. All thatmornin' the Boh kep' pepperin' away, wi' 'Miss Fanny, ' the colonel hewas, an' his parade-groun' staff o' book sogers, wi' tables o' figgersan' the book o' rules an' maps an' a pair o' dividers, tryin' to figgerout how to chase a bad Boh offen a hilltop wi'out clim'in' the same. 

"An' he lived a long time after, did Miss Fanny, to die in his bed o'some nice, fine disease, wi' his fambly an' his Scotch an' sodygathered about him. 

"An' he was put in a foine, big coffin wi' a bran' new flag spread atopto keep off the dust, an' carried back to Englan' in a war-ship, wi'the harbor guns firin' salutes--the whiles Fronte McKim lays back amongthe hills o' Punjab, wropped in his powder-burnt, shot-tore blanket. 

"The hillmen an' their women an' the shiny hill kids give wide berth inpassin', an' make low salaams to the grave o' the terrible fightin'_sahib_ that put the fear o' God in the heart o' the wild Boh. An' it'sas Captain Fronte would wished--Oi know'd um well. 

"But, as Oi was sayin', the whiles Miss Fanny was tryin'--by nine timessix is forty-seven an' traject'ry an' muzzle v'locity an' fours rightan' holler squares--to wish the Boh offen the hilltop so he could marchus through the pass accordin' to Hoyle, Fronte McKim was off aheadamong the rocks, layin' on his belly behint a ant-hill studyin' thehillside through his spyglass. 

"Well, 'long 'bout noon he come gallopin' up, wi' his big black horseall a lather, to where we was layin' in the scrub cursin' the flies an'the department an' the outbreaks o' Bohs. 

"'Come on, boys!' he hollers, wi' the glitter in his eye; 'Oi found theway! All together now, an' we'll see the top o' yon hill or we'll seehell this day!'

"Wi' that he tears loose a yell 'twould strike a chill to the heart o'an iceberg, an' wheels his horse into the open--an' us in the saddlean' follerin', all yellin' like a hellful o' devils turned loose forrecess. "

The old man shifted his crutch and sipped at his liquor. 

"Most o' us seen the top o' the hill, " he resumed, "an' the brownhillmen, what of 'em wasn't layin' limp by the guns, a skitterin'through the scrub after a Boh who'd took off on a stray cavalry horse. 

"But they was a many o' us as didn't--layin' sprawled among the rockso' the bare hillside, an' their horses runnin' wild to keep up wi' thecharge. We found Captain Fronte wi' his whole front blow'd out by ashell an' his shoulders kind o' tumbled in where his lungsbelonged--but thim eyes was lookin' straight at the hilltop. 

"An' Oi looked in 'em long--for Oi loved him--an' was glad. 'Cause Oiknow'd Captain Fronte McKim was seein' hell--an' enjoyin' it. "

He set down the empty glass and favored Creed with a cold stare: "An'his eyes is like _that_--the stranger's--an' yours ain't, norMoncrossen's. "

CHAPTER XII

THE TEST

With only one-half of his journey behind him and the chill night-windwhipping through the unchinked crevices of the deserted shack; with theprospect of an unsavory supper of soggy sock-eye and a lump of frozenbread, Bill Carmody fervently wished himself elsewhere. 

His mind lingered upon the long row of squat, fat-footed shoe-packswhich the old man had indicated with his gnarled crutch. How good theywould feel after the grinding newness of his boots! And coffee--hecould see the row of tin pots hanging from their wires, and the long, flat slabs of bacon suspended from the roof-logs of the store. 

He found himself, for the first time in his life, absolutely dependentupon his own resources. He cut the top from a can of salmon and thawedout his bread on the top of the dirty stove. He had no cup, so he usedthe salmon-can, limping in stockinged feet to the spring near the door, whose black waters splashed coldly in a tiny rivulet that found its wayunder the frozen surface of a small creek. The water was clear andcold, but tasted disgustingly fishy from its contact with the can. 

As he entered the shack and closed the sagging door, his glance wasarrested by an object half concealed in the cobwebbed niche between thelintel and the sloping roof-logs--an object that gleamed shiny andblack in the dull play of the firelight. He reached up and withdrewfrom its hiding-place a round quart bottle, across whose top was pasteda familiar green stamp which proclaimed that the contents had beenbottled in bond. 

He carried it to the fire and with the sleeve of his mackinaw removedthe accumulated dust from the label. "Old Morden Rye, " he read aloud, holding it close to the firelight. And as he read his thoughts flewbackward to past delights. Here was an old friend come to cheer him inthe wilderness. 

He was no longer cold nor hungry, and before his eyes danced thebright, white lights of the man-made night of Broadway. His shouldersstraightened and the sparkle came into his eyes. Forgotten was hisdetermination to make good, and the future was a remote thing of nopresent moment nor concern. Once again he was Broadway Bill, the sport!

Carefully and deliberately he broke the seal and removed thecork-rimmed glass stopper, which he flung to a far corner of theroom--for that was Bill's way--to throw away the cork. There wasnothing small in his make-up; and for why is whisky, but to drink whileit lasts? And one cannot drink through a cork-rimmed stopper. So hethrew it away. 

Only that day as he had laboriously stepped off the long miles he hadthought with virtuous complacence of the completeness of hisreformation. 

He thought how he had refused to drink with Daddy Dunnigan from thesmeared and cloudy glass half-filled with the raw, rank liquor, acrossthe surface of which had trailed the tobacco-stained mustaches of thehalf-dozen unkempt men. 

A week before he had refused to drink good whisky with Appleton--butthat was amid surroundings against which he had fortified himself;surroundings made familiar by a little veneered table in the corner ofthe tile-floored bar of a well-known hotel, and while the spirit of hisdetermination to quit was strong upon him. Besides, it was good policy. 

Therefore, he ordered ginger ale; but Appleton drank whisky and notedthat the other eyed the liquor as the little beads rose to the top, andthat as he looked he unconsciously moistened his lips with histongue--just that little thing--as he looked at the whisky inAppleton's glass. By that swift movement Appleton understood, for heknew men--it was his business to know men--and then and there hedecided to send Bill to Moncrossen's camp, where it was whisperedwhisky flowed freely. 

Appleton had no son, and he felt strangely drawn toward the young manwhose eyes had held him from the time of their first meeting. But hemust prove his worth, and the test should be hard--and very thorough. 

Appleton realized that to place him in any one of the other camps, where the ban was on whisky, and where each smuggled bottle wasferreted out and smashed, would be no test. It is no credit to a man torefrain from whisky where no whisky is. 

But place a man who has created an appetite for whisky among men whodrink daily and openly, and enjoy it; who urge and encourage him to dolikewise; where whisky is continually before his eyes, and the richbouquet of it in his nostrils, and that _is_ a test. 

Appleton knew this, and knowing, he sent Bill to Moncrossen, and smiledas he bet with himself on the outcome. But there is one other test--thesupreme test of all, of which even Appleton did not know. 

Place this same man alone, tired out, hungry, thirsty, and cold, withevery muscle of his body crying its protest of aches against theoverstrain of a long day's work; surround him with every attribute ofphysical discomfort; with the future stretching away in a dull grayvista of uncertainty, and the memory strong upon him that the girl--theone girl in all the world--has ceased to believe in him--has ceased tocare; add to this the recollection of good times gone--times when goodliquor flowed freely among good fellows, and at this particularpsychological moment let him come suddenly and unexpectedly upon abottle of whisky--good whisky, of a brand of which he has alwaysapproved--_that_ is the acid test--and in writing this I know whereof Iwrite. 

And that is why Bill Carmody carefully and deliberately broke the sealand threw the cork away, and shook the bottle gently, and breathed deepof its fragrance, and smiled in anticipation as the little beads flewupward. 

The fire had died down, and he set the bottle on the floor beside himand reached for the firewood. As he did so a long, sealed envelope, tothe outside of which was tightly bound a photograph, fell to the floorfrom the inner pocket of his mackinaw. 

As he stooped to recover it his eyes encountered those of the picturegazing upward through the half-light. A flickering tongue of flameflared brightly for a moment and illumined the features, bringing outtheir expression with startling distinctness. 

It was the face of the girl. The flame died out, leaving the picturedlikeness half concealed in the soft semi-darkness of the dying embers. 

It seemed hours that the man sat motionless, staring into the upturnedeyes--those eyes into which he had so often gazed, but which were nowlost to him forever. And as he looked, other thoughts crowded hisbrain; thoughts of his father, and the scorn of their parting; thoughtsof the girl, of her words, and of his own boast: "_I_ can beat thegame! And I will beat it--now!. .. And some day you will know. "

His anger rose against the man whose own flesh and blood he was, whohad driven him from home with words of bitter sarcasm, and against thegirl and her sneering repudiation of him. He leaped to his feet andshook a clenched fist to the southward:

"I told you I would make good!" he roared, "and, by God, I will! I am aMcKim--do you hear? I am a McKim--and I shall make good!"

He reached for the bottle and placed it beside him on the pine table. He did not pour out the whisky, for he did not fear it--only if hedrank it need he fear. 

Just one little drink, and he was lost--and he knew this. And now heknew that he would never take that drink--and he looked at the bottleand laughed--laughed as the girl had laughed when she sent him from herforever. 

"It's no go, old boy, " he smiled, apostrophizing John Barleycorn. "Iserved you long--and well. But I quit. You would not believe that Iquit, and came out here to get me. And you almost got me. Almost, butnot quite, John, for I have quit for good and all. We can still befriends, only now I am the master and you are the servant, and to startout with, I am going to pour half of you over my blistered feet. "

He recovered the packet from the floor and looked long at the picture. "And some day you will know, " he repeated, as he returned it to hispocket. 

Thus did the lonely girl in a far distant city unconsciously win asilent victory for the man she loved--and who loved her. 

CHAPTER XIII

ON THE TOTE-ROAD

Very early in the morning on the day of the storm which had beenwelcomed by the lumber-jacks of the Blood River camp, old Wabishkestarted over his trap-line. 

The air was heavy with the promise of snow, and one by one the Indiantook up his traps and hung them in saplings that they might not beburied. 

After the storm, with the Northland lying silent under its mantle ofwhite, and the comings and goings of the fur-bearers recorded inpatterns of curious tracery, Wabishke would again fare forth upon thetrap-line. 

With wise eyes and the cunning of long practice, he would read the signin the snow, and by means of craftily concealed iron jaws and innocentappearing deadfalls, renew with increased confidence in his "winterset, " the world-old battle of skill against instinct. 

On the crest of a low ridge at the edge of the old chopping whereMoncrossen's new Blood River tote-road made a narrow lane in theforest, the Indian paused. 

In the stump-dotted clearing, indistinct in the sullen dimness of theovercast dawn, rotted the buildings of the abandoned log-camp. From oneof these smoke rose. Wabishke decided to investigate, for in theNorthland no smallest detail may pass unaccounted for. Swiftly hedescended the ridge and, gliding silently into the aftergrowth ofspindling saplings that reared their sickly heads among the stumps, gained the rear of the shack. Noiselessly he advanced, and, peeringbetween the unchinked logs, surveyed the interior. 

A man sat upon the floor near the stove and laboriously appliedbandages to his blistered feet. Near by was a new pack-sack againstwhich leaned a pair of new high-laced boots toward which the man shotwrathful glances as he worked. 

"_Chechako_, " muttered the Indian, and passed around to the door. 

A popular-fiction Indian would have glided stealthily into the shackand, with becoming dignity, have remarked "How. "

But Wabishke was just a common Indian--one of the everyday kind, thatmay be seen any time hanging about the trading-posts of theNorth-country--unimaginative, undignified--dirty. So he knocked loudlyupon the door and waited. 

"Come in!" called Carmody, and gazed in surprise at the newcomer, whostared back at him without speaking. Wabishke advanced to the stove, and, fumbling in the pocket of his disreputable mackinaw, produced avery old and black cob-pipe, which he gravely extended toward theother. 

"No, thanks!" said Bill hastily. "Got one of my own. "

He eyed with disfavor the short, thick stem, about the end of which waswound a bit of filthy rag, which served as a mouthpiece for the grip ofthe yellow fangs which angled crookedly at the place where a portion ofthe lip had been torn away in some long-forgotten combat of the wilds. 

"T'bacco, " grunted the visitor, with a greasy distortion of thefeatures which passed for a smile. 

"Oh, that's it? Well, here you are. "

Carmody produced a bright-colored tin box, which he handed to theIndian, who squatted upon his heels and regarded its exterior inthoughtful silence for many minutes, turning it over and over in hishand and subjecting every mark and detail of its lettered surface to aminute scrutiny. 

Finally with a grunt he raised the lid and contemplated the tobacco, which was packed evenly in thin slices. 

He stared long and curiously at his own distorted image, which wasreflected from the unpainted tin of the inside of the cover, feltcautiously of the paraffined paper, and, raising the box to his nose, sniffed noisily at the contents. 

Apparently satisfied, he removed a dozen or more of the slices andground them slowly between the palms of his hands. This done, he rammedpossibly one-tenth of the mass into the bowl of his ancient pipe andcarefully conveyed the remainder to his pocket. 

"Match?" he asked. And Bill passed over his monogrammed silvermatch-box, which received its share of careful examination, evidently, however, not meeting the approval accorded the gaudy tobacco-box. 

The Indian abstracted about one-half of the matches, which hetransferred to the pocket containing the tobacco. Then, calmlyselecting a dry twig from the pile of firewood, thrust the end througha hole in the broken stove, and after much noisy puffing at lengthsucceeded in igniting the tightly tamped tobacco in his pipe-bowl. 

"Thank you, " said Bill, contemplating his few remaining matches. "You're a bashful soul, aren't you? Did you ever serve a term in theLegislature?"

The Indian's command of English did not include a word Bill haduttered; nevertheless, his mangled lip writhed about the pipe-stem ingrotesque grin. 

"Boots!" he grunted, eying the bandaged feet. "No good!" and hecomplacently wriggled the toes in his own soft moccasins. Bill notedthe movement, and a sudden desire obsessed him to possess at any costthose same soft moccasins. 

Wabishke, like most Indians, was a born trader, and he was quick tonote the covetous glance that the white _chechako_ cast toward hisfootgear. 

"Will you sell those?" asked Bill, pointing toward the moccasins. TheIndian regarded them thoughtfully, and again the toes wriggledcomfortably beneath the pliable moose-skin covering. Bill tried again. 

"How much?" he asked, touching the moccasins with his finger. 

The Indian pondered the question through many puffs of his short pipe. He pointed to the new boots, and when Bill handed them to him hecarefully studied every stitch and nail of each. Finally he laid themaside and pointed to the tobacco-box, which he again scrutinized andlaid with the boots. 

"Match, " he said. 

"Get a light from the fire like you did before, you old fraud! I onlyhave a few left. "

"Match, " repeated the Indian, and Bill passed over his match-box, whichwas placed with the other items. Wabishke pointed toward the pack-sack. 

"Look here, you red Yankee!" exclaimed Bill. "Do you want my wholeoutfit for those things?"

The other merely shrugged and pointed first at the bandaged feet, andthen at the boots. One by one, a can of salmon, a sheath-knife, and ablue flannel shirt were added to the pile, and still Wabishke seemedunsatisfied. 

While the Indian pawed over the various articles of his pack, Billfound time to put the finished touches on his bandages, and, reachingunder the table, drew forth the whisky bottle and poured part of itscontents upon the strips of cloth. 

At the sight of the bottle the Indian's eyes brightened, and he reachedfor it quickly. Bill shook his head and set the bottle well out of hisreach. 

"Me drink, " the other insisted, and again Bill shook his head. TheIndian seemed puzzled. 

"No like?" he asked. 

"No like, " repeated Bill, and smiled grimly. 

Wabishke regarded him in wondering silence. In his life he had seenmany strange things, but never a thing like this--a white man who ofhis own choice drank spring-water from a fish-can and poured goodwhisky upon his feet!

The Indian's eyes wandered from the pile of goods to the bottle, inwhich about one-fourth of the contents remained, and realized that hewas at a disadvantage, for he knew by experience that a white man andhis whisky are hard to part. 

Selecting the can of salmon from the pile, he shoved it toward the man, who again shook his head. Then followed the match-box, thesheath-knife, and the shirt, until only the tobacco-box and the bootsremained, and still the man shook his head. 

Slowly the tobacco-box was handed back, and the Indian was eying theboots. Bill laughed. 

"No. You'll need those. Just hand over the moccasins, and you arewelcome to the boots and the booze. "

The Indian hastily untied the thongs, and the white man thrust hisbandaged feet into the soft comfort of the mooseskin moccasins. A fewminutes later he took the trail, following the windings of Moncrossen'snew tote-road into the North. 

The air was filled with a light, feathery snow, and, in spite of theache of his stiffened muscles, he laughed. 

"The first bottle of whisky _I_ ever entered on the right side of theledger, " he said aloud--and again he laughed. 

He was in the big timber now. The tall, straight pines of the Appletonholdings stretched away for a hundred miles, and formed a high wall oneither side of the tote-road, which bent to the contour of ridge andswamp and crossed small creeks on rough log bridges or corduroycauseways. 

Gradually the stiffness left him, and his aching muscles limbered totheir work. His moccasins sank noiselessly into the soft snow as mileafter mile he traversed the broad ribbon of white. 

At noon he camped, and over a tiny fire thawed out his bread and warmedhis salmon, which he washed down with copious drafts of snow-water. Then he filled his pipe and blew great lungfuls of fragrant smoke intothe air as he rested with his back against a giant pine and watched thefall of the snow. 

During the last hour the character of the storm had changed. Cold, drypellets, hissing earthward had replaced the aimless dance of thefeathery flakes, and he could make out but dimly the opposite wall ofthe rod-wide tote-road. 

He returned the remains of his luncheon to his pack, eying with disgustthe heel of the loaf of hard bread and the soggy, red mass of sock-eyethat remained in the can. 

"The first man that mentions canned salmon to me, " he growled, "isgoing to get _hurt_!"

The snow was ankle-deep when he again took the trail and lowered hishead to the sting of the wind-driven particles. On and on he plodded, lifting his feet higher as the snow deepened. As yet, in his ignoranceof woodcraft, no thought of danger entered his mind. "It is harderwork, that is all, " he thought; but, had he known it, his was asituation that no woodsman wise in the ways of the winter trails wouldhave cared to face. 

During the morning he had covered but fifteen of the forty miles whichlay between the old shack and Moncrossen's camp. Each minute added tothe difficulties of the journey, which, in the words of Daddy Dunniganwas "a fine two walks for a good man, " and, with the added hardship ofa heavy snowfall, would have been a man's-sized job for the best ofthem equipped, as they would have been, with good grub and snowshoes. 

Bill was forced to rest frequently. Not only were his softened musclesfeeling the strain--it was getting his wind, this steady bucking thesnow--but each time he again faced the storm and plowed doggedlynorthward. 

Darkness found him struggling knee-deep in the cold whiteness, and, ashe paused to rest in the shelter of a pile of tops left by the axe-men, the foremost of the gray shadows that for the last two hours had doggedhis footsteps, phantom-like, resolved itself into a very tangible pairof wicked eyes which smoldered in greenish points of hate above a verysharp, fang-studded muzzle, from which a long, red tongue lickedsuggestively at back-curled lips. 

CHAPTER XIV

AT BAY

Bill Carmody was no coward; but neither was he a fool, and for thefirst time the seriousness of his position dawned upon him. Othershapes appeared and ranged themselves beside their leader, and as theman looked upon their gaunt, sinewy leanness, the slavering jaws, andblazing eyes, he shuddered. Here, indeed, was a very real danger. 

He decided to camp. Fire, he remembered to have read, would hold thebrutes at bay. Wood there was in plenty, and, quickly clearing a spacein the snow, he soon had the satisfaction of seeing tiny tongues offlame crackle in a pile of dry branches. 

He unslung his light axe and attacked the limbs of a dead pine that layat the edge of the road. 

After an hour's work his cleared space was flanked on either side bypiles of dry firewood, and at his back the great pile of tops affordedshelter from the wind which swept down the roadway, driving before itstinging volleys of snow. 

He spread his blanket and drew from his pack the unappetizing food. Hewarmed the remaining half-can of salmon and whittled at his nubbin ofbread. 

"Dinner is served, sir, " he announced to himself, "dead fish withformaldehyde dressing, petrified dough, and _aqua nivis_. " The stormcontinued, and as he smoked the gravity of his plight forced itselfupon him. 

The laggards had caught up, and at the edge of the arc of firelight awide semicircle of insanely glaring eyeballs and gleaming fangs toldwhere the wolf-pack waited. 

There was a terrifying sense of certainty in their method. They took nochance of open attack, wasted no breath in needless howling orsnarling, but merely sat upon their haunches beyond the circle of thefirelight--waiting. 

Again the man shuddered. Before him, he knew, lay at least fifteenmiles of trail knee-deep with snow, and he had left but one smallration of unpalatable and unnutritious food. 

"I seem to be up against a tough proposition, " he mused. "What was itAppleton said about battle, murder, and sudden death? It looks fromhere as if the old boy knew what he was talking about. But it is kindof rough on a man to roll them all up into one bundle and hand it tohim right on the kick-off. "

He had heard of men who became lost in the woods and died horribly ofcold and starvation, or went down to the rush of the wolf-pack. 

"As long as I stick to this road I won't get lost, " he thought. "I mayfreeze to death, or starve, or furnish a cozy meal for the wolvesyonder, but even at that I still have the edge on those others--I'mdamned if I'm _lost_!"

And, strange as it may seem, the thought gave him much comfort. 

He tossed more wood on the fire and watched the shower of sparks whichshot high above the flames. 

"To-morrow will be my busy day, " he remarked, addressing the wolves. "Good night, you hell-hounds! Just stick around and see that nothingsneaks up and bites me. "

He hurled a blazing firebrand among the foremost of the hungry hoard, but these did not retreat--merely leaped back, snarling, to lurk in theouter shadows. 

Bill's sleep was fitful. The snow ceased to fall during the early hoursof the night, and the pair of blankets with which he had providedhimself proved entirely inadequate protection against the steadilyincreasing cold. 

Time and again he awoke and replenished the fire, for, no matter inwhat position he lay, one side of his body seemed freezing, while theother toasted uncomfortably in the hot glare of the flames. Andalways--just at the rim of the fire-light--sat the wolves, waiting intheir ominous circle of silence. 

But in the interims between these awakenings he slept profoundly, oblivious alike to discomfort and danger--as the dead sleep. 

At the first hint of dawn Bill hastily consumed the last of hisunpalatable food and resumed his journey. 

Hour after hour he toiled through the snow, and always the wolf-packfollowed, haunting his trail in the open roadway and flanking him inthe deep shade of the evergreen forest, moving tirelessly through theloose snow in long, slow leaps. 

Seventeen of them he counted--seventeen murderous, ill-visaged curs ofthe savage kill! And the leader of the pack was a very demon wolf. Amonstrous female, almost pure white, huge, misshapen, hideous--theultimate harridan of the wolf-breed--she stood a full two hands abovethe tallest of the rank and file of her evil clan. 

The foot and half of a foreleg had been left between iron jaws whereshe had gnawed herself out of a trap, and the shrunken stub, dependingfrom a withered shoulder, dragged over the surface of the snow, leavinga curious mark like the trail of a snake. 

The remaining foreleg was strong and thick and, from redistribution ofbalance, slanted inward from the massive shoulder, which was developedout of all proportion to its mate, giving the great white brute arepulsive, lopsided appearance. 

The long, stiff hair stood out upon her neck in a great ruff, whichaccentuated the fiendish ferocity of her, adding a hyena-like slope toher ungainly body. But it was in the expression of her face that shereached the climax of hideous malevolence. 

One pointed ear stood erect upon her head, while the other, mangled andtorn into a serried red excrescence, formed the termination of a broad, ragged scar which began at the corner of her mouth, giving her face theexpression of a fiendish grin that belied the green glare of hervenomous, opalescent eyes. 

The loss of the leg seemed in nowise to hamper her freedom of action. She moved ceaselessly among the pack with a peculiar bounding gallop, fawning in subtle cajolery upon those in the forefront, slashing rightand left among the laggards with vicious clicks of her long, whitefangs; and always she watched the tiring man who found his own gazefixed upon her in horrid fascination. 

There was something sinister in the wolf-pack's noiseless pursuit. Thebrutes drew nearer as the man's pace slowed to the wearying of hismuscles. 

Instinctively he knew that at the last there would be no waiting--nodelay. The very minute he sank exhausted into the snow they would beupon him--the great white leader and her rapacious horde--and in hisimagination he could feel the viselike clench of iron jaws and thetearing rip with which the quivering flesh would be stripped from hisbones. 

At midday the man placed the sheath-knife in his belt and threw awaythe pack. Relieved of the burden, his shoulders felt strangely light. There was a new buoyancy in his stride. 

But the relief was temporary, and as the sun sank early behind thepines his brain was again driving his wearied muscles to their work. 

The wolves were following close in now, and the silence of theirrelentless persistence filled the man with a dumb terror which nopandemonium of howling could have inspired. 

His advance was halting. Each step was a separate and consciousundertaking, and it was with difficulty that he lifted his moccasinsclear of the snow. 

Suddenly he stumbled. The leaders were almost upon him as he recoveredand faced them there in the white reach of the tote-road. They haltedjust out of reach of the swing of his axe, and as the man looked intotheir glaring eyes a frenzy of unreasoning fury seized him. 

His nerves could no longer stand the strain. Something seemed to snapin his brain, and through his veins surged the spirit of his fightingancestors. 

A sudden memory flash, as of deeds forgotten through long ages, andwith it came strength--the very abandon of fierce, brute strength of aman with the mind to kill. 

"Come on!" he cried. "Fight it out, you fiends! I may die, but I'll bedamned if I'll be hounded to death! You may get me, but you'll _fight_!When a McKim goes down some one pays! And if it is die--By God!There'll be fun in the dying!"

With a weird primordial scream, as the first man might have screamed inthe face of the first saber-tooth, he hurled his axe among them andsprang forward, flashing the cold, gray blade of his sheath-knife!

CHAPTER XV

THE WERWOLF

Now, as all men know, Bill Carmody had done a most foolish and insanething. 

But the very audacity of his act--and the god of chance--favored him, for as the axe whizzed through the air the keen edge of the whirlingbit caught one of the larger wolves full on the side of the head. 

There followed the peculiar, dull scrunching sound that stands aloneamong all other sounds, being produced by no other thing than thesudden crush of a living skull. 

The front and side of the skull lifted and turned backward upon itshinge of raw scalp and the wolf went down, clawing and biting, and overthe snow flowed thick red blood, and a thicker mucus of soft, wetbrains. 

At the sight and scent of the warm blood, the companions of thestricken brute--the gaunt, tireless leaders, who had traveled besidehim in the van, and the rag-tag and bobtail alike--fell upon him toothand nail, and the silence of the forest was shattered by the blood-cryof the meat-getters. 

Not so the great she-wolf, who despised these others that fought amongthemselves, intent only upon the satisfaction of their hunger. 

Her purpose in trailing this man to destruction was of deep vengeance:the assuagement of an abysmal hatred that smoldered in her heartagainst every individual of the terrible man kind, whose cruel traps ofiron, blades of steel, and leaden bullets had made her a monstrous, sexless thing, feared and unsought by mating males, hated of her ownbreed. 

And now, at the moment she had by the cunning of her generalshipdelivered this man an easy prey to her followers, they deserted her andfell in swinish greed upon the first meat at hand. 

So that at the last she faced her enemy alone, and the smoldering furyof her heart blazed green from her wicked eyes. She stood tense as apointer, every hair of her long white coat bristlingly aquiver. 

Suddenly she threw back her head, pointed her sharp muzzle to the sky, and gave voice to the long-drawn ululation which is the battle-cry ofwolves. 

Yet it was not the wolf-cry, for long ago the malformation of a healingthroat-wound had distorted the bell-like cry into a hideous scream likethe shriek of a soul foredamned, which quavered loud and shrill uponthe keen air and ended in a series of quick jerks, like stabs ofhorrible laughter. 

And then, with tight-drawn lips and jaws agape, she hurled herselfstraight at the throat of the stumbling man. 

 * * * * *

Darkness was gathering when, a mile to the northward, Jake LaFranz andIrish Fallon, who were laboring with six big horses and a rough logdrag to break out the trail, suddenly paused to listen. 

Through the thin, cold air rang a sound the like of which neither hadever heard. And then, as if in echo, the long-drawn wail of the greatwhite wolf. 

They stared at each other white-lipped; for that last cry was a thingmen talked about of nights with bated breath and deep curses. Neitherhad heard it before--nor would either hear it again--but eachrecognized the sound instinctively, as he would recognize the sound ofGabriel's trump. 

"It's _her_!" gasped LaFranz. "God save us! It's Diablesse--the_loup-garou_!"

"'Tis none other--that last. But, man! Man! The first wan! Was it ahuman cry or from the throat of another of her hell-begotten breed?"

Without waiting to reply the Frenchman swung the big six-team in theirtracks and headed them toward camp. But Irish Fallon reached for him ashe fumbled at the clevis. 

"Howld on, ye frog-eater! Be a man! If 'twas human tore loose that yellhe'll be the bether fer help, notwithstandin' there was more av foightnor fear in th' sound. "

"No, no, no! It's _her_! It's Diablesse!" He crossed himself. 

"Sure, an' ut is; bad cess to her altogether. But Oi got a hear-rt inme ribs o'good rid blood that takes relish now an' agin in a bit av afoight. An', man or baste, Oi ain't particular, so 'tis a good wan. Oi'll be goin' down th' thrail a piece an' see phwat's to see. Oi ain'taxin' ye to go 'long. Ye poor prayer-dhrivlin' haythen, wid yer limonav a hear-rt ye've got a yallar shtripe that raches to th' length an'width av ye. Ye'd be no good nohow. 

"But 'tis mesilf ain't fearin' th' evil eye av th' werwolf--an' she iscalled be the name av th' divil's own. 

"But listen ye here, ye pea-soup Frinchy! Ye'll not go shnakin' off widthim harses. Ye'll bide here till Oi come back. "

The other made a whimper of protest, but Irish Fallon reached out agreat hairy hand and shook him roughly. 

"Yez moind now, an' Oi mane ut! Here ye shtay. An' av ye ain't here, ye'd bether kape on goin'. F'r th' nixt toime Oi lay eyes on ye Oi'llbr-reak ye in two! An' don't ye fergit ut!"

The big Irishman turned and swung down the tote-road, the webs of hisrackets leaving a broad trail in the snow. LaFranz cowered upon thesnow-plow and sought refuge in craven prayer and curses the while heshot frightened glances into the darkening forest. 

He thought of cutting the horses loose and starting them for camp at arun. But, much as he feared the werwolf, he feared Irish Fallon more;for many were the tales of Fallon's man-fights when his "Irish was up. "

 * * * * *

When the white wolf sprang the man had nearly reached the snarlingpack. Before him, scarcely six feet away, lay his axe, the bladesmeared with blood and brains, to which clung stiff gray hairs. 

Instinctively he ducked and, as the huge form flashed past, his rightarm shot out straight from the shoulder. The long, clean blade enteredjust at the point of the brisket and, ranging upward, was buried to thehaft as the knife was torn from his grasp. 

One step and the man's fingers closed about the helve of his axe, andhe whirled to meet the second onslaught. 

But there was small need. The great brute stood still in her tracksand, with lowered head, snapped and wrenched at the thing that bit intoher very lungs. 

The stag-horn plates of the protruding hilt were splintered under theclamp of the mighty jaws, and the long, gleaming teeth made deep dentsin the brass beneath. Her lips reddened, and before her the snow wasflecked with blood. 

All this the man took in at a glance without conscious impression. Hegripped his weapon and sprang among the fighting pack, which ripped anddragged at the carcass of the dead wolf. 

Right and left he struck in a reckless fume of ferocity, which spoke ofunreasoning fights in worlds of savage firstlings. And under thesmashing blows of the axe wolves went down--skulls split, spinescrushed, ribs caved in--a side at a stroke, and shoulders were clovenclean and deep to pink sponge lungs. 

As if realizing that her hurt was mortal, the great she-wolf abandonedher attack on the knife-haft and, summoning her strength for a supremeeffort, sprang straight into the midst of the red shambles. 

The man, caught unawares, went down under the impact of her body. Forone fleeting second he stared upward into blazing eyes. From betweenwide-sprung rows of flashing fangs the blood-dripping tongue seemed towrithe from the cavernous throat, and the foul breath blew hot againsthis face. Instantly his strong fingers buried themselves in the shaggyfur close under the hinge of the jaw, while his other hand closed aboutthe dented brass of the protruding knife-hilt. 

With the whole strength of his arm he held the savage jaws from hisface as he wrenched and twisted at the firmly embedded knife. Finallyit loosened, and as the thick-backed blade was withdrawn from the woundit was followed by spurt after spurt of blood--bright, frothy blood, straight from the lungs, which gushed hot and wet over him. 

Blindly he struck; stabbing, thrusting, slashing at the great formwhich was pressing him deeper and deeper into the snow. Again and againthe knife was turned against rib and shoulder-blade, inflicting onlyshallow surface wounds. 

At length a heavy, straight upthrust encountered no obstacle of bone, and the blade bit deep and deeper into living flesh. 

As with a final effort the knife was driven home, a convulsive shiverracked the body of the great white wolf, and with a low, gurgling moanof agony her jaws set rigid, her muscles stiffened, and she toppledsidewise into the snow, where she lay twitching spasmodically withglazing eyes. 

Bill staggered weakly to his feet. 

The uninjured wolves had vanished, leaving their dead upon the snow, while the wounded left flat, red trails as they sought to drag theirbroken bodies to the cover of the forest. 

Irish Fallon rounded a turn of the tote-road. He brought up sharply andstared open-mouthed at the man who, sheath-knife in hand, stood lookingdown at an indistinct object which lay upon the blood-trampled snow. 

Carmody turned and shouted a greeting, but without a word the Irishmanadvanced to his side until he, too, stood looking down at the thing inthe snow. Suddenly Bill's hand was seized in a mighty grip. 

"Man! 'Tis _her_, an' no mistake! She's done for at lasht--an' blade tofang, in open foight ye've knoifed her! Sure, 'tis a gr-rand toimeye've had altogether, " he said, glancing at the carcasses, "wid sixdead besides her an' three more as good as. "

Bill laughed: "This wolf--the big white one--seems to enjoy areputation, then?"

"R-r-reputation! R-r-reputation, is ut? Good Lord, man! Don't ye knowher? 'Tis th' werwolf! D'ablish, th' _loup-garou_, the Frinchies callher; an' the white divil, the Injuns--an' good rayson, f'r to me ownknowledge she's kilt foive folks, big an' shmall, an' some Injunsbesides. They claim she's a divil, an' phwin she howls, 'tis becausesome sowl has missed th' happy huntin' grounds in th' dyin', an' she'slaughin'. "

"I don't know that I blame them, " said Bill. "She favored me with avocal selection. And, believe me, she was no mocking-bird. "

"Well, she looks dead, now, " grinned Fallon; "but we'd besht make sure. Owld man Frontenelle kilt her wunst. Seven year back, ut was over onMonish. 

"He shot her clean t'rough th' neck an' dhrug her to his cabin be th'tail. He was for skinnin' her flat f'r th' robe she'd make. He had herstretched out phwin wid a flash an' a growl, she was at um, an' wid wanclap av th' jaws she ripped away face an' half th' scalp. 

"They found um wanderin' blind on th' lake ice an' carried um toSkelly's phwere he died in tin days' toime av hydrophoby, shnarlin' an'bitin' at folks till they had to chain um in th' shtoreroom. "

As he spoke, Fallon picked up the axe, and with several well-directedblows shattered the skull of the werwolf against any possibility of arepetition of the Frontenelle incident. 

"But come, man, get yer rackets an' we'll be hittin' the thrail f'rcamp. Sure, Frinchy'll be scairt shtiff av we lave um longer. "

"Rackets?" asked Bill, with a look of perplexity. 

"Yer shnow shoes, av coorse. "

"Haven't got any. And I don't suppose I could use them if I had. " Theother stared at him incredulously. 

"Not got any! Thin how'd ye git here?"

"Walked--or rather, stumbled along. "

"Phwere from?"

"It started to snow as I left the old shack--the last one this way, Idon't know how far back. It was there I traded my boots to an Indianfor these. " He extended a moccasined foot. 

"'Tis a good job ye traded. But even at that--thirty-foive moilet'rough th' snow widout webs!" The Irishman looked at him in openadmiration. "An' on top av that, killin' th' werwolf wid a knoife, an'choppin' her pack loike so much kindlin's! Green, ye may be--an'ignorant. But, frind, ye've done a man's job this day, an' Oi'm pr-roudto know yez. "

Again he extended his hand and Bill seized it in a strong grip. Somehow, he did not resent being called green, and ignorant--he waslearning the North. 

"Fallon's me name, " the other continued, "an' be an accident av birth, Oi'm called Oirish, f'r short. "

"Mine is Bill, which is shorter, " replied Carmody, smiling. 

For just a second Irish hesitated as if expecting furtherenlightenment, but, receiving none, reached down and grasped the tailof the white wolf. 

"'Tis a foine robe she'll make, Bill, an' in th' North, among white minan' Injuns, 'twill give ye place an' shtandin'--but not widMoncrossen, " he added with a frown. 

"Come on along. Foller yez in behint, f'r th' thrail'll be fairbr-roke. Phwat wid two thrips wid th' rackets an' th' dhrag av th'wolf, 'twill not be bad. 'Tis only a mather av twinty minutes to phwereFrinchy'll bether be waitin' wid th' harses. "

CHAPTER XVI

MONCROSSEN

They found LaFranz waiting in fear and trembling. The heavy snow-plowwas left in readiness for the morrow's trail-breaking, and the horseshitched to a rough sled and headed for camp. 

"An' ye say Misther Appleton sint ye up to wor-rk in Moncrossen'scamp?" The two were seated on the log bunk at the back of the sledwhile the Frenchman drove, keeping a fearful eye on the white wolf. Forold man Frontenelle had been his uncle. 

"Yes, he told me to report here. "

"D'ye know Moncrossen?"

"No. "

"Well, ye will, ag'in' shpring, " Irish replied dryly. 

"What do you mean?" asked Bill. 

Irish shrugged. "Oi mane this, " he answered. "Moncrossen is a har-rdman altogether. He hates a greener. He thinks no wan but an owld handhas any business in th' woods, an' 'tis his boast that in wan seasonhe'll make a lumberjack or a corpse out av any greener. 

"An' comin' from Appleton hisself he'll hate ye worse'n ever, f'r he'llthink ye'll be afther crimpin' his bird's-eye game. Take advice, Bill, an' kape on th' good side av um av ye can. He'll t'row ut into ye widall manner av dhirty thricks, but howld ye're timper, an' maybe ye'llwinter ut out--an' maybe ye won't. "

"What is a bird's-eye game?"

Fallon glanced at him sharply. "D'ye mane ye don't know about th'bird's-eye?" he asked. 

"Not a thing, " replied Bill. 

"Thin listen to me. Don't ye niver say bird's-eye in this camp av yeexpect to winter ut out. "

Bill was anxious to hear more about the mysterious bird's-eye, but thesled suddenly emerged into a wide clearing and Irish was pointing outthe various buildings of the log camp. 

Bright squares of light showed from the windows of the bunk-house, office, and grub-shack, with its adjoining cook-shack, from the ironstovepipe of which sparks shot skyward in a continuous shower. 

Fallon shouldered the wolf and, accompanied by Bill, made toward thebunk-house, while the Frenchman turned the team toward the stable. 

"Ag'in' we git washed up, supper'll be ready, " announced Irish, as hedeposited the wolf carcass beside the door and entered. 

Inside the long, low room, lined on either side by a double row ofbunks, were gathered upward of a hundred men waiting the supper call. 

They were big men, for the most part, rough clad and unshaven. Manywere seated upon the edges of the bunks smoking and talking, othersgrouped about the three big stoves, and the tobacco-reeking air wasladen with the rumble of throaty conversation, broken here and there bythe sharp scratch of a match, a loud laugh, or a deep-growled, good-natured curse. 

Into this assembly stepped Irish Fallon, closely followed by Bill, thesight of whose blood-stained face attracted grinning attention. The twomen passed the length of the room to the wash-bench, where a fewloiterers still splashed noisily at their ablutions. 

"I heard it plain, I'm tellin' you, " some one was saying. "'Way off tothe south it sounded. "

"That ain't no lie, " broke in another, "I hearn it myself--jest beforedark, it was. An' I know! Didn't I hear it that night over on Ten Fork?The time she got Jack Kane's woman, four year ago, come Chris'mus. Yes, sir! I tell you the werwolf's nigh about this camp, an' it's me in offthe edges afore dark!"

"They say she never laughs but she makes a kill, " said one. 

"God! I was at Skelly's when they brought old man Frontenelle in, "added a big man, whose heavy beard was shot with gray, as he turnedfrom the stove with a shudder. 

"They's some Injuns trappin' below; she might of got one of them, "opined a short, stockily built man who, catching sight of thenewcomers, addressed Fallon:

"Hey, Irish, you was down on the tote-road; did you hear Diablesse?"

Fallon finished drying his face upon the coarse roller-towel and turnedtoward the group who waited expectantly. "Yis, Oi hear-rd her, allroight, " he replied lightly. "An' thin Oi _see'd_ her. "

Others crowded about, hanging upon his words. "An' thin, be way avshowin' me contimpt, " he added, "Oi dhrug her a moile or more t'roughth' woods be th' tail. "

Loud laughter followed this assertion; but not a few, especially amongthe older men, shook their heads in open disapproval, and mutteredcurses at his levity. 

"But me frind Bill, here, " Irish continued, "c'n tell ye more abouther'n phwat Oi kin. He's new in th' woods, Bill is; an' so damned greenhe know'd nayther th' manein' nor use av th' rackets. So, be gad, hecome widout 'em. Mushed two whole days t'rough th' shnow. 

"But, listen; no mather how ignorant, nor how much he don't know, agood man's a man--an' to pr-rove ut he jumps wid his axe roight intoth' middle av th' werwolf's own an' kills noine, countin' th' threecripples Oi finished. 

"But wid D'ablish herself, moind, he t'row'd away his axe an' goes to aclinch wid his knoife in his fisht. An' phwin 'tis over an' he pickshimsilf up out av th' shnow an' wipes th' blood from his eyes--herblood--f'r he comes out av ut widout scratch nor scar--D'ablish lays athis feet dead as a nit. "

Fallon gazed triumphantly into the incredulous faces of the men, and, with a smile, added, "'Twas thin Oi dhrug her be th' tail to th' sled, afther shmashin' her head wid th' axe to make sure. "

"An' where is she now, Irish?" mocked one. "Did she jump off the sledan' make a get-away?"

Over at the grub-shack the cook's half-breed helper beat lustily uponthe discarded saw-blade that hung suspended by a wire, and the mencrowded noisily out of the doors. 

"Oi'll show ye afther supper, ye damned shpalpeen, how much av her gotaway!" shouted Irish, who waited for Bill to remove the evidence of hisfight before piloting him to the grub-shack. 

A single table of rough lumber covered with brown oilcoth extended thefull length of the center of the room. Above this table six huge"Chicago burners" lighted the interior, which, as the two men entered, was a hive of noisy activity. 

Men scuffled for places upon the stationary benches arranged alongeither side of the table. Heavy porcelain thumped the board, and theair was filled with the metallic din of steel knives and forks beinggathered into bearlike hands. 

Up and down the wide alleys behind the benches hurried flunkies bearinghuge tin pots of steaming coffee, and the incessant returning of thickcups to their saucers was like the rattle of musketry. 

But the thing that impressed the half-famished Bill was the profusionof food; never in his life, he thought, had he beheld so tempting anarray of things to eat. Great trenchers of fried pork, swimming in itsown grease, alternated the full length of the table with huge pans ofbaked beans. 

Mountains of light, snowy bread rose at short intervals from amongfoot-hills of baked potatoes, steaming dishes of macaroni and stewedtomatoes, canned corn, peas, and apple sauce, and great yellow rolls ofbutter into which the knives of the men skived deeply. 

The two passed behind the benches in search of vacant places whensuddenly an undersized flunky stumbled awkwardly, dropping thecoffee-pot, which sent a wash of steaming brown liquid over the floor. 

Instantly a great, hulking man with a wide, flat face and low foreheadsurmounted by a thick thatch of black hair, below which two swinisheyes scintillated unevenly, paused in the act of raising a greatcalk-booted foot over the bench. 

The thick, pendulous lips under his ragged mustache curled backward, exposing a crenate row of jagged brown teeth. He stepped directly infront of the two men and, reaching out a thick hand caught theunfortunate flunky by the scruff as he regained his balance. 

From his lips poured an unbroken stream of vile epithets andsoul-searing curses while he shook the whimpering wretch with aviolence that threatened serious results, and ended by pinning himagainst the log wall and drawing back his huge arm for a terrificshoulder blow. 

The vicious brutality of the attack following so trivial an offensearoused Bill Carmody's anger. The man's back was toward him, and Billgrasped the back-drawn arm at the wrist and with an ungentle jerkwhirled the other in his tracks. 

The man released the flunky and faced him with a snarl. "Who donethat?" he roared. 

"I did. Hit me. I tripped him. "

Bill's voice was dead level and low, but it carried to the farthestreaches of the room, over which had fallen a silence of expectation. Men saw that the hard gray eyes of the stranger narrowed ominously. 

"An' who the hell are _you_?" The words whistled through the baredteeth and a flush of fury flooded the man's face. 

"What do you care? I tripped him. Hit me!" and the low, level toneblended into silence. It seemed a _thing_--that uncanny silence whennoise should have been. 

There were sounds--sounds that no one heeded nor heard--the heavybreathing of a hundred men waiting for something to happen--the thincreak of the table boards as men leaned forward upon hands whoseknuckles whitened under the red skin, and stared, fascinated, at thetwo big men who faced each other in the broad aisle. 

The swinish eyes of the brutish man glared malignantly into the grayeyes of the stranger, in which there appeared no slightest flicker ofrage nor hate, nor any other emotion. 

Only a cold, hard stare which held something of terrible intensity, accentuated by the little fans of whitening wrinkles which radiatedfrom their corners. 

In that instant the other's gaze wavered. He knew that this man hadlied; and he knew that every man in the room knew that he had lied. That he had deliberately lied into the row and then, without raisinghis guard, had dared him to strike. 

It was inconceivable. 

Had the man loudly shouted his challenge or thrown up his guard when hedared him to strike, or had his eye twitched or burned with anger, hewould have unhesitatingly lunged into a fight to the finish. 

But he found himself at a disadvantage. He was up against something hedid not understand. The calm assurance of the stranger--his fists werenot doubled and his lips smiled--disconcerted him. 

A strange, prickly chill tingled at the back of his neck, and in hisheart he knew that for the first time in his life he dared not strike aman. He cast about craftily to save his face and took his cue from theother's smile. With an effort his loose, thick lips twisted into agrin. 

"G'wan with yer jokin', stranger, " he laughed. 

"Y'u damn near made me mad--fer a minute, " and he turned to the table. 

Instantly a clatter of noise broke forth. Men rattled dishes nervouslyin relief or disappointment, and the room was filled with the rumble ofvoices in unmeaning chatter. But in the quick glances which passed fromman to man there was much of meaning. 

"God, man, that was Moncrossen!" whispered Fallon, when the two foundthemselves seated near the end of the table. Bill smiled. 

"Was it?" he asked. "I don't like him. "

CHAPTER XVII

A TWO-FISTED MAN

A half-hour later when Bill sought out the boss in the little office, the latter received him in surly silence; and as he read Appleton'snote his lip curled. 

"So you think you'll make a lumberjack, do you?"

"Yes. " There was no hesitation; nothing of doubt in the reply. 

"My crew's full, " the boss growled. "I don't need no men, let alone agreener that don't know a peavey from a bark spud. Wha'd the old mansend you up here for, anyhow?"

"That, I presume, is _his_ business. "

"Oh, it is, is it? Well, let me tell you first off--I'm boss of thishere camp!" Moncrossen paused and glared at the younger man. "You getthat, do you? Just you remember that what I say goes, an' I don't takeno guff offen no man, not even one of the old man's pets--an' that's_my_ business--see?"

Bill smiled as the scowling man crushed the note in his hand andslammed it viciously into the wood-box. 

"Wants you broke in, does he? All right; I'll break you! Ag'in' springyou'll know a little somethin' about logs, or you'll be so damn sick ofthe woods you'll run every time you hear a log chain rattle; an' eitherway, you'll learn who's boss of this here camp. "

Moncrossen sank his yellow teeth into a thick plug of tobacco and toreoff the corner with a jerk. 

"Throw yer blankets into an empty bunk an' be ready fer work in themornin'. I'll put you swampin' fer the big Swede--I guess that 'll holdyou. Yer wages is forty-five a month--an' I'm right here to see thatyou earn 'em. "

"Can I buy blankets here? I threw mine away coming out. "

"Comin' out! Comin' in, you mean! Men come _in_ to the woods. In thespring they go _out_--if they're lucky. Get what you want over to thevan; it'll be charged ag'in' yer wages. " Bill turned toward the door. 

"By the way, " the boss growled, "what's yer name--back where you comefrom?"

"Bill. "

"Bill what?"

"No. Just Bill--with a period for a full stop. And that's _my_business--see?" As Moncrossen encountered the level stare of the grayeyes he leered knowingly. 

"Oh, that's it, eh? All right, _Bill_! 'Curiosity killed the cat, ' asthe feller says. An' just don't forget to remember that what a mandon't know don't hurt him none. Loggin' is learned _in_ the choppin's. Accidents happens; an' dead men tells no tales. Them that keeps theireyes to the front an' minds their own business gen'ally wintersthrough. That's all. "

Bill wondered at the seemingly irrelevant utterances of the boss, butleft the office without comment. 

On the floor of the bunk-house Irish Fallon, assisted by several of themen, was removing the skin from Diablesse, while others looked on. 

The awkward hush that fell upon them as he entered told Bill that hehad been the subject of their conversation. Men glanced at himcovertly, as though taking his measure, and he soon found himselfrelating the adventures of the trail to an appreciative audience, whichgrinned approval and tendered flasks, which he declined. 

Later, as he helped Fallon nail the wolfskin to the end of thebunk-house he told him of the interview with Moncrossen. The Irishmanlistened, frowning. 

"Ye've made a bad shtar-rt wid um, " he said, shaking his head. "Ye eyed'im down in th' grub-shack, an' he hates ye fer ut. How ye got by widut Oi don't know, fer he's a scr-rapper from away back, an' av he'dsailed into ye Oi'm thinkin' he'd knocked th' divil out av ye, fer he'shad experience, which ye ain't. But he didn't dast to, an' he knows ut, an' he knows that the men knows ut. An' now he'll lay fer a chanst togit aven. Ut's th' besht ye c'n do--loike he says, kape th' two eyes avye to th' front an' moind yer own business--only kape wan eye behint yeto look out fer throuble. Phwat fer job did he give yez?"

"I am to start swamping, whatever that is, for the big Swede. "

The Irishman grinned. 

"Oi thoucht so; an' may God have mercy on yer sowl. "

"What is the matter with the Swede?"

"Mather enough. Bein' hand an' glove wid Moncrossen is good rayson tosuspicion any man. Fer t'is be the help av Shtromberg that Moncrossenkapes a loine on th' men an' gits by wid his crooked wor-rk. 

"He ain't long on brains nohow, Moncrossen ain't, an' he ain't a goodcamp-boss nayther, fer all he gits out th' logs. 

"Be bluff an' bullyin' he gits th' wor-rk out av th' crew; but av utwasn't that Misther Appleton lets um pay a bit over goin' wages, he'dhave no crew, fer th' men hate um fer all they're afraid av um. 

"Th' rayson he puts ye shwampin' fer th' big Swede is so's he'll kapean eye on yez. As long as ye do yer wor-rk an' moind yer own businessye'll get along wid him as well as another. But, moind ye, phwin th'bird's-eye shtar-rts movin' ye don't notice nothin, ' or some foineavenin' ye'll turn up missin'. "

"What is this bird's-eye thing?" asked Bill. "What has it got to dowith Moncrossen--and me?"

The Irishman considered the question and, without answering, walked tothe corner of the bunk-house near which they were standing and peeredinto the black shadow of the wall. Apparently satisfied, he returnedagain to where Bill was standing. 

"Come on in th' bunk-house, now, " he said. "I want to locate Shtrombergan' wan or two more. We'll sit around an' shmoke a bit, an' phwin theybegin rollin' in ye'll ask me phwere is th' van, fer ye must haveblankets an' phwat not. Oi'll go along to show ye, an' we'll take aturn down th' tote-road phwere we c'n talk widout its gittin' to th'ears av th' boss. "

Wondering at the man's precautions for secrecy, he followed, and for ahalf-hour listened to the fireside gossip of the camp. He noticed thatFallon's glance traveled over the various groups as if seeking someone, and he wondered which of the men was Stromberg. 

Suddenly the door was flung open and a huge, yellow-bearded man stampednoisily to the stove, disregarding the curses that issued from thebunks of those who had already turned in. 

This man was larger even than Moncrossen, with protruding eyes of chinablue, which stared weakly from beneath heavy, straw-colored eyebrows. Two hundred and fifty pounds, thought Bill, as the man, snortingdisagreeably, paused before him and fixed him with an insolent stare. 

"Hey, you! Boss says you swamp for me, " he snorted. Bill noddedindifferently. 

"You know how to swamp good?" he asked. Bill studied the toes of hismoccasins and, without looking up, replied with a negative shake of hishead. 

"I learn you, all right. In couple days you swamp good, or I fix you. "

Bill looked up, encountered the watery glare of the blue eyes, andreturned his gaze to the points of his moccasins. The voice of theSwede grew more aggressive. He snorted importantly as the men lookedon, and smote his palm with a ponderous fist. 

"First thing, I duck you in waterhole. Then I slap you to peak an'break off the peak. " The men snickered, and Stromberg, emboldened bythe silence of his new swamper, continued:

"It's time boys was in bed. To-morrow I make you earn your wages. "

Bill rose slowly from his seat, and as he looked again into the face ofthe big Swede his lips smiled. But Fallon noticed, and others, that inthe steely glint of the gray eyes was no hint of smile, and theywatched curiously while he removed his mackinaw and tossed itcarelessly onto the edge of a near-by bunk from where it slippedunnoticed to the floor. 

Stromberg produced a bottle, drank deep, and returned the flask to hispocket. He rasped the fire from his throat with a harsh, grating sound, drew the back of his hand across his mouth, and kicked contemptuouslyat the mackinaw which lay almost at his feet. 

As he did so a long, thick envelope, to which was tightly bound thephotograph of a girl, slipped from the inner pocket. Instantly hestooped and seized it. 

"Haw, haw!" he roared, "the greener's got a woman. Look, she's a----"

"Drop that!" The voice was low, almost soft in tone, but the words cutquick and clear, with no hint of gentleness. 

"Come get it, greener!" The man taunted as he doubled a huge fist, andheld the photograph high that the others might see. 

Bill came. He covered the intervening space at a bound, springingswiftly and straight--as panthers spring; and as his moccasined feettouched the floor he struck. Once, twice, thrice--and all so quicklythat the onlookers received no sense of repeated effort. 

The terrific force of the well-placed blows, and their deadly accuracy, seemed to be consecutive parts of a single, continuous, smoothlyflowing movement. 

In the tense silence sounds rang sharp--the peculiar smack of livingflesh hard hit, as the first blow landed just below the ear, the dullthump of a heavy body blow, and the clash of teeth driven against teethas the sagging jaw of the big Swede snapped shut to the impact of thelong swing that landed full on his chin's point. 

The huge form stiffened, spun half-way around, and toppled sidewiseagainst a rack of drying garments, which fell with a crash to thefloor. 

Without so much as a glance at the ludicrously sprawled figure, Billpicked up his mackinaw and returned the envelope to the pocket. 

"Irish, " he asked, "where is the van? I must get some blankets. Mynurse, there, says it's time to turn in. "

"Oi'll go wid ye, " said Fallon, and a roar of laughter followed themout into the night. 

CHAPTER XVIII

"BIRD'S-EYE" AND PHILOSOPHY

Bill quickly made his purchases, and shouldering the roll of blankets, followed Irish to the head of a rollway, where the two seatedthemselves on the bunk of a log sled. 

"Oi don't know how ye done ut, " Fallon began. "'Twas th' handiest bitav two-fisted wor-rk Oi iver see'd. 'Tis well ye've had ut out widShtromberg. Fer all his crookedness, he's a bether man thin th' boss, an' he'll not be layin' that lickin' up ag'in yez. 'Twas a foight avhis own pickin', an' he knows ye've got him faded. 

"Aven av he w'ud of befoor, he'll see to ut that no har-rm comes to yenow t'rough fault av his own, fer well he knows the men 'ud think 'twasdone to pay ye back, an' he'll have no wish to play th' title rôle at ahangin'. 

"From now on, 'tis only Moncrossen ye'll have to watch, fer ye're ingood wid th' men. We undershtand ye now. Ye see, in th' woods we don'tloike myshtery an', whiles we most av us know that Moncrossen's givin'Appleton th' double cross, 'tis none av our business, an' phwin wethoucht ye'd come into th' woods undher false pretinces to catch um atut, they was more or less talk. 

"Mesilf was beginnin' to think ye'd come into th' woods fer th' ristcure, ye read about in th' papers, seein' ye'd loafed about fer maybeit's foive hours an' done nothin' besides carve up th' werwolf an' herpack, eye down th' boss in his own grub-shack, an' thin top off th'avenin' be knockin' th' big Swede cold, which some claims he c'ud putth' boss himself to th' brush, wunst he got shtar-rted. But now we knowphy ye're here. We're pr-roud ye're wan av us. "

"What do you mean--you know why I am here? I am here because I needed ajob, and Appleton hired me. "

"Sure, lad. But, ye moind th' picture in yer pocket. 'Twas a woman. "

"But----"

"'Tis none av our business, an' 'tis nayther here nor there. Av there'sa woman at th' bottom av ut, 'tis rayson enough--phwativer happens. "

Bill laughed. 

"You were going to tell me about the bird's-eye, " he reminded. 

"Ut's loike this: Here an' yon in th' timber there's a bird's-eyetree--bird's-eye maple, ye know. 'Tis scarce enough, wid only a treenow an' again, an' ut takes an expert to spot ut. 

"Well, th' bird's-eye brings around a hundred dollars a thousan', an'divil a bit av ut gits to Appleton's mills. 

"Moncrossen's got a gang--Shtromberg's in ut, an' a Frinch cruisernamed Lebolt, an' a boot-leggin' tree-spotter named Creed, that livesin Hilarity, an' a couple av worthless divils av sawyers that's toolazy fer honest wor-rk, but camps t'rough th' winter, trappin' ansawin' bird's-eye an calico ash on other men's land. 

"Shtromberg'll skid till along toward sphring phwin he'll go toteamin'. Be that toime th' bird's-eye logs'll be down, here an' therein th' woods beyant th' choppin's, an' Shtromberg'll haul um an' bankum on some river; thin in th' summer, Moncrossen an' his men'll slipup, toggle um to light logs so they'll float, an' raft um to th'railroad phwere there'll be a buyer from th' Eastern vaneer millswaitin'. 

"Ut's a crooked game, shtealin' Appleton's logs, an' haulin' um widAppleton's teams, an' drawin' Appleton's wages fer doin' ut. 

"Now, bechune man an' man, th' big Swede's th' brains av th' gang. He'sa whole lot shmar-rter'n phwat he lets on. Such ain't th' nature avmen, but 'tis th' way av women. "

Irish thoughtfully tamped his pipe-bowl, and the flare of the matchbetween his cupped palms brought out his honest features distinctly inthe darkness. Bill felt a strong liking for this homely philosopher, and he listened as the other eyed him knowingly and continued:

"'Tis be experience we lear-rn. An' th' sooner a man lear-rns, th'bether ut is fer um, that all women know more thin they let on--an'they've always an ace fer a hole car-rd bekase av ut. 

"Fer women run men, an' men politics, an' politics armies, an' armiesth' wor-rld--an' at th' bottom av ut all is th' wisdom an' schemin' avwomen. 

"Phwin a man fools a woman, he's a fool--fer she ain't fooled at all. But, she ain't fool enough to let on she ain't fooled, fer well sheknows that as long as she knows more thin he thinks she knows, sheholds th' edge--an' th' divil av ut is, she does. 

"Take a man, now; phwin ye know um, ye know um. He's always willin' toadmit he's as shmar-rt as he is, or a damn soight shmar-rter, whichdon't fool no wan, fer 'tis phwat they expect. 

"A man c'n brag an' lie about phwat he knows, an' phwere he's been, an'phwat he's done; an' noine toimes out av tin, ye cud trust him to th'inds av th' earth wid ye're lasht dollar. 

"But wanst let um go out av his way to belittle himsilf an' phwat heknows, an' Oi w'udn't trust him wid a bent penny as far as Oi cud t'rowa bull be th' tail fer 'tis done wid a purpose. 'Tis so widShtromberg. "

Fallon arose, consulted his watch, and led the way toward thebunk-house. 

"So now ye know fer phwy Moncrossen hates ye, " he continued. "He knowsye're a greener in th' woods, but he knows be this toime ye'll be ahar-rd man to handle, an' he fears ye. Oi've put ye wise to th'bird's-eye game so ye c'n steer clear av ut, an' not be gittin' mixedup in ut wan way or another. "

"I am much obliged, Fallon, for what you have told me, " replied Billquietly; "but inasmuch as I am working for Appleton, I will just makeit my business to look after his interests in whatever way possible. Iguess I will take a hand in the bird's-eye game myself. I am not afraidof Moncrossen and his gang of thieves. Anyway, I will give them a runfor their money. "

Fallon shrugged. 

"D'ye know, Oi thoucht ye'd say that. Well, 'tis ye're own funeral. Tellin' ye about me, Oi ain't lost no bird's-eye trees, mesilf, but avye need help--Be th' way, th' bunk above mine's empty; ye moight t'rowye're blankets in there. "

CHAPTER XIX

A FRAME-UP

In the days that followed Bill threw himself into the work with a vigorthat won the approval of the men. A "top" lumber crew is asmooth-running machine of nice balance whose working units areinterdependent one upon another for efficiency. One shirking orinexperienced man may appreciably curtail the output of an entire campand breed discontent and dissatisfaction among the crew. But with Billthere was no soldiering. He performed a man's work from thestart--awkwardly at first, but, with the mastery of detail acquiredunder the able tutelage of Stromberg, he became known as the bestswamper on the job. 

Between him and the big Swede existed a condition of armed neutrality. Neither ever referred to the incident of the bunk-house, nor did eithershow hint of ill-feeling toward the other. The efficiency of eachdepended upon the efforts of the other, and neither found cause forcomplaint. 

With the crew working to capacity to supply Appleton's demand for tenmillion feet of logs, there was little time for recreation. Nevertheless, Bill bought a pair of snowshoes from a passing Indianand, in spite of rough weather and aching muscles, utilized stormy daysand moonlight nights in perfecting himself in their use. 

He and Fallon had become great chums and contrary to the Irishman'sprediction, instead of hectoring the new man, Moncrossen left himseverely alone. 

And so the routine of the camp went on until well into February. Theclearing widened, the timber line receded, and tier upon tier of logswas pyramided upon the rollways. As yet Bill had made noprogress--formulated no definite plan for the detection and ultimateexposure of the gang of bird's-eye thieves. 

Occasionally men put up at the camp for a short stay. Creed and Leboltwere the most frequent visitors, but neither gave evidence of beingother than he appeared to be--Creed a hunter seeking to dispose ofvenison taken out of season, and Lebolt a company cruiser engaged inestimating timber to the northward. 

It was about this time that Bad Luck, that gaunt specter that lurksunseen in the shadows and hovers over the little lives of men for theworking of harm, swooped down upon the camp and in a series of untowardhappenings impaired its efficiency and impregnated the atmosphere withthe blight of discontent. 

An unprecedented thaw set in, ruining the skidways and reducing thesnow of the forest to a sodden slush that chilled men to the bone asthey floundered heavily about their work. 

Reed and Kantochy, two sawyers, were caught by a "kick-back. " One ofthe best horses was sweenied. A teamster who fell asleep on the top ofhis load awoke in the bottom of a ravine with a shattered arm, a deadhorse, and a ruined log-sled. Bill's foot was mashed by a rolling log;and last, and most far-reaching in its effect, the cook contractedspotted fever and died in a reverse curve. 

Moncrossen raged. From a steady eighty thousand feet a day the outputdropped to seventy, sixty, fifty thousand--and the end was not insight. Good-natured banter and friendly tussles among the men gaveplace to surly bickering and ugly fist-fighting, and in spite of thebest efforts of the second cook the crew growled sullenly or openlycursed the grub. 

Then it was that Moncrossen knew that something must be done--and thatsomething quickly. He shifted Stromberg and Fallon to the sawing crew, made a skidder out of a swamper, and filled his place with a grub-shackflunky. 

Then one afternoon he dropped in upon Bill in the bunk-house, wherethat young man sat fuming at his inaction with his foot propped up onthe edge of a bunk. 

"How's the foot?" growled the boss. 

"Pretty sore, " answered Bill, laying aside a magazine. "Swelling isgoing down a bit. "

"Ever handle horses?"

"Yes, a few. "

The boss cleared his throat and proceeded awkwardly. 

"I don't like to ask no crippled man to work before he's able, " hebegan grudgingly. "But things is goin' bad. What with them two pilgrimsthat called theirselves sawyers not bein' able to dodge a kick-back, an' Gibson pickin' a down-hill pull on an iced skidway for to go tosleep on his load, an' your gettin' pinched, an' the cook curlin' upan' dyin' on us, an' the whole damned outfit roarin' about the grub, there's hell to pay all around. "

He paused and, receiving no answer, shot a crafty look at the manbefore him. 

"Now, if you was able, " he went on, "you c'd take the tote-sled down toHilarity an' fetch us a cook. It seems like that's the onliest way;there ain't nary 'nother man I c'n spare--an' he's a good cook, oldDaddy Dunnigan is, if he'll come. He's a independent old cuss--work ifhe damn good an' feels like it, an' if he don't he won't. 

"If you think you c'n tackle it, I'll have the blacksmith whittle youout a crutch, an' you c'n take that long-geared tote team an' makeHilarity in two days. They's double time in it for you, " he added, as amatter of special inducement. 

Bill did not hesitate over his decision. 

"All right; I think I can manage, " he said. "When do I start?"

"The team'll be ready early in the mornin'. If you start about fouro'clock you c'n make Melton's old No. 8 Camp by night without crowdin''em too hard. It's the first one of them old camps you strike, and youc'n stable the horses without unharnessin'; just slip off the bridlesan' feed 'em. "

Bill nodded. At the door Moncrossen halted and glanced at himpeculiarly. 

"I'm obliged to you, " he said. "For a greener, you've made a good hand. I'll have things got ready. "

Bill was surprised that the boss had paid him even this grudgingcompliment, and as he sat beside the big stove, puzzled over thepeculiar glance that had accompanied it. 

In a few minutes, however, he dismissed the matter and turned again to, his six-months-old magazine. Could he have followed Moncrossen andoverheard the hurried conversation which took place in the littleoffice, he would have found food for further reflection, but of this heremained in ignorance; and, all unknown to him, a man left the office, slipped swiftly and noiselessly into the forest, and headed southward. 

"'Tis a foine va-acation ye're havin' playin' nurse fer a pinched toe, an' me tearin' out th' bone fer to git out th' logs on salt-horse an'dough-gods 't w'd sink a battle-ship. 'Tis a lucky divil ye ar-realtogither, " railed Fallon good-naturedly as he returned from supperand found Bill engaged in the task of swashing arnica on his bruisedfoot. 

"Oh, I don't know. I'll be back in the game to-morrow. "

"To-morry!" exclaimed Irish, eying the swollen and discolored memberwith a grin. "Yis; ut'll be to-morry, all right. But 'tis a shame towaste so much toime. Av ye c'd git th' boss to put ye on noight shifticin' th' skidways, ye wudn't have to wait so long. "

"It's a fact, Irish, " laughed Bill. "I go on at 4 A. M. To-morrow. "

"Fure A. M. , is ut? An' phwat'll ye be doin'? Peelin' praties fer thatdommed pisener in th' kitchen. Ye've only been laid up t'ree days an'talk av goin' to wor-rk. Man! Av Oi was lucky enough to git squoseloike that, Oi'd make ut lasht a month av Oi had to pour ink on me footto kape up th' color. "

"I'm going to Hilarity for a cook, " insisted Bill. "Moncrossen saysthere is a real one down there--Daddy Dunnigan, he called him. "

"Sure, Dunnigan'll not come into th' woods. An' phy shud he? Wid moneyin th' bank, an' her majesty's--Oi mane, his nibs's pension comin' inivery month, an' his insides broke in to Hod Burrage's whisky--phwatmore c'd a man want?"

"The boss thinks maybe he'll come. Anyway, I am going after him. "

"Ye shud av towld um to go to hell! Wor-rkin' a man wid a foot loikethat is croolty to animals; av ye was a harse he'd be arrested. "

"He didn't tell me to go. He is crowded for men; the grub is rotten;something has to be done; and he asked me if I thought I could makeit. "

Irish pulled thoughtfully at his pipe, and slowly his brows drewtogether in a frown. 

"He said ye c'd make ut in two days?" he inquired. 

"Yes. The tote-road is well broken, and forty miles traveling lightwith that rangy team is not such an awful pull. "

"An' he towld ye phwere to camp. It'll be Melton's awld No. 8, where yecamped comin' in?"

"Yes. "

Fallon nodded thoughtfully, and Bill wondered what was passing in hismind. For a long time he was silent, and the injured man responded tothe hearty greetings and inquiries of the men returning from thegrub-shack. 

When these later had disposed themselves for the evening, the Irishmanhunched his chair closer to the bunk upon which Bill was sitting. 

"At Melton's No. 8, Oi moind, th' shtables is a good bit av a way fromth' rist av th' buildin's, an' hid from soight be a knowl av ground. "

"I don't remember the stables, but they can't be very far; they are inthe clearing, and Moncrossen had the blacksmith make me a crutch. "

"A crutch, is ut? A crutch! Well, a man ud play hell makin' foortymoiles on a crutch in th' winter--no mather how good th' thrail wasbroke. "

"Forty miles! Look here, Irish--what are you talking about? I thoughtyour bottle had been empty for a week. "

"Impty ut is--which me head ain't. Listen: S'posin'--just s'posin', moind yez Oi'm sayin'--a man wid a bum leg was camped in th' shack avMelton's No. 8, an' th' harses in th' shtable. An' s'posin' some oneshnaked in in th' noight an' stole th' harses on um an' druv 'em toHilarity, an' waited f'r th' boss to sind f'r 'em. An' s'posin' a wakewint by befoor th' boss c'd sind a man down to look up th' team he'dsint f'r a cook, wid orders to hurry back. An' s'posin' he found th'bum-legged driver froze shtiff on th' tote-road phwere he'd made out tohobble a few moiles on his crutch--phwat thin? Why, th' man was agreener, an', not knowin' how to handle th' team, they'd got away fromum. "

Bill followed the Irishman closely, and knew that he spoke with apurpose. His eyes narrowed, and his lips bent into that cold smilewhich the men of the camp had come to know was no smile at all, but abattle alarm, the more ominous for its silence. 

"Do you mean that it is a frame-up? That Moncrossen----" Fallon silencedhim with a motion. 

"Whist!" he whispered and glanced sharply about him, then leaned overand dug a stiffened forefinger into the other's ribs. "Oi don't manenothin'. But 'tis about toime they begun bankin' their bird's-eye. 

"Creed et dinner in camp, but he never et supper. Him an' th' boss mademedicine in th' office _afther_ th' boss talked to ye. Put two an' twotogither an' Oi've towld ye nothin' at all; but av ye fergit ut Oi'llsee that phwat th' wolves lave av th' bum-legged teamster is buriedproper an' buried deep, an' Oi'll blow in tin dollars f'r a mass f'rhis sowl. 

"Av ye _don't_ fergit ut, ye moight fetch back a gallon jug av HodBurrage's embalmin' flooid, f'r me inwards is that petrified be th'grub we've been havin' av late, they moight mishtake ut f'r raleliquor. Good-by, an' good luck--'tis toime to roll in. "

CHAPTER XX

A FIRE IN THE NIGHT

The sledding was good on the tote-road. 

The thaw that ruined the iced surface of the skid-ways was followed byseveral days of freezing weather that put a hard, smooth finish on thedeep snow of the longer road, over which the runners of the box-bodiedtote-sled slipped with scarcely any resistance to the pull of thesharp-shod team. 

Bill Carmody, snugly bundled in robes in the bottom of the sled, idlywatched the panorama of tree-trunks between which the road twisted inan endless succession of tortuous windings. 

It was not yet daylight when he rounded the bend which was the scene ofhis fight with the werwolf. 

But by the thin, cold starlight and the pale luminosity of the fadingaurora, he recognized each surrounding detail, and wondered at theaccuracy with which the trivialities of the setting had beensubconsciously impressed upon his memory. 

It was here he had first met Fallon, and he remembered the undisguisedapproval in the Irishman's voice and the firm grip of the hand thatwelcomed him into the comradery of the North-men as he stood, faintfrom hunger and weary from exertion, staring dully down at themisshapen carcass of Diablesse. 

"Good old Irish, " he muttered, and smiled as he thought of himself, Bill Carmody, proud of the friendship of a lumberjack. 

He had come to know that in the ceaseless whirl of society the heaviertimbers--the real men are thrown outward--forced to the very edges ofthe bowl, where they toil among big things upon the outskirts ofcivilization. 

He pulled off his heavy mitten and fumbled for his pipe. In theside-pocket of his mackinaw his hand encountered an object--hard andcold and unfamiliar to his touch. 

He withdrew it and looked at the wicked, blue-black outlines of anautomatic pistol. Idly he examined the clip, crowded with shiny, yellowcartridges. He recognized the gun as Fallon's, and smiled as hereturned it to his pocket. 

"Only in case of a pinch, " he grinned, and glanced approvingly at thefist that doubled hard to the strong clinch of his fingers. 

Hour after hour he slipped smoothly southward, relieving the monotonyof the journey by formulating his plan of action in case theforebodings of Fallon should be realized. 

Personally he apprehended no trouble, but he made up his mind thattrouble coming should not find him unprepared. 

When at last the team swung into the clearing of Melton's old No. 8, the stars winked in cold brilliance above the surrounding pines, andthe deserted buildings stood lifeless and dim in the deepening gloom. 

Bill headed the horses for the stable which he found, as Irish had toldhim, located at some distance from the other buildings and cut off fromsight by a knoll and a heavy tangle of scrub that had sprung up in theclearing. 

He climbed stiffly and painfully from the sled-box, and with the aid ofhis crutch, hobbled about the task of unhitching the horses. He wateredthem where a plume of thin vapor disclosed the whereabouts of anever-freezing spring which burbled softly between its low, ice-encrusted banks. 

It proved a difficult matter, crippled as he was, to handle the horses, but at length he got them into the stable, chinked the brokenfeed-boxes as best he could, and removed the bridles, hanging them uponthe hames. 

He closed the door and, securing his lantern, blankets, andlunch-basket, made his way toward the old shack where he had spent hisfirst night in the timber land. 

The sagging door swung half open, and upon the rough floor thesnow-water from the recent thaw had collected in puddles and frozen, rendering the footing precarious. 

Bill noted with satisfaction that there still remained a goodly portionof the firewood which he had cut and carried in upon his previousvisit, and he soon had a fire roaring in the rusty stove. 

He was in no hurry. He knew that any attempt to make away with the teamwould be delayed until the thief believed him to be asleep, and hisplans were laid to the minutest detail. 

Setting the lantern upon the table, he proceeded to eat his lunch, after which he lighted his pipe, and for an hour smoked at thefireside. In spite of the pain of his injured foot his mind wanderedback to the events of his first visit to the shack. 

There, in the black shadow of the pile of firewood, lay the emptywhisky bottle where the Indian had tossed it after drinking the lastdrop of its contents. 

Carmody stared a long time at this silent reminder of his first seriousbrush with King Alcohol, then, from the inner pocket of his mackinaw, he drew the sealed packet and gazed for many minutes at the likeness ofthe girl--dimming now from the rub of the coarse cloth of the pocket. 

Suddenly a great longing came over him--a longing to see this girl, tohear the soft accents of her voice and, above all, to tell her of hisgreat love for her, that in all the world there was no woman but her, and that each day, and a hundred times each day, her dear face wasbefore his eyes, and in his ears, ringing above the mighty sounds of afalling forest, was the soft, sweet sound of her voice. 

He could not speak to her, but she could speak to him, even if it werebut a repetition of the words of the letters he already knew by heart, but which had remained sealed in the envelope ever since the day he bidfarewell to Broadway--and to _her_. 

His fingers fumbled at the flap of the heavy envelope. He could atleast feast his eyes upon the lines traced by her pen and press hislips to the page where her little hand had rested. 

His foot throbbed with dull persistence. He was conscious of beingtired, but he must not sleep this night. Rough work possibly, at anyrate, a man's work, awaited him there in the gloom of the silentclearing. 

Again his eye sought the whisky bottle and held. His fingers ceased totoy with the flap, for in that moment the thought came to him that hadthe bottle not been empty, had it been filled with liquor--strongliquor--with the pain in his foot and the stiffness of his tiredmuscles and the work ahead--well, he might--for the old desire wasstrong upon him--he might take a drink. 

"Not yet, " he muttered, and returned the packet to his pocket unopened. "I told her I would beat the game. I've bucked old John Barleycorn'sline and scored a touchdown; the hardest of the fighting is past, butthere is just a chance that I might miss goal. "

Bill looked at his watch; it was eight o'clock. He stood up, wincing ashis injured foot touched the floor, and hobbled across the room wherehe wrenched a rough, split shelf from the wall. This, together withsome sticks of firewood, he rolled in a blanket, placing it near thestove. He added more wood until the bundle was about the size and shapeof a man, and covered it with his other two blankets. Filling thebroken stove with wood he blew out the lantern and limped silently outinto the night. 

Two hours later Creed, bird's-eye spotter and bad man of the worn-outlittle town of Hilarity, knocked the ashes from his pipe and held aglowing brand to the dial of his watch. 

"The greener should be asleep by now, " he muttered, and, rolling hisblanket, kicked snow over the remnant of his camp-fire, picked up hisrifle, and ascended the steep side of a deep ravine lying some twohundred yards to the westward of the clearing where Bill Carmody hadencamped for the night. 

After leaving Moncrossen's office on the previous afternoon he hadtraveled all night, and reached Melton's old No. 8 in the earlymorning. 

All day he had slept by the side of his fire in the bottom of theravine, and in the evening had lain in the cover of the scrub andwatched the greener stable the horses and limp to the deserted shack. 

At heart Creed was a craven, a bullying swashbuckler, who bragged andblustered among the rheumy-eyed down-and-outers who nightlyforegathered about Burrage's stove, but who was servile and cringing asa starved puppy toward Moncrossen and Stromberg, who openly despisedhim. 

They made good use of his ability to "spot" a bird's-eye tree as far ashe could see one, however, an ability shared by few woodsmen, and whichin Creed amounted almost to genius. 

The man had never been known to turn his hand to honest work, but as atimber pirate and peddler of rotgut whisky among the Indians, he hadarisen to comparative affluence. 

His hate for the greener was abysmal and unreasoning, and had beencarefully fostered by Moncrossen who, instinctively fearing that thenew man would eventually expose his nefarious double-dealing with hisemployer, realized that at the proper time Creed could be induced to doaway with the greener under circumstances that would leave him, Moncrossen, free from suspicion. 

In the framing of Bill Carmody, Stromberg had no part. Moncrossen couldnot fathom the big Swede, upon whose judgment and acumen he had come torely in the matter of handling and disposing of the stolen timber. 

Several times during the winter he had tentatively broached plans andinsinuated means whereby the Swede could "accidentally" remove hisswamper from their path. 

The reversing of a hook which would cause a log to roll just at theright time on a hillside; the filing of a link; the snapping of aweakened bunk-pin, any one of these common accidents would render themsafe from possible interference. 

But to all these suggestions Stromberg turned a deaf ear. The boss eventaunted him with the knock-out he had received at the hands of thegreener. 

"That's all right, Moncrossen, " he replied; "I picked the fight purposeto beat him up. It didn't work. He's a better man than me--or youeither--an' you know it. Only he had to lick me to prove it. He chilledyour heart with a look an' a grin--an' the whole crew lookin' on. 

"But beatin' up a man is one thing an' murder is another. Appleton'srich, besides he's a softwood man an' ain't fixed for handlin' veneer, so I might's well get in on the bird's-eye as let you an' Creed an'Lebolt steal it all. But I ain't got to the point where I'd murder agood man to cover up my dirty tracks--an' I never will!"

And so, without consulting Stromberg, Moncrossen bided his time andlaid his plans. And now the time had come. The plan had been gone overin detail in the little office, and Creed in the edge of the timberstood ready to carry it out. 

Stealthily he slipped into the dense shadows of the scrub and made hisway toward the shack where a thin banner of smoke, shot with anoccasional yellow spark, floated from the dilapidated stovepipe thatprotruded from the roof. 

The hard crust rendered snowshoes unnecessary, and his soft moccasinsmade no sound upon the surface of the snow. 

Gaining the side of the shack, he peered between the unchinked logs. The play of the firelight that shone through the holes of the brokenstove sent flickering shadows dancing over the floor and walls of therough interior. 

Near the fire, stretched long and silent beneath its blankets, lay theform of a man. Creed shifted his position for a better view of thesleeper. His foot caught in the loop of a piece of discarded wire whoseends were firmly frozen into the snow, and he crashed heavily backwardinto a pile of dry brushwood. 

It seemed to the frightened man as if the accompanying noise must wakethe dead. He lay for a moment where he had fallen, listening for soundsfrom within. He clutched his rifle nervously, but the deathlike silencewas unbroken save for his own heavy breathing and the tiny snapping ofthe fire in the stove. 

Cautiously he extricated himself from the brush-heap, his heartpounding wildly at the snapping of each dry twig. It was incrediblethat the man could sleep through such a racket in a country where lifeand death may hang upon the rustle of a leaf. 

But the silence remained unbroken, and, after what seemed to thecowering man an eternity of expectant waiting, he crawled again to thewall and glanced furtively into the interior. The form by the fire wasmotionless as before--it had not stirred. 

Then, as he looked, a ray of firelight fell upon the white label of theblack whisky bottle that lay an easy arm's reach from the head of thesleeper. A smile of comprehension twisted the lips of his evil face ashe leered through the crevice at the helpless form by the fireside. 

"Soused to the guards, " he sneered, "an' me with ten years scairt offenmy life fer fear I'd wake him. " He stood erect and, with no attempt atthe stealth with which he had approached the shack, proceeded rapidlyin the direction of the stable. 

It was but the work of a few moment to bridle the horses, lead themout, and hitch them to the sled. 

Tossing the horse-blankets on top of the big tarpaulin which lay in therear of the sled-box ready for use in the covering of supplies, hesettled himself in front and pulled the robes about him. 

He turned the team slowly onto the tote-road and glanced again towardthe shack. A spark, larger than the others, shot out of the stovepipeand lodged upon the bark roof, where it glowed for a moment beforegoing out. The man watched it in sudden fascination. 

He halted the team and stared long at the spot where the spark hadvanished in blackness, but which in the brain of the man appeared as anever-widening circle of red, which spread until it included the wholeroof in its fiery embrace, and crept slowly down the log walls. 

So realistic was the picture that he seemed to hear the crackle androar of the leaping flames. He drew a trembling hand across his eyes, and when he looked again the shack stood silent and black in thehalf-light of the starlit clearing. 

"God!" he mumbled aloud. "If it had only happened thataway----" Hepassed his tongue over his dry, thick lips. "Why not?" he arguedquerulously. "Moncrossen said 'twa'nt safe to bushwhack him like Iwanted to--said how I ain't got nerve nor brains to stand noinvestigation. 

"But if he'd git burnt up in the shack, that's safer yet. He got thatbooze somewhere--some one knows he had it. He got spiflicated, built aroarin' fire in the old stove--an' there y'are, plain as daylight. Nobrains! I'll show him who's got brains--an' there won't be noinvestigation, neither. "

He drew the team to the side of the tote-road and, slipping the haltersover the bridles, tied them to a stout sapling and made his way towardthe shack. 

One look satisfied him that the sleeper had not stirred, andnoiselessly he slipped the heavy hasp of the door over the staple andsecured it with the wooden pin. 

He collected dry branches, piling them directly beneath the small, square window which yawned high in the wall. Higher and higher the pilegrew until its top was almost on a level with the sill. 

His hands trembled as he applied the match. Tiny tongues of flamestruggled upward through the branches, lengthening and widening asfresh twigs ignited, and in his ears the crackle and snap of the drywood sounded as the rattle of musketry. 

His first impulse as the flames gained headway was to fly--to placedistance between himself and the scene of his crime. But he dared notgo. His knees shook, and he stared with blanched face in horridfascination as the flames roared and crackled through the brushwood. 

They were curling about the window now, and the whole clearing waslight as day. He slunk around the corner and gained the shadow of theopposite wall. Fearfully he applied his eye to a crevice--the form bythe stove had not moved. 

The air of the interior was heavy with smoke and tiny flames wereeating their way between the logs. The smoke thickened, blurring andblotting out the prostrate figure. He glanced across at the window. Itsaperture was a solid sheet of flame--he was safe!

With a low, animal-like cry Creed sprang away and dashed in thedirection of the team. With shaking fingers he clawed at the knots andslipped the halters. 

Leaping into the sled, he grabbed up the lines and headed the horsessouthward at a run. Behind him the sky reddened as the flames lickedhungrily at the dry logs of the shack. 

"It's his own fault! It's his own fault!" he mumbled over and overagain. "Serves him right fer gittin' soused an' buildin' up a big firein a busted stove. 'Twasn't no fault of his that spark didn't catch theroof. Serves him right! Maybe it did catch--maybe it did. 'Taint myfault no-how--it must 'a' caught--I seen it thataway so plain! Oh, myGod! Oh, my God, " he babbled, "if they git to askin' me!

"It was thisaway, mister; yes, sir; listen: I was camped in the ravine, an' all to wunst I seen the flare of the fire an' I run over there; but'twas too late--the roof had fell in an' the pore feller must 'a' beencooked alive. It was turrible, mister--turrible!

"An' I run an' hitched up the team an' druv to Hilarity hell bent fer apotlatch--that's the way of it--s'elp me God it is! If you don'tb'lieve it ask Moncrossen--ask Moncrossen, I mean, if he didn't have nobooze along--he must 'a' been drunk--an' him crippled thataway!

"Oh, Lordy, Lord! I ain't supposed to know it was the greener, letalone he was crippled! I'm all mixed up a'ready! They better not goaskin' me questions lessen they want to git me hung--Goda'mi'ty! I'dort to done like Moncrossen said!"

So he raved in a frenzy of terror as the horses sped southward at apace that sent the steam rising in clouds from their heaving sides. 

And under the big tarpaulin in the rear of the sled-box the greenergrinned as he listened, and eyed the gibbering man through a narrowslit in the heavy canvas. 

CHAPTER XXI

DADDY DUNNIGAN

It was broad daylight when Creed pulled the team up before atumbled-down stable in the rear of one of the outstraggling cabins atthe end of Hilarity's single street. Hastily he unhitched and led thehorses through the door. 

As he disappeared Bill slipped from under the canvas and limped stifflyaround the corner of the stable, and none too soon, for as Creedreturned to the sled for the oats and blankets the cabin door opened, and a tall, angular woman appeared, carrying an empty water-pail. 

"So ye've come back, hev ye?" she inquired in a shrewish voice. "Well, ye're jest in time to fetch the water an' wood. Where d'ye git thatrig?" she added sharply, eying the sled. 

"None o' yer damn business! An' you hurry up an' cook breakfast ag'in'I git back from Burrage's, er I'll rig you!"

"Yeh, is that _so_? Jest you lay a finger on me, you damn timber-thievin'boot-legger, an' I'll bust you one over the head with the peaked end ofa flatiron! Where ye goin' ter hide when the owner of them team comes ahuntin' of 'em? Ha, ha, ha!"

"Shet up!" growled the man so shortly that the woman, eying himnarrowly, turned toward the rickety pump, which burbled and wheezed asshe worked the handle, filling the pail in spasmodic splashes. 

"One of Moncrossen's teamsters got burnt up in the shack at Melton'sNo. 8, an' I found the team in the stable an' druv 'em in, " hevouchsafed as he brushed by the woman on his way to the street. "'Twouldn't look right if I shet up about it; I'll be back when I tellBurrage. "

"Fetch some bacon with ye, " called the woman as she filled her dirtyapron with chips. She paused before lifting the pail from the spout ofthe wooden pump and gazed speculatively at the tote-sled. 

"He's lyin', " she said aloud. "He's up to some fresh devilment, an''pears like he's scairt. Trouble with Creed is, he ain't got nonerve--he's all mouth. I sure was hard up fer a man when I tuk_him_--but he treats me middlin' kind, an' I'd kind of hate to see himgit caught--'cause he ain't no good a liar, an' a man anyways smart'dmix him up in a minit. "

She lifted the pail and pushed through the door of the cabin. 

"Nice people, " muttered Bill as he cast about for an exit. 

Keeping the stable in line with the window of the cabin, he made hisway through a litter of tin cans and rubbish, gaining the shelter ofthe scrub, where he bent a course parallel with the street. 

He was stiff and sore from his cramped position in the sled, and hisfoot pained sharply. His progress was slow, and he paused to rest onthe edge of a small clearing, in the center of which, well back fromthe highway, stood a tiny cabin. 

In the doorway an old man, with a short cutty-pipe between his lips, leaned upon a crutch and surveyed the sky with weatherwise eyes. 

Bill instantly recognized him as the old man with the twisted leg whotendered the well-meant advice upon the night of his first arrival inthe little town, and his face reddened as he remembered thesupercilious disregard with which he had received it. 

For a moment he hesitated, then advanced toward the door. The old manremoved his cutty-pipe and regarded him curiously. 

"Good morning!" called Bill with just a shade of embarrassment. 

"Good marnin' yersilf!" grinned the other, a twinkle in his littleeyes. 

"May I ask where I will find a man called Daddy Dunnigan?"

"In about foive minutes ye'll foind um atein' breakfust wid ashtrappin' young hearty wid a sore fut. Come an in. Oi'm me ownhousekaper, cook, an' bottle-washer; but, av Oi do say ut mesilf, Oi'veseen wor-rse!"

"So you are Daddy Dunnigan?" asked Bill as he gazed hungrily upon thesteaming saucers of oatmeal, the sizzling ham, and the yellow globes offresh eggs fried "sunny side up. "

"Ye'll take a wee nip befoor ye eat?" asked his host, reaching to thechimney-shelf for a squat, black bottle. 

"No, thanks, " smiled Bill. "I don't use it. "

"Me, nayther, " replied the other with a chuckle; "Oi misuse ut, " and, pouring himself a good half tin cupful, swallowed it neat at a gulp. 

The meal over, the men lighted their pipes, and Bill broached theobject of his visit. The old man listened and, when Bill finished, spatreflectively into the wood-box. 

"So Buck Moncrossen sint ye afther me, did he?"

"Yes. He said you were a good cook, and I can certainly bear him out inthat; but he said that you would only work if you damn good and feltlike it, and if you didn't you wouldn't. " The old man grinned. 

"He's roight agin, an' Oi'll be tellin' ye now Oi damn good an' don'tfeel loike wor-rkin' f'r Moncrossen, th' dirthy pirate, takin' a man'spay wid wan hand an' shtealin' his timber wid th' other. He'd cut th'throat av his own mither f'r th' price av a dhrink. 

"An' did he sind ye down afoot an' expict me to shtroll back wi' ye, th' both av us on crutches?"

"No, I have a team here, " laughed Bill. "They are in Creed's stable. "

"Creed's!" The old man glanced at him sharply. "Phwat ar-re they doin'at Creed's?"

"Well, that is a long story; but it sums up about like this: I see youknow Moncrossen--so do I. And Moncrossen is afraid I will crab hisbird's-eye game--and I will, too, when the proper time comes. 

"But he saw a chance to get rid of me, so he sent me after you, probably knowing that you would not come; but it offered an excuse toget me where he wanted me. Then he framed it up with Creed to steal theteam in the night while I was camped at Melton's No. 8, and leave me todie bushed. 

"I built a fire in the shack, ate my supper, rigged up a dummy near thefire, and then went out to the sled and crawled under the tarp. Aftermaking sure that I was asleep Creed stole the team as per schedule, buthe did not stop at that. He decided to make sure of me, so he lockedthe door on the outside and fired the shack. I remained under the tarp, and as Creed was going my way I let him do the driving. While he put upthe team I slipped out the back way, and here I am. "

"Th' dirthy, murdherin' hound!" exclaimed the old man, chuckling andweaving his body from side to side in evident enjoyment of the tale. 

"An' phwat'll ye do wid um now ye're here?" The old man sat erect andstared into the face of his guest, whose eyes had narrowed and whoselips had curved into an icy smile. 

"First, I'll give him the damnedest licking with my two fists that heever got in his life; then I'll turn him over to the authorities. "

Daddy Dunnigan leaned forward and, laying a gnarled hand upon hisshoulder, shook him roughly in his excitement:

"Yer name, b'y? Phwat is yer name?" His voice quavered, and the littleeyes glittered between the red-rimmed lids, bright as an eagle's. Theyounger man was astonished at his excitement. 

"Why, Bill, " he replied. 

"Bill or Moike or Pat--wurrah! Oi mane yer rale name--th' whole av ut?"

"That I have not told. I am called Bill. "

"Lord av hiven! I thocht ut th' fir-rst toime Oi seen ye--but now! Man!B'y. Wid thim eyes an' that shmile on yer face, d'ye think ye c'd foolowld Daddy Dunnigan, that was fir-rst corp'l t'rough two campaigns an'a scourge av peace f'r Captain Fronte McKim?

"Who lucked afther um loike a brother--an' loved um more--an' whofought an' swore an' laughed an' dhrank wid um trough all th'plague-ridden counthry from Kashmir to th' say--an' who wropped um inhis blanket f'r th' lasht toime an' helped burry um wid his eyesopen--f'r he'd wished ut so--on th' long, brown slope av a rock-pockedPunjab hill, ranged round tin deep wid th' dead naygers av Hira Kal?"

Bill stared at the man wide-eyed. 

"Fronte McKim?" he cried. 

"Aye, Fronte McKim! As sh'u'd 'a' been gineral av all Oirland, England, an' Injia. Av he'd 'a' been let go he'd licked th' naygers fir-rst an'diplomated phwat was lift av um. He'd made um shwim off th' field tokape from dhroundin' in their own blood--an' kep' 'em good aftherwardwid th' buckle ind av a surcingle. 

"My toime was up phwin he was kilt, an' Oi quit. F'r Oi niver 'listedto rot in barracks. Oi wint back to Kerry an' told his mither, th'pale, sad Lady Constance--God rist her sowl!--that sint foor b'ys toth' wars that niver come back--an' wud sint foor more if she'd had 'em. 

"She give me char-rge av th' owld eshtate, wid th' big house, an th'lawn as wide an' as grane as th' angel pastures av hiven--an' littleEily--his sisther--th' purtiest gur-rl owld Oirland iver bred, who wasniver tired av listhenin' to tales av her big brother. 

"Oi shtayed till th' Lady Constance died an' little Eily married a richman from Noo Yor-rk--Car-rson, or meby Carmen, his name was; an' hecarried her off to Amur-rica. 'Twas not th' same in Kerry afther that, an' Oi shtrayed from th' gold camps av Australia to th' woods avCanada. "

The far-away look that had crept into the old man's eyes vanished, andhis voice became gruff and hard. 

"Oi've hear-rd av yer doin's in th' timber--av yer killin' th' werwolfin th' midst av her pack--an yer lickin' Moncrossen wid a luk an' agrin--av yer knockin' out Shtromberg wid t'ree blows av yer fisht. 

"Ye might carry th' name av a Noo York money-grubber, but yer hear-rtis th' hear-rt av a foightin' McKim--an' yer eyes, an' that smile--th'McKim smile--that's as much a laugh as th' growl av a grizzly--an' moredangerous thin a cocked gun. "

The old man paused and filled his pipe, muttering and chuckling tohimself. Bill grasped his hand, wringing it in a mighty grip. 

"You have guessed it, " he said huskily. "My name does not matter. I ama McKim. She was my mother--Eily McKim--and she used to tell me of myuncle--and of you. "

"Did she, now? Did she remember me?" he exclaimed. "God bless th'little gur-rl. An' she is dead?" Bill nodded, and Daddy Dunnigan drew acoarse sleeve across his eyes and puffed hard at his short pipe. 

"And will you go back with me and work the rest of the winter forMoncrossen?"

The old man remained silent so long that Bill thought he had not heard. He was about to repeat the question when the other laid a hand upon hisknee. 

"Oi don't have to wor-rk f'r no man, an' Oi'll not wor-rk f'rMoncrossen. But Oi'd cross hell on thin ice in July to folly a McKimwanst more, an' if to do ut Oi must cook f'r Appleton's camp, thin sout is. Git ye some shleep now whilst Oi loaf down to Burrage's. "

CHAPTER XXII

CREED SEES A GHOST

When Bill awoke, yellow lamplight flooded the room and Daddy Dunniganwas busy about the stove, from the direction of which came a cheerfulsizzling and the appetizing odor of frying meat and strong coffee. 

For several minutes he lay in a delicious drowse, idly watching the oldman as he hobbled deftly from stove to cupboard, and from cupboard totable. 

So this was the man, he mused, of whom his mother had so often spokenwhen, as a little boy, he had listened with bated breath to her talesof the fighting McKims. 

He remembered how her soft eyes would glow, and her lips curve withpride as she recounted the deeds of her warrior kin. 

But, most of all, she loved to tell of Captain Fronte, the big, fighting, devil-may-care brother who was her childish idol; and of one, James Dunnigan, the corporal, who had followed Captain Fronte throughall the wars, and to whose coolness and courage her soldier brotherowed his life on more than one occasion, and whose devotion and loyaltyto the name of McKim was a byword throughout the regiment, and inKerry. 

"And now, " thought Bill, "that I have found him, I will never losesight of him. He needs someone to look after him in his old age. "

Over the little flat-topped stove the leathern old world-rover mutteredand chuckled to himself as he prodded a fork into the browningpork-chops, shooting now and then an affectionate glance toward thebunk. 

"Saints be praised!" he muttered. "Oi'd av know'd um in hiven or hell, or Hong-Kong. Captain Fronte's own silf, he is, as loike as two peas. An' the age av Captain Fronte befure he was kilt, phwin he was th'besht officer in all th' British ar-rmy--or an-ny ar-rmy. 

"Him that c'd lay down th' naygers in windrows all day, an' dhrink, an'play car-rds, an' make love all noight--an' at 'em agin in th' marnin'!An' now Oi've found um Oi'll shtay by um till wan av us burries th'other. For whilst a McKim roams th' earth James Dunnigan's place is tofolly um. 

"An', Lord be praised, he's a foightin' man--but a McKim that don'tdhrink! Wurrah! Maybe he wasn't failin' roight, or th' liquor didn'tlook good enough fer um. Oi'll thry um agin. "

Bill threw off the blankets and sat up on the edge of the bunk. 

"That grub smells good, Daddy, " he sniffed. 

"Aye, an 'twill tashte good, too, av ye fly at ut befure ut gits cold. Ye've had shleep enough fer two min--Captain Fronte'd git along ferwakes at a toime on foorty winks in th' saddle. "

"I am afraid I will have a hard time living up to Captain Fronte'sstandard, " laughed Bill, as he adjusted his bandages. 

"Well, thin, Oi'll tell yez th' fir-rst thing Captain Fronte'd donephwin his two feet hit th' flure: he'd roar fer a dhrink av goodliquor. An' thin he'd ate a dozen or two av thim pork-chops, an' wash'em down wid a gallon av black coffee--an' he'd be roight feran-nything from a carouse wid th' brown dancin' Nautch gir-rls, to abrush in th' hills wid their fightin' brown brothers. 

"Th' liquor's waitin'--ut moightn't be as good as ye're used, but Oi'veseen Captain Fronte himself shmack his lips over worse. An' as fer th'tin cup--he'd dhrink from a batthered tomaty can or a lady's shlipper, an' rasp th' dhregs from his t'roat wid a cur-rse or a song, as beshtfitted th' toime or th' place he was in. "

The old man began to pour out the liquor: "Say phwin, " he cried, "an'Oi've yit to see th' McKim 'twud hurry th' wor-rd. "

Bill crossed to the old man, who, propped against the table, watchedthe contents of the bottle gurgle and splash into the huge tin cup, andlaid a hand upon his arm. 

"That will do, Daddy, " he said. 

The man ceased to pour and peered inquisitively into the cup. "'Tainthalf full yit!" he protested, passing it to Bill, who set it before himupon the table, where the rich fumes reached his nostrils as he spoke:

"This whisky, " he began, "smells good--plenty good enough for any man. But, you don't seem to understand. I don't drink whisky--good whisky, or bad whisky, or old whisky, or new whisky, or red, white, and bluewhisky--or any other kind of booze. 

"I have drunk it--bottles of it--kegs of it--barrels of it, I suppose, for I played the game from Harlem to the Battery. And then I quit. "

"Ye ain't tellin' me ye're timperence?" The old man inquired withconcern as he would have inquired after an ailment. 

"No; that is, if you mean am I one of those who would vote the worldsober by prohibiting the sale of liquor. It is a personal questionwhich every man must meet squarely--for himself--not for his neighbor. I am not afraid of whisky. I am not opposed to it, as an issue. Infact, I respect it, for, personally, it has given me one peach of ascrap--and we are quits. "

The old man listened with interest. 

"Ye c'n no more kape a McKim from foightin' thin ye c'n kape a dacoitfrom staylin, " he chuckled. "So ye tur-rned in an' give th' craytherhimsilf a foight--an' ye win ut? An' phwat does th' gir-rl think avut?"

"What!"

"Th' gir-rl. Is she proud av ye? Or is she wan av thim that thinks utaisy to quit be just lavin' ut alone? For, sure, ut niver intered th'head av man--let alone a McKim, to tur-rn ag'in' liquor, lessen theywas a gir-rl at th' bottom av ut. An' phwin ar-re ye goin' to bemarrit? For, av she's proud av ye, ye'll marry her--but av she takes utas a mather av coorse--let some wan ilse git stung. "

Bill regarded the old man sharply, but in his bearing was no hint ofjesting nor raillery, and the little eyes were serious. 

"Yes, there _was_ a girl, " said Bill slowly; "but she--she does notknow. "

"So ye've had a scrap wid her, too! But, tell me ye didn't run awayfrom ut--ye're goin' back?" Bill made no reply, and the old manconveyed the food to the table, muttering to himself the while:

"Sure they's more foightin' goin' on thin Oi iver thought to see ag'in. Ut ain't rid war, but ut ain't so bad--werwolves, Moncrossen, booze, Creed, a bit av a gir-rl somewheres, Shtromberg--th' wor-rld is growin'bether afther all, an' Oi'm goin' to be in th' thick av ut!"

Supper over, Bill donned mackinaw, cap, and mittens. 

"Phwere ye goin'?" asked Dunnigan. 

"To find Creed. "

"Wait a bit, 'tis early yit. In half an hour he'll be clost aroundBurrage's shtove, tellin' th' b'ys about th' bur-rnt shack atMelton's. "

Bill resumed his chair. 

"Oi've been thinkin' ut out, " continued Daddy, between short puffs athis cutty-pipe. "Ye'll have no fun lickin' Creed--'tis shmallsatisfaction foightin' a man that won't foight back. An-ny-how, a blackeye or a bloody nose is soon minded. An' av ye tur-rn um over to th'authorities ye ain't got much on um, an' ye can't pr-rove phwat ye havegot. 

"But listen: Creed's a dhrivlin' jobbernowl that orders his comin's beth' hang av th' moon, an' his goin's be th' dhreams av his head. Hethinks y're dead. Now, av ye shtroll into Burrage's loike nothin' outav th' oordinary has happened, he'll think ye're a ghost--an' th' fearin his heart will shtay by um. 

"Oi'll loaf down there now, same as ivery noight. In about a half anhour ye'll come limpin' in an' ask fer Dunnigan, an' will he cook outth' sayson fer Moncrossen? 'Twill be fun to watch Creed. He'll bescairt shtiff an' white as a biled shirt, or he'll melt down an'dhribble out t'rough a crack av th' flure. "

And so, a half-hour later, Bill Carmody for the second time pushed openHod Burrage's door and made his way to the stove. 

The scene in no wise differed from the time of his previous visit. Slabs of bacon still hung from the roof logs beside the row of tincoffee-pots; the sawdust-filled box was still the object ofintermittent bombardment by the tobacco-chewers, the uncertainty ofwhose aim was mutely attested by the generous circumference ofbrown-stained floor of which the box was the center. 

Grouped about the stove, upon counter, barrel-head, and up-ended goodsbox, were the same decaying remnants of the moldering town's vanishingpopulation. 

The thick, cloudy glass with its sticky edges still circulated for thecommon good, and above the heads of the unkempt men the air reeked graywith the fumes of rank tobacco. 

Only the man who entered had changed. In his bearing was no hint ofsuperiority nor intolerance; he advanced heartily, hailing these men asequals and friends. Near the stove he halted, leaning upon his crutch, and swept the group with a glance. 

"Good evening! Do any one of you men happen to be named Dunnigan?"

From the moment the tap of Bill's crutch sounded upon the wooden floor, Creed, who had paused in the middle of a sentence of his highly colorednarrative, stared at the newcomer as one would ordinarily stare when aperson known to be dead casually steps up and bids one good evening. 

His mouth did not open, his lower jaw merely sagged away from his face, exposing his tongue lying thick and flabby upon yellow teeth. Hisout-bulging eyes fixed the features of the man before him with aglassy, unwinking stare, like the stare of a fish. 

Into his brain, at first, came no thought at all merely a dumb sense ofunreasoning terror under which his muscles went flaccid, and out ofcontrol, so that his body shrank limp and heavy against its backing ofbolt-goods. 

Then, suddenly a rush of thoughts crowded his brain, tangled thoughts, and weird--of deep significance, but without sequence nor reason. 

What had they told of this man in the woods? How he had battled hand toclaw with the werwolf and received no hurt. How he had cowed the bosswith a look, and laid the mighty Stromberg cold in the batting of aneye. 

He himself had, but twenty hours since, seen this man lying helplessupon the floor of a locked shack, ringed round with roaring flames, beyond any human possibility of escape. 

And here he stood, crippled beyond peradventure of trail-travel, yetfresh and unfatigued, forty miles from the scene of his burning! A thintrickle of ice crept downward along his spine and, overmastering allother emotions, came the desire to be elsewhere. 

He slid from the counter and, as his feet touched the floor, his kneescrumpled and he sprawled his length almost at the feet of the man whocould not die. 

As a matter of fact, Creed aged materially during his journey to thedoor, but to the onlookers his exit seemed a miracle of frantic hasteas he clawed and scrambled the length of the room on hands and knees ina maudlin panic of terror. 

And out into the night, as he ran in the first direction he faced, theupper most thought in his mind was a blind rage against Moncrossen. 

The boss himself was afraid of this man, yet he had sent him, Creed, tomake away with him--alone--in the night! The quavering breath left histhroat in long moans as he ran on and on and on. 

"Your friend seems to have been in something of a hurry, " venturedBill, as Burrage gave a final twist to the old newspaper in which hewas wrapping Fallon's jug. 

The storekeeper regarded his customer quizzically and spat withsurprising accuracy into the box. 

"Yes, " he replied dryly, "Creed, he's mostly in a hurry when they'sstrangers about. But to-night he seemed right down _anxious_ thataway. "

CHAPTER XXIII

HEAD-LINES

The brute in Moncrossen held subservient the more human emotions, elsehe must surely have betrayed his surprise when, twelve hours ahead ofschedule, the greener swung the long-geared tote team to a stand infront of the office door. 

Not only had he made the trip without mishap, but accomplished theseemingly impossible in persuading Daddy Dunnigan to cook for a logcamp, when in all reason the old man should have scorned theproposition in a torrent of Irish profanity. 

Moncrossen dealt only in facts. Speculation as to cause and effectfound no place in his mental economy. His plan had miscarried. For thatCreed must answer later. The fact that concerned him now was that thegreener continued to be a menace to his scheme. 

Had Creed in some manner bungled the job? Or had he passed it up? Hemust find out how much the greener knew. The boss guessed that if theother had unearthed the plot, he would force an immediate crisis. 

And so he watched narrowly, but with apparent unconcern, while Billclimbed from the sled, followed by Daddy Dunnigan. On the hard-packedsnow of the clearing the two big men faced each other, and theexpression of each was a perfect mask to his true emotions. 

But the greener knew that the boss was masking, while Moncrossenaccepted the other's guileless expression at its face value, and hispendulous lips widened into a grin of genuine relief as he greeted thearrivals. 

"Hullo! You back a'ready? Hullo, Dunnigan! I'm sure glad you come;we'll have some real grub fer a change. 

"Hey, LaFranz!" he called to the passing Frenchman. "Put up this teaman' pack the gear to the bunk-house. "

As the man drove away in the direction of the stable, Moncrossenregarded the others largely. 

"Come on in an' have a drink, boys, " he invited, throwing wide thedoor. "How's the foot?"

"Better, " replied Bill. "It will be as good as ever in a week. "

"I'm glad of that, 'cause I sure am cramped fer hands. I'll let Fallonbreak you into sawin' an put Stromberg to teamin'; he's too pot-guttedfer a sawyer. "

Moncrossen produced a bottle as the others seated themselves. 

"What--don't drink?" he exclaimed, as Bill passed the bottle toDunnigan. "That's so; b'lieve I did hear some one say you didn't use nobooze. Well, every man to his own likin'. Me--about three good, stiffjolts a day, an' a big drunk in the spring an' fall, is about my gait. Have a _see_gar. " Bill accepted the proffered weed and bit off the end. 

"How!" he said, with a short sweep of the arm; then, scratching a matchon the rung of his chair, lighted the unsavory stogie. 

Thus each man took measure of the other, and Daddy Dunnigan tilted thebottle and drank deep, the while he took shrewd measure of both. 

 * * * * *

It was in the early afternoon of the following day that Bill Carmodytossed aside his magazine and yawned drowsily. Alone in the bunk-house, his glance roved idly over the room, with its tiers of empty bunks andracks of drying garments. 

It rested for a moment upon his bandaged foot propped comfortably uponFallon's bunk, directly beneath his own, and strayed to the floor wherejust under its edge, still wrapped in the soiled newspaper, sat thegallon jug that Fallon suggested in case the greener saw fit to heedhis warning. 

Bill smiled dreamily. Unconsciously his lips spelled out the words ofsome head-lines that stared at him from the rounded surface of the jug:

 POPULAR MEMBERS OF NEW YORK'S FOUR HUNDRED TO WED. 

"Wonder who?" thought Bill. Reaching for his crutch, he slipped the endthrough the handle of the jug and drew it toward him. He raised it tohis lap and the words of the succeeding line struck upon his brain likean electric shock:

 _Engagement of Miss Ethel Manton and Gregory St. Ledger Soon to be Announced. _

Feverishly his eyes devoured the following lines of the extendedheading:

 _Time of Wedding Not Set. Will Not Take Place Immediately, 'Tis Said. Prospective Bridegroom to Sail for Europe in Spring. _

And then the two lines of the story that appeared at the very bottom, where the paper folded under the edge of the jug:

 NEW YORK, February 1. (Special to _Tribune_. )--As a distinct surprise in élite circles will come the announcement of the engage

He tilted the jug in frenzied eagerness to absorb every detail of thebitter news, and was confronted by the rough, stone bottom which hadworn through the covering, leaving mangled shreds of paper, whoserolled and mutilated edges were undecipherable. 

Vainly he tried to restore the tattered remnants, but soon abandonedthe hopeless task and sat staring at the head-lines. 

Over and over again he read them as if to grasp their significance, andthen, with a full realization of their import, he closed his eyes andsat long amid the crumbled ruin of his hopes. 

For he had hoped. In spite of the scorn in her voice as she dismissedhim, and the bitter resentment of his own parting words, he loved her;and upon the foundation of this love he had builded the hope of itsfulfillment. 

A hope that one day he would return to her, clean and strong in thestrength of achievement, and that his great passion would beat down thebarrier and he would claim her as of right. 

Suddenly he realized that as much as upon the solid foundation of hisown great love, the hope depended upon the false substructure of herlove for him. 

And the false substructure had crumbled at the test. She loved another;had suddenly become as unattainable as the stars--and was lost to himforever. 

The discovery brought no poignant pain, no stabbing agony of a freshheart-wound; but worse--the dull, deep, soul-hurt of annihilation; thehurt that damns men's lives. 

He smiled with bitter cynicism as his thoughts dwelt upon the littlelove of women, the shifting love, that rests but lightly on the heart, to change with the changing moon. And upon the constancy of such lovehe had dared to build his future!

"Fool!" he cried, and laughed aloud, a short, hard laugh--the laughthat makes God frown. From the water-pail at his side he drew thelong-handled dipper and removed the cork from the jug and tilted thejug, and watched the red liquor splash noisily from its wide mouth. 

From that moment he would play a man's game; would smash Moncrossen andhis bird's-eye men; would learn logs and run camps, and among the bigmen of the rough places would win to the fore by the very force andabandon of him. 

He had beaten the whisky game; had demonstrated his ability to bestJohn Barleycorn on his own terms and in his own fastnesses. 

And now he would drink whisky--much whisky or little whisky as he sawfit, for there was none to gainsay him--and in his life henceforth nowoman could cause him pain. 

He raised the dipper to his lips, and the next instant it rang upon thefloor, and over the whole front of him splashed the raw liquor, and inhis nostrils was the fume and reek of it. 

Unmindful of his injury, he leaped to his feet and turned to face DaddyDunnigan, who was returning his crutch to his armpit. 

"Toimes Oi've yanked Captain Fronte from th' road av harm, " the old manwas saying, and the red-rimmed, rheumy eyes shone bright; "wanst fromin front av a char-rge av the hillmen an' wanst beyant Khybar. But Oi'mthinkin' niver befoor was Oi closter to th' roight place at th' roighttoime thin a minit agone. 

"Whisky is made to be dhrank fer a pastime av enj'ymint--not alone--wida laugh loike that. Ye've got th' crayther on th' run, but ye must giveno quarter. Battles is won not in th' thruse, but in th' foightin'. 

"No McKim iver yit raised th' white flag, an' none iver died wid hisback to th' front. Set ye down, lad, an' think it over. "

He finished speaking and hobbled toward the door, and, passing out, closed it behind him. Alone in the bunk-house Bill Carmody turned againto the jug and fitted the cork to its mouth, and with his crutch pushedit under the edge of Fallon's bunk. 

Hours later, when the men stamped in noisily to the wash-bench, he wassitting there in the dark--thinking. 

 * * * * *

The results of Daddy Dunnigan's cooking were soon evident in the BloodRiver camp. Men no longer returned to the bunk-house growling andcursing the grub, and Moncrossen noted with satisfaction that the dailycut was steadily climbing toward the eighty-thousand mark. 

The boss added a substantial bonus for each day's "top cut, " and in thelengthening days an intense rivalry sprang up between the sawyers; notinfrequently Bill and Fallon were "in on the money. "

It was nearly two weeks after the incident, that Creed came toMoncrossen with his own story of what happened that night at Melton'sNo. 8, and the boss knew that he lied. 

As they talked in the little office the greener, accompanied by Fallon, passed close to the window. 

At the sight of the man the spotter's face became pasty, and he shranktrembling and wide-eyed, as from the sight of a ghost, and Moncrossenknew that his abject terror was not engendered by physical fear. 

He flew into a rage, cursing and bullying the craven, but failedutterly to dispel the unwholesome fear or to shake the other's repeatedstatement that at a few minutes past ten o'clock that night he had seenthe greener lying hopelessly drunk upon the floor of the shack with theflames roaring about him, and at six o'clock the next evening had seenhim hobble into Burrage's store, forty miles to the southward, freshand apparently unharmed save for his injured foot. 

Moncrossen's hatred of the greener rested primarily upon the fear thatone day he would expose him to Appleton; added to this was a mightyjealousy of his rapid rise to proficiency and the rankling memory ofthe scene of their first meeting in the grub-shack. 

But his fear of him was a physical fear--a fear born of the certainknowledge that, measured by his own standards, the greener was thebetter man. 

And now came the perplexing question as to how the man had reachedHilarity when Creed was known to have arrived there with the team eighthours after the burning of the shack. 

The boss had carefully verified so much of Creed's story by a guardedpumping of Dunnigan, and the crafty old Irishman took keen delight inso wording his answers, and interspersing them with knowing winks andquirks of the head, as to add nothing to the boss's peace of mind. 

While not sharing Creed's belief in the greener's possession of uncannypowers, nevertheless he knew that, whatever happened that night, thegreener knew more than he chose to tell, and as his apprehensiondeepened his rage increased. 

Hate smoldered in the swinish eyes as, in the seclusion of the office, he glowered and planned and rumbled his throaty threats. 

"The drive, " he muttered. "My Bucko Bill, you're right now picked forthe drive, an' I'll see to it myself that you git yourn in the river. "

CHAPTER XXIV

THE LOG JAM

The feel of spring filled the air; the sun swung higher and higher; andthe snow turned dark and lay soggy with water. With the increasingwarmth of the longer days, men's thoughts turned to the drive. 

They talked of water-front streets, with their calk-riddled planksidewalks and low-fronted bars; of squalid back wine-rooms, where for aweek they would be allowed to bask, sodden, in the smiles of thepainted women--then, drugged, beaten, and robbed, would wake up in afilthy alley and hunt up a job in the mills. 

It was all in a lifetime, this annual spring debauch. The men acceptedit as part of the ordered routine of their lives; accepted it withoutshame or regret, boasting and laughing unblushingly over pastepisodes--facing the future gladly and without disgust. 

"You mind Jake Sonto's place, where big Myrtle hangs out? They friskedJoe Manning fer sixty bucks last year. I seen 'em do it. What! Me? Iwas too sleepy to give a cuss--they got mine, too. "

And so the talk drifted among them. Revolting details of abysmalman-failings, brutal reminiscences of knock-out drops, robbery, andeven murder, furnished the themes for jest and gibe which drew forthroars of laughter. 

And none sought to avoid the inevitable; rather, they looked forward toit in brutish anticipation, accepting it as a matter of course. 

For so had lumber-jacks been drugged, beaten, and robbed since thefirst pine fell--and so will they continue to be drugged, beaten, androbbed until the last log is jerked, dripping, from the river and thelast white board is sawed. 

On the night of the 8th of April the cut was complete, and on themorning of the 9th ten million feet of logs towered on the rollwaysalong the river, ready for the breaking up of the ice. 

Stromberg had banked the bird's-eye to his own satisfaction, andMoncrossen selected his crew for the drive--white-water men, whoseboast it was that they never had walked a foot from the timber to themills; bateau men, who laughed in the face of death as they swarmedover a jam; key-log men, who scorned dynamite; bend watchers, whoseduty it is to stay awake through the long, warm days and prevent theformation of jams as the drive shoots by--each selected with an eye toprevious experience and physical fitness. 

For, among all occupations of men, log driving stands unique for itshardships of peril, discomfort, and bone-racking toil. 

From the breaking out of the rollways until the last log slips smoothlyinto its place in the boom-raft, no man's life is safe. 

Yet men fight for a place on the drive--for the privilege of beingsoaked to the bone for days at a time in ice-cold water; of beingcrushed to a pulp between grinding logs; of being drowned inwhite-water rapids, where a man must stand, his log moving at the speedof an express train, time and again shooting half out of water to meetthe spray of the next rock-tossed wave; of making hair-triggerdecisions, when an instant's hesitation means death, as his log rushesunder the low-hanging branches of a "sweeper. "

For pure love of adventure they fight--and that a few more dollars mayfind their way into the tills of the Jake Sontos of the water-frontdives. For among these men the baiting of death is the excitement oflife, and their pleasures are the savage pleasures of firstlings. 

Those who were not of the drive were handed their vouchers and hauledto Hilarity, while those who remained busied themselves in the packingand storing of gear; for, in the fall, the crew would return to renewthe attack on the timber. 

Followed, then, days of waiting. 

The two bateaux--the cook's bateau, with its camp stove and store ofsupplies; and the big bateau, with its thousand feet of inch and a halfmanila line coiled for instant use, whose thick, flaring sides andfloor of selected timber were built to override the shock and batteringof a thousand pitching logs--were carried to the bank ready forlaunching. 

The sodden snow settled heavily, and around the base of stumps and thetrunks of standing trees appeared rings of bare ground, while thecourse of the skidways and cross-hauls stood out sharp and black, likegreat veins in the clearing. 

Each sag and depression became a pond, and countless rills and rivuletsgurgled riverward, bank-full with sparkling snow-water. 

Over the frozen surface of the river it flowed and wore at theshore-bound ice-floor. And then, one night, the ice went out. 

Titanically it went, and noisily, with the crash and grind of brokencakes; and in the morning the river rushed black, and deep, andswollen, its roiled waters tearing sullenly at crumbling banks, whileupon its muddy surface heaved belated ice-cakes and uprooted trees. 

At daylight men crowded the bank, the bend watchers strung out and tookup their positions, and white-water men stood by with sharp axes tobreak out the rollways. 

The first rollway broke badly. 

A thick-butted log slanted and met the others head-on as they thundereddown the bank, tossing them high in the air whence they fell splashinginto the river, or crashed backward among the tumbling logs, upending, and hurling them about like jack-straws. 

The air was filled with the heavy rumble of rolling logs as otherrollways tore loose at the swift blows of the axes, where, at the crackof toggle-pins, men leaped from in front of the rolling, crushingdeath; and the surface of the river became black with bucking, pitchinglogs which shot to the opposite bank. 

Coincident with the snapping of the first toggle-pin, the branches of agigantic, storm-blasted pine, whose earth-laded butt dragged heavilyalong the bottom of the river, became firmly entangled in thelow-hanging limbs of a sweeper, and swung sluggishly across thecurrent. 

Against this obstruction crashed the leaping, upending logs of thewrecked rollway. Other logs swept in and wedged, forcing the heavy buttand the riven trunk of the huge tree firmly against the rocks at thehead of the rapid. 

Rollway after rollway tore loose and the released logs, swept downwardby the resistless push of the current, climbed one upon another andlodged. Higher and higher the jam towered, the interlocking logs pilingin hopeless tangle. 

Moncrossen was beside himself. Up and down the bank he rushed, bellowing orders and hurling curses at the men who, gripping theirpeaveys, swarmed over the heaving jam like flies. 

The bateau men, forty of them, lifted the heavy boat bodily, andworking it out to the very forefront of the jam, lowered it into thewater, while other men made the heavy cable fast to the trunk of atree. Close under the towering pile the bateau was snubbed with ashort, light line, and the men clambered shoreward, leaving onlyMoncrossen, Stromberg, Fallon, and one other to search for the key-log. 

It was a comparatively simple jam, the key to which was instantlyapparent to the experienced rivermen, in two large logs wedged in theform of an inverted V. The quick twist of a peavey inserted at thevertex of the angle, and the drive should move. 

Fallon and Stromberg, past masters both of the drive made ready whilethe other stood by to cast off the light line and allow the bateau toswing free on the main cable. 

Moncrossen clambered to the top to shout warning to those who swarmedover the body of the jam and along the edges of the river. 

At the first bellowed orders of the boss, Bill Carmody had leaped ontothe heaving jam and, following in the wake of others, began picking hisway to the opposite shore. 

New to the game, he had no definite idea of what was expected of him, so, with an eye upon those nearest him, he determined to follow theirexample. 

To watch from the bank and see men whose boast it is that they "c'dride a bubble if their calks wouldn't prick it, " leap lightly from logto rolling log; hesitate, run its length, and leap to another as itsinks under them, nothing looks simpler. 

But the greener who confidently tries it for the first time instantlyfinds himself in a position uncomfortably precarious, if not actuallydangerous. 

Bill found, to his disgust, that the others had gained the oppositebank before he had reached the middle, where he paused, balancinguncertainly and hesitating whether to go ahead or return. 

The log upon which he stood oscillated dizzily, and as he sprang foranother, his foot slipped and he fell heavily, his peavey clatteringdownward among the promiscuously tangled logs, to come to rest some sixfeet beneath him, where the white-water curled foaming among the logsof the lower tier. 

Bill glanced hastily about him, expecting the shouts of laughter andgood-natured chaffing which is the inevitable aftermath of the clumsymisadventure of a riverman. The bateau men were just gaining the shoreand the attention of the others was engaged elsewhere, so that nonenoticed the accident, and, with a grin of relief, Bill clambered downto recover his peavey. 

And Moncrossen, peering over the top of the jam, took in the situationat a glance--the river apparently clear of men, and the greener, invisible to those on shore, crawling about among the logs in thecenter of the pile. 

It was the moment for which he had waited. Even the most carefulplanning could not have created a situation more to his liking. At lastthe greener was "his. "

"There she goes!" he roared, and turning, slid hastily from the top andleaped into the waiting bateau. 

"Let 'er go!" he shouted. 

Fallon and Stromberg leaped forward and simultaneously their peaveysbit into the smaller of the two key-logs. 

Both big men heaved and strained, once, twice, thrice, and the logturned slowly, allowing the end of the other to pass. 

The logs trembled for an instant, then, forced by the enormous weightbehind them, shot sidewise, crossed each other, and pressed thetree-trunk deep under the boiling water. 

A mighty quiver ran through the whole mass of the jam, it balanced fora shuddering instant, then with a mighty rush, let go. 

Over the side of the bateau tumbled Fallon and Stromberg, sprawling onthe bottom at the feet of the boss, while the man in the bow cast offthe light line. 

The next instant the heavy boat leaped clear of the water, overriding, climbing to the very summit of the pounding, plunging logs whichthreatened each moment to crush and batter through her sides andbottom. 

The strong, new line was singing taut to the pull of the heavy bateauwhich was being gradually crowded shoreward by the sweep of thedown-rushing logs. 

Suddenly a mighty shout went up from those on the bank. The men in thebateau looked, and there, almost in the middle of the stream, was thegreener leaping from log to log of the wildly pitching jam. 

They stared horror-stricken, with tense, blanched faces. Each instantseemed as if it must be his last, for they knew that no man alive couldhope to keep his feet in the mad rush and sweep of the tumbling, tossing drive. 

Yet the greener was keeping his feet. Time and again he recovered hisbalance when death seemed imminent, and amid wild shouts and yells ofencouragement, climbing, leaping, running, stumbling, he worked his wayshoreward. 

He was almost opposite the bateau now, and Stromberg, hastily coilingthe light line, leaped into the bow. Then, just when it seemed possiblethe greener might make it, a huge log shot upward from the depths andfell with a crash squarely across the log upon which he was riding. 

A cry of horror went up from half a hundred throats as the man wasthrown high in the air and fell back into the foaming white-water thatshowed here and here through the thinning tangle of logs. 

The next instant a hundred logs passed over the spot, drawn down by thesuck of the rapid. 

CHAPTER XXV

"THE-MAN-WHO-CANNOT-DIE"

During the infinitesimal interim between the shock which hurled himinto the air, and the closing of the waters of Blood River over hishead, Bill Carmody's brain received a confusion of flashlikeimpressions: The futile shouting and waving of arms upon theman-crowded bank of the river; the sudden roar of the rapid; the tenseface of Fallon; the set jaw of big Stromberg as he stood ready to shootout the line; and, above all, the leering eyes and sneering lips ofMoncrossen. 

The accident happened a scant sixty feet from the side of the strainingbateau, and the features of its occupants were brought out strongly inthe clear morning light. 

As he disappeared beneath the surface Bill drew a long breath and, opening his eyes, looked upward. A couple of swift strokes and his heademerged where a small patch of light showed an open space. 

Reaching out he grasped the rough bark of a log, shook the icy waterfrom his eyes, and reviewed his situation. His first thought was of thebateau, but a shoreward glance revealed only the swiftly gliding trunksof the forest wall with the bateau and the gesticulating crowd but ablur in the distance. 

Near him floated smoothly a huge forked trunk from whose prongsprotruded the stubs of lopped limbs. Releasing his hold, he swam towardthe big log which floated butt foremost among its lesser neighbors, and, diving, came up between the forks and gripped firmly a limb stub. 

On every hand thousands of logs floated quietly, seemingly motionlessas logs on the bosom of a mill-pond. Only the rushing walls of pine oneither side of the narrow river-aisle spoke of the terrific speed ofthe drive. 

Suddenly, as the great forked log swept around a bend, the peril of hissituation dawned upon him in all its horror. The dull roar changed to amighty bellow where the high-tossed white-water leaped high among thesubmerged rocks of the rapid, and above its thunder sounded the heavyrumble of the shock and grind of thousands of wildly pitching logs. 

Only for a moment did he gaze out over the heaving forefront of thedrive. His log shot forward with the speed of a bullet as it was seizedin the grip of the current; the next moment it leaped clear of thewater and plunged blindly into the whirling tossing pandemonium of thewhite-water gut. 

Bill clung desperately to the stub, expecting each moment to be hislast. Close in the fork he was protected on either side from thehammering blows of the caroming timber. All about him the air wasfilled with flying logs which ripped the bark from each other's sides, while the shock and batter of the wild stampede threatened momentarilyto tear loose his grip. 

It seemed to the desperate man that hours passed as he clung doggedlyto the huge trunk which trembled and shivered and plunged wildly at thepounding impact, when suddenly it brought up against a half-submergedrock, stopped dead, grated and jarred at the crash of following logs, poised for an instant, and then slanted into deeper water, while up theman's leg shot a twisting, wrenching pain, sickening--nerve-killing inits intensity. 

His grasp relaxed and his whole body went limp and lifeless as the biglog overrode the last rock barrier and was caught in the placid, slowlyrevolving water of a shore eddy. 

 * * * * *

Half concealed by the naked tangle of underbrush on the verge of a lowbluff where the rock-ribbed rapid broke suddenly into smooth water, anold Indian woman and a beautiful half-breed girl of twenty crouchedclose, watching the logs plunge through the seething white-water. 

The dark eyes of the girl shone with excitement, but this was no newsight to the eyes of the older woman who in times past had watchedother drives on other rivers. As she looked her frown deepened and thehundred little weather wrinkles in the tight-drawn smoke-darkened skinshowed thin and plain, like the crisscross cracks in old leather. 

The shriveled lips pressed tight against the hard, snag-studded gums, and in the narrow, lashless black eyes glowed the spark of undyinghate. 

The sight of the rushing logs brought bitter memories. These werethings of the white man--and, among white men, only Lacombie wasgood--and Lacombie was dead. 

Young Lacombie, who came into the North with a song on his lips to workfor the great company whose word is law, and whose long arm is destiny. Lacombie, who, in the long ago had won her, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, thedaughter of Kas-ka-tan, the chief, who was called the most beautifulmaiden among all the tribes of the rivers. 

The old crone drew her blanket about her and shuddered slightly as sheglanced from her own withered, clawlike hands, upon which dark veinsstood out like the cords of a freight bale, to the fresh beauty of theyoung girl at her side who gazed in awed fascination upon the rush ofthe pounding logs. 

Lacombie was dead, and Pierre, his son, who was her first-born, wasdead also; and his blood was upon the head of the men of the logs. Forhe had left the post and gone among white men, and she, the mother whobore him, and Lacombie, his father, had seen him no more. 

Years slipped by, bringing other children; Jacques, in whom the whiteblood of Lacombie was lost in the blending, and the girl who crouchedat her side. 

Long after, from the lips of a passing _Bois brûlé_, she heard thestory of Pierre's death--how, crazed by whisky and the taunts of adrunken companion, he had leaped upon a passing log and plunged intothe foaming white chute of the dreaded Saw Tooth rapid through which noman had passed and lived. 

_Sacré. _ He was brave! For he came nearly to the end of the rapid, standing upon his log--but, only nearly to the end--for there he wasdashed and broken upon the rocks in the swirl of the leapingwhite-water, and here was she, his mother, gazing at other logs in therush of other rapids. 

She started at the sudden clutch at her blanket and glanced sharply atthe girl who strained forward upon the very edge of the bluff andstared, not at the rapid, but straight downward where a few logsrevolved lazily in the grip of the shore eddy. 

The girl was pointing excitedly with a tapering white-brown finger tothe fork of a great log where, caught on a sharp limb stub, was thestriped sleeve of a mackinaw, from the end of which protruded a hand, while after the log, trailing sluggishly in the V of the fork, was thelifeless body of a man. 

As she looked a light of exultation gleamed in the sharp old eyes. Herewas vengeance! For the life of her son--the life of a white man. 

She noted with satisfaction that the body was that of a large man. Itwas fitting so. For her Pierre had been tall, and broad, andstrong--she would have been disappointed in the meaner price of a smallman's life. 

Suddenly she leaped to her feet and ran swiftly along the bluff seekinga place to descend. 

Even among the men of the logs, who are bad, one man stands alone asthe archfiend of them all. 

And now--it is possible, for he is a big man--she, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, themother of Pierre and of Jeanne, maybe is permitted to stoop close andbreathe upon the dead face of this man the weird curse of the barrenlands--almost forgotten, now, even among her own people--the blightingcurse of the "Yaga Tah!"

In the telling, the _Bois brûlé_ had mentioned the name of the drunkenlumber-jack who had baited her Pierre to his death, and in the oldwoman's brain the name of Moncrossen was the symbol of all blackdeviltry. 

After the death of Lacombie, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta had stolen Jeanne from themission that she might forget the ways of the white man, and returnedto her people. 

Jeanne, whose soft skin, beneath the sun tan, was the white skin ofLacombie, and who was the most beautiful among all the women of theNorth, with her straight, lithe body, and dark, mysterious eyes--eyeswhich, in color, were the eyes of the wood folk, but in whose baffling, compelling depths slumbered the secrets of an alien race. 

Jacques, she could understand, for in thought and deed and body he wasIndian--a whelp of her own breed. But the girl, she did not understand, and her love for her was the idolatrous love with which she had lovedLacombie. 

Through many lean years they lived among the tepees of the Indians, but, of late, they had come to the lodge of Jacques, who had become atrapper and guide. 

His lodge, of necessity, must be pitched not too far from the lumbercamps of the white men, whose laws make killing deer in winter acrime--and pay liberally for fresh venison. 

Swiftly she descended a short slope of the bluff, uttering quick, lowwhines of anticipation. For Jacques, Blood River Jack he was called bythe white men, had told her that Moncrossen was boss of the camp at thehead of the rapid. 

All through the winter she had kept the girl continually within hersight, for she remembered the previous winter when this same Moncrossenhad accidentally come upon their lodge on the south fork of BrokenKnee, and the look in his eyes as he gazed upon the beauty of Jeanne. 

She remembered the events that followed when Jacques was paid liberallyby the boss to make a midwinter journey to the railroad, and the lowsound in the night when she awakened to find the girl struggling in thebear-like grasp of the huge lumberjack, and how she fought him off inthe darkness with a hatchet while Jeanne fled shrieking into thetimber. 

Now she stood upon the brink, and beside her stood the girl in whosedark eyes flashed a primitive tiger-hate--for she, too, remembered theterror of that night on the south fork of Broken Knee. 

And, although she knew nothing of the wild death-curse of the Yaga Tah, she could at least stoop and spit upon the dead face of the one worstwhite man. 

Almost touching their feet lapped the brown, bubble-dotted waters ofthe river, and close in, at a hand's reach from the bank, the logspassed sluggishly in the slow swing of the shore eddy. 

The eyes of the pair focused in intense eagerness upon the great forkedlog which poised uncertainly at the outer edge of the whirl. 

For a breathless moment they watched while it seemed that the great logwith its gruesome freight must be swept out into the main current ofthe stream. Sluggishly it revolved, as upon an axis, and then, in thegrip of a random cross-current, swung heavily shoreward. 

The form of the old woman bent forward and, as the log drifted slowlypast, a talon-like hand shot out and fastened upon the bit of stripedcloth, and the next moment the two were tugging and hauling in theirefforts to drag the limp body clear of the brown waters. 

Seizing upon the heavy calked boots they worked the body inch by inchup the steep slope, and the dry lips of the old squaw curled in asnaggy grin as she noted the shattered leg and the toe of the boottwisted backward--a grin that deepened into a grimace of sardoniccruelty at the feel of the grating rasp of the shattered bone ends. 

After frequent pauses they returned to their task, and at each jerkwater gushed from the man's wide-sprung jaws. 

At last, panting with exertion, they gained the top of the bank. Withglittering eyes the old squaw stooped swiftly and turned the body uponits back. The unseeing eyes stared upward, water ceased to gush fromthe open mouth, and the lolling tongue settled flabbily between themud-smeared lips. 

A cry of savage disappointment escaped her, for the face into which shelooked was not the face of Moncrossen!

The curse of the Yaga Tah died upon her lips, for this curse may bebreathed but once in a lifetime, and if, as Father Magnus said, "God isgood, " she might yet live to gaze into the dead face of the one worstwhite man, and chant the curse of the Yaga Tah. 

So she stifled the curse and contented herself with gloating over thebattered body of the man of logs which the churning white-water of theBlood River rapid had tossed at her feet, even as the seethingwhite-water of the Saw Tooth had tossed the body of her Pierre at thefeet of the white men. 

At her side the girl gazed curiously at the exanimate form. In herheart was no bitterness against the people of her father--no damning ofthe breed for the sins of the individual. 

Lacombie, she knew, was good--the one good white man--oldWa-ha-ta-na-ta called him. And Moncrossen was bad. 

Between these two extremes were the unnumbered millions of whomLacombie used to tell her in the long Northern twilight, when, as alittle girl, she would creep upon his knees as he sat before the doorof the log trading-post, and his arms would steal about her, and afar-away look would creep into his blue eyes. 

Often he spoke of beautiful women; of mighty tepees of stone; ofbridges of iron, and of trains which rushed along the iron trails atthe speed of the flight of a bird, and spat fire and smoke, and whosevoice shrieked louder than the mate-call of the _loup-cervier_. 

And she would listen, round-eyed, until the little head would droopslowly against the great chest, and the words would rumble softly andblend bewilderingly with the wheezing of the black pipe and the strongsmell of rank tobacco. 

Sometimes she would wake up with a start to hear more, and it would bemorning, and she would be between the blankets in her own little bunk, and Wa-ha-ta-na-ta would come and laugh, and pinch her fat legs, andcroon strange Indian songs in low minor keys. 

There were stories, too; stories of Kas-ka-tan, the chief; of the CrazyMan of the Berry Moon; of Zuk, the lost hunter; of the Maiden of theSnows, whose heart was of ice, and whose voice was the splashing oftiny waters, and of the mighty Fire God, whose breath alone could movethe heart of the Maiden of the Snows, so that in the springtime when hespoke to her of love, her laughter was heard in the tiny rills of thewoodland. 

But it was of Lacombie's tales she thought most. Only she could neverstay awake to hear the end, and the next night there would be othertales of other wonders, and all without end. 

So in her heart grew a strange unrest, a wild, irrepressible longing tosee these things in the wonderful country of the white men, to whom, intime of sickness and death, came smiling, round-faced priests, withlong black clothes and many buttons; instead of hideous medicine-men, with painted faces and strings of teeth and shriveled claws. 

As she gazed upon the form of the white man, a soft wistfulness stoleinto her eyes. Unconsciously, she drew closer, and the next instantthrew herself upon the body, tearing frantically at the shirt-front. 

Sounded the tiny popping of buttons and the smooth rip of flannel, anda small, white-brown hand slipped beneath the tattered cloth andpressed tight against the white skin of the mighty chest. 

For a long moment it rested there while the old woman looked on inwonder. Then the girl faced her, speaking rapidly, with shining eyes:

"He is not dead!" she gasped. "There is life in the heart that moves!See! It is not the face of Moncrossen, but of the great _chechako_ ofwhom Jacques told us. The man who is hated of Moncrossen. Who killedDiablesse, the _loup-garou_, with a knife. 

"The man whom Creed fears, and of whom he spoke the night he camewhining to the tepee with his heart turned to water within him, andtold Jacques of how this man lay helpless in the flames of the burningshack, and the next day walked unscorched into the store at Hilarity. 

"He is The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die. Quick! Help me, and together we willbring him to life!"

The old squaw held aloof, scowling. 

"Lacombie is dead, " she muttered. "There is no good white man. The menof the logs are bad. Where is Pierre, thy brother? And where are thefathers of the light-skinned breeds of the rivers?

"Who bring sorrow and death among the women of my people? Whence comesthe whisky that is the curse of the red men of the North? Would youwarm the rattlesnake in your bosom, to die from its poisoned tooth? Allmen die! Lacombie, who was good, is dead. And this one who, being a manof logs, is bad, will die also. Come away while yet there is time!"

The girl sprang to her feet and, with uplifted hand, facedWa-ha-ta-na-ta, and in her eyes was the compelling light of prophecy. 

"Is it not enough, O Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, " she cried, "that Moncrossen, theevil one, hates this man? He is M's'u Bill, The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die. Neither by wolves nor fire nor water can he die, nor will he be killedin the fighting of men. But one day he will kill Moncrossen, that thoumayest lay upon the head of the evil one the black curse of the YagaTah! And then will the blood of Pierre, thy son, be avenged. "

At the words, the smoldering black eyes of the old squaw wavered, theyswept the limp form upon the ground, and returned a long, searchinggaze into the blazing eyes of the girl. With a low gutturalthroat-sound, she dropped to her knees, and together they bent to theirtask. At the end of an hour the breath fluttered irregularly betweenthe bearded lips and the gray eyes closed of their own accord. 

As the two women rested, the sound of shouting voices was borne totheir ears. The old woman started, listening. 

"Back from the river!" she cried, "soon will come men who, with long, sharp poles, will push out the logs from the eddies, and from the stillwaters of the bends, and, should the men of Moncrossen find this manthey will kill him--for all men die! Did not Lacombie die?"

CHAPTER XXVI

MAN OR TOY MAN?

The newspaper prediction of the forthcoming announcement of theengagement of Miss Ethel Manton and Gregory St. Ledger was published, not without color of authority, nor was it entirely out of keeping withappearances. 

As the gay calendar of society's romp and rout drew toward its close, the names of these two became more and more intimately associated. Itwas an association assiduously cultivated by young St. Ledger, andearnestly fostered and abetted by the St. Ledger sisters who, fluttering uncertainly upon the outermost rim of the circle immediatelysurrounding society's innermost shrine, realized that the linking ofthe Manton name with the newer name of St. Ledger, would prove an opensesame to the half-closed doors of the Knickerbockers. 

Despite two years' residence in the most expensive suite of a mostexpensive hotel, nobody seemed to know much about the St. Ledgers. Itwas an accepted fact that they were islanders from somewhere, variouslystated to be Jamaica, The Isle of Pines, and Barbadoes, whose wealthwas founded upon sugar, and appeared limitless. 

St. Ledger _père_, tall and saturnine, divided his time about equallybetween New York and "the islands. "

The two girls, ravishingly beautiful in their dark, semi-mysteriousway, had been brought from some out-of-the-way French convent to thelife of the great city, where to gain entrée into society's holy ofholies became a fetish above their gods. 

There was no _mère_ St. Ledger, and vague whisperings passed back andforth between certain bleached out, flat-chested virgins, whoseforgotten youth and beauty were things long past, but whose tenure uponsociety was as firm and unassailable as Plymouth Rock and the silverleg of Peter Stuyvesant could make it. 

It was hinted that the high-piled tresses of the sisters matched tooclosely the hue of the raven's wing, and that the much admired "waves"if left to themselves would resolve into decided "kinks. "

They were guarded whisperings, however, non-committal, and so wordedthat a triumphantly blazoned "I told you so!" or a depreciatory andhorrified: "You misunderstood me, _dear_, " hung upon the pendingverdict of the powers that be. 

Gregory St. Ledger, in so far as any one knew, was neither liked nordisliked among men; being of the sort who enjoy watching games oftennis and, during the later hours of the afternoon, drive pamperedPekingese about the streets in silver-mounted electrics. 

He enjoyed, also, a baby-blue reputation which successfully cloakedcertain spots of pale cerise in his rather negligible character. 

He smoked innumerable scented cigarettes, gold as to tip and monogram, which he selected with ostentatious unostentation from a heavy goldcase liberally bestudded with rubies and diamonds. 

He viewed events calmly through a life-size monocle, was Londontailored, Paris shod, and New York manicured; and carried an embossedleather check-book, whose detachable pink slips proved a potent safetyfactor against undue increment of the St. Ledger exchequer. 

Thus equipped, and for reasons of family, young St. Ledger decided tomarry Ethel Manton; and to this end he devoted himself persistently andinsidiously, but with the inborn patience and diplomacy of the SouthIslander. 

Bill Carmody he hated with the snakelike hate of little men, butshrewdly perceiving that the girl held more than a friendly regard forhim, enthusiastically sang his praises in her ears; praises that, somehow, always left her with a strange smothering sensation about theheart and a dull resentment of the fact that she cared. 

With the disappearance of young Carmody, St. Ledger redoubled hisattentions. The young man found it much easier than did his sisters tobe numbered "among those present" at the smart functions of the élite. 

When New York shivered in the first throes of winter, a well-plannedcruise in mild waters under soft skies on board the lavishly appointedand bountifully supplied St. Ledger yacht, whose sailing list includeda carefully selected and undeniably congenial party of guests, workedwonders in the matter of St. Ledger's social aspirations. 

At the clubs, substantial and easily forgotten loans to members of theembarrassed elect, coupled with vague hints, rarely failed to paydividends in the form of invitations to ultra-exclusive _affaires_. 

At the hostelry the St. Ledger _soirées_, if so glitteringly bizarre asto draw high-browed frowns from the more reserved and staid of thethinning old guard of ancestor-worshipers, nevertheless, wereenthusiastically hailed and eagerly attended by the younger set, andplayed no small part in the insinuation of "those St. Ledgers" into therealms of the anointed. 

Thus the winter wore away, and, at all times and in all places GregorySt. Ledger appeared as the devoted satellite of Ethel Manton, whoentered the social mêlée without enthusiasm, but with doggeddetermination to let the world see that the disappearance of BillCarmody affected her not at all. 

She tolerated St. Ledger, even encouraged him, for he amused andoffered a welcome diversion for her thoughts. 

She was a girl of moods whose imagination carried her into far placesin the picturing of a man--her man--big, and strong, and clean;fighting bare-fisted among men for his place in the world, and aloneconquering the secret devil of desire that he might claim the right toher love. 

Then it was, curled up in the big armchair in the library, the blueeyes would glow softly and tenderly in the flare of the flickeringfirelight, and between parted lips the warm breath would come and go inshort stabbing whispers to the quick rise and fall of the roundedbosom, and the little fists would clench white in the tense gladness ofit. 

But there were other times--times when the dancing wall-shadows weredark specters of ill-omen gloating ghoulishly before her horror-widenedeyes as her brain conjured the picture of the man--battered, broken, helpless, with bloated, sottish features, and bleared eyes--a beatenman drifting heedlessly, hopelessly, furtive-eyed, away from hisstandards--and from her. 

At such times the breath would flutter uncertainly between cold, bloodless lips, and the marble whiteness of her face became a palliddeath mask of despair. 

Always in extremes she pictured him, for, knowing the man as she knewhim--the bigness of him--the relentless dynamic man-power of his being, she knew that with him there would be no half-way measure--no medianline of indifferent achievement which should stand for neither the goodnor the bad among men. 

Here was no Tomlinson whose little sins and passive virtues became thejest of the gods; but a man who in the final accounting would standfour-square upon the merit of his works, and in the might of theirright or wrong, accept fearlessly his reward. 

The days dragged into weeks and the weeks into months--empty months tothe heart of the girl who waited, dreading, yet hoping for word fromthe man she loved. Yet knowing, deep down in her heart, she would hearno word. 

He would come to her--would answer the call of her great love--wouldbeat down the barriers and in the flush of victory would claim her ashis own; or, in the everlasting silence of the weird realm of missingmen, be lost to her forever. 

Daily she scanned the newspapers. Not front pages whose glaringheadlines flaunted world-rumblings, politics, and the illness of richmen's dogs, but tiny cable-whispers from places far from the beatentrack, places forgotten or unknown, whose very names breathed mystery;whispers that hinted briefly of life-tragedies, of action and theunsung deeds of men. 

And as she read, she mused. 

A tramp steamer dashed upon the saw-tooth rocks off Sarawak. Thirtyperish--seven saved--no names. "Where is Sarawak? Is it possible that_he_----?"

Four sailors killed in the rescue of a girl from a dive in Singapore. Investigation ordered--no names. "_He_ would have done that. "

The rum-sodden body of a man, presumably a derelict American, picked upon the bund at Papiete; no marks of identification save the tightlyclutched photograph of a well-dressed young woman. "Had _he_ given upthe fight? And was this the end?"

Eight revolutionist prisoners taken by General Orotho in yesterday'sbattle were shot at sunrise this morning before the prison wall ofManagua. 

One, an American, faced the firing squad with a laugh, and the nextinstant pitched forward, his body riddled with bullets. "_He_ wouldhave laughed! Would have played gladly the game with death and, losing--laughed!"

Each day she read the little lines of the doings of men; unnamedadventurers whose deeds were virile deeds; rough men, from whosecontaminating touch society gathers up her silken skirts and passes byupon the other side; unlovely men, rolled-sleeved and open-throated, deep-seamed of face, and richly weather-tanned of arm, who treadroughshod the laws of little right and wrong; who drink red liquor andswear lurid oaths and loud; but who, shoulder to shoulder, redden thegutters of Singapore with their hearts' blood in the snatching of ayoung girl from danger. 

And in the reading there grew up in her heart a mighty respect forthese men, for, in the analysis of their deeds, the beam swayedstrongly against the measure of the world in its balance of good andharm. 

Many times her feet carried her into strange streets among strangepeople, where the reek of shipping became incense to her nostrils, andhairy-chested men of many ports stared boldly into her face and, reading her aright, made room with deference. 

Upon an evening just before the annual surcease of frivolity, GregorySt. Ledger called at the Manton home and, finding Ethel alone in thelibrary, asked her to be his wife. 

Because it was an evening of her blackest mood she neither refused noraccepted him, but put him off for a year on the ground that she did notknow her mind. 

In vain he protested, arguing the power and prestige of the St. Ledgermillions, and in the end departed to seek out an acquaintance who hadto do with a blatant Sunday newspaper. 

During the interview that followed, in the course of which the reporterordered and St. Ledger paid for many tall drinks of intricateconcoction, the gilded youth made no statement of fact, but theimpression he managed to convey furnished the theme for the news storywhose headlines seared into Bill Carmody's soul to the crashing of histenets and gods. 

In the library the girl sat far into the night and thought of the manwho had won her heart and of the toy man who would buy her hand. 

CHAPTER XXVII

JEANNE

Bill Carmody opened his eyes. A weird darkness surrounded him throughwhich dancing half-lights played upon a close-thrown screen. Dully hewatched the grotesque flickering of lights and shadows. He was notsurprised--not even curious. Nothing mattered--nothing save theterrible pain in his head and the racking ache of the muscles of hisbody. His skin felt hot and drawn and he gasped for air. A great weightseemed pressing upon him, and when he tried to fill his bursting lungsinstead of great drafts of cooling air, hot, stabbing pains shotthrough his chest and he groaned aloud at the hurt of it. 

He turned his aching body, wincing at the movement, and stared dullythrough a low aperture in the encircling screen. Beyond, in anotherworld, it seemed, a tiny fire flickered under a suspended iron kettle. 

Near the fire a blanketed form sat motionless with knees tight-huggedagainst shrunken breast. Upon the blanket-covered knees rested theangular chin of a dark-skinned, leathern face, upon which the firelightplayed fitfully, and beneath a tangled mop of graying hair two eyesflashed and dulled like black opals. 

He glanced upward and realized that the close-thrown screen, upon whichdanced the lights and shadows, was the smoke-blackened canvas of atepee, loosely stretched upon its slanting lodge-poles. 

Again he attempted to fill his congested lungs with cool, sweet air, and again the attempt ended in a groan and he relaxed, gasping, whileupon his forehead the cold sweat stood in clammy beads. 

Yet his head was burning hot, and the blankets which covered him wereblankets of fire. Suddenly it dawned upon him that this was a hideousnightmare. 

The blackened lodge with its terrifying shadow-pictures that flickeredand faded and flickered again; the old crone by the fire; the pain inhis head, and the hot aches of his body, were horrid brain fancies. 

With a mighty effort he would break the spell, and from the bunk belowthe rich brogue of Fallon would "bawl him out" for his restlessness--goodold Fallon!

Vainly he attempted to marshal his scattered wits, and break the spellof the torturing brain picture. The shadows above him took on weirdshapes; grinning faces with tangled gray locks; long snakelike bodies, and tails of red and yellow light twined and writhed sinuously aboutthe beautiful face of a girl. 

How real--how distinct in the half-light, was the face beneath the massof gleaming black hair. And eyes! Dark, serious eyes, into which onemight gaze far into mysterious depths--soft, restful eyes, thought theman as he stared upward into the phantom face. 

From the curve of the parted red lips the perfect teeth flashedwhitely, and from the delicately turned chin the soft full-throatedneck swept beneath the open throat of the loose-fitting buckskinhunting shirt whose deep fringed trimmings only half-concealed the richlines of a rounded bosom. 

The man remained motionless, fearing to move lest the vision fade andthe harsh voice of Fallon blare out from below. "Damn Fallon!" hemuttered, and then the pictured lips moved and in his ears was thesoft, sweet sound of a voice. 

The writhing snakes with the shining tails resolved into flickeringwall-shadows which danced lightly among the slanting lodge-poles. Butthe dream-face did not fade, the dream-eyes gazed softly into his, thedream-lips moved, and the low sound of the dream-voice was music to hisears. 

"You are sick, " the voice said; "you are in pain. " Bill's throat wasdry with a burning thirst. 

"Water!" he gasped, and the word rasped harsh. 

The girl reached into the shadows and a tiny white-brown hand appearedholding a dripping tin cup. She bent closer and the next instant theman's burning cheek was pillowed against the soft coolness of her baredarm and his head was raised from the blanket while the tiny white-brownhand held the tin cup to his lips. 

With the life-giving draft the man's brain cleared and he smiled intothe eyes of his dream-girl. Her lips returned the smile and there was amovement of the rounded arm that pillowed his head. 

"No! No!" he whispered, and pressed his cheek closer against the soft, bare flesh. The arm was not withdrawn, the liquid eyes gazed for amoment into his and were veiled by the swift downsweep of the long, dark lashes. 

In the silence, a little white-brown hand strayed over his face andrested with delicious coolness upon the fevered brow. Bill's eyesclosed and for blissful eons he lay, while in all the world was no suchthing as pain--only the sweet, restful peace of Dreamland. 

Unconsciously his lips pressed close against the softness of her arm, and at their touch the arm trembled, and from far away came the quick, sibilant gasp of an indrawn breath. 

The arm pressed closer, the tapering fingers of the little hand strayedcaressingly through the tangled curls of his hair, and Bill Carmodyslipped silently into the quiet of oblivion. 

The fire under the iron kettle died down, and the shadows faded fromthe walls of the tepee. Inside, the girl sat far into the night, andthe mystery of the dark eyes deepened as they gazed into the beardedface close pillowed against her arm. 

By the dying fire the old crone drew her blanket more closely about herand glowered into the red embers as her beady, black eyes shot keenglances toward the motionless forms in the blackness beyond the openflap of the tepee. 

On Blood River the logs floated steadily millward, the bateau followedthe drive, and the men of the logs passed noisily out of the North. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

A PROPHECY

In the gray of the morning Jacques Lacombie returned to his lodge tofind Wa-ha-ta-na-ta seated in front of the tepee staring into the deadashes of the fire. 

In answer to his rough questioning she arose stiffly, stalked to theopen flap of the lodge and, standing aside, pointed mutely to thesilent figures within. 

Both slept. The fever-flushed face of the man pillowed upon the barearm of the girl, whose body had settled wearily forward until her head, with its mass of black tresses, rested upon his breast, where it roseand fell to the heave of his labored breathing. 

Long the half-breed looked, uttering no word, while the old squawsearched his face which remained as expressionless as a face of stone. 

"Make a fire, " he commanded gruffly, and slung his pack upon theground. She obeyed, muttering the while, and Jacques watched her as hefilled and lighted his pipe. 

"The man is M's'u' Bill, " he observed, apparently talking to himself, "The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die. "

The old woman shot him a keen glance as she hovered over the tiny flamethat licked at the twigs of dry larchwood. "All men die, " she muttereddully. "Did not Lacombie die?"

"At midnight I passed through the deserted camp of Moncrossen, " the mancontinued, paying no heed to her remark. "Creed did not go out with thedrive, but stayed behind to guard the camp, and he told me of the deathof this man; how he himself saw him sink beneath the waters of theriver and saw the logs of the jam rush over him. 

"As we talked, and because he had been drinking much whisky, he told methat it was he who locked this man in the shack last winter and thenset fire to the shack. He told me also Moncrossen desired this man'sdeath above any other thing, and had ordered the breaking of the jam ata moment when he knew the _chechako_ could not escape, so that he washurled into the water and killed. "

The old woman interrupted him. "I drew him upon the bank, thinking hewas Moncrossen, and that I might breathe upon him the curse. Becausehis heart is bad, being a man of logs, I would have returned him to theriver whence he came; but Jeanne prevented. " Jacques smiled at thebitter disappointment in her voice. 

"It is well, " he returned. "See to it that he lives. Moncrossen isgreat among the white men--and his heart is bad. But the heart of the_chechako_ is good, and one day will come a reckoning, and in that daythe curse of the Yaga Tah shall fall from thy lips upon the dead faceof Moncrossen. "

"All white men are bad, " grumbled the squaw. "There is no good whiteman. "

Jacques silenced her with a gesture of impatience. "What is that toyou, oh, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, good or bad, if he kills Moncrossen?"

The old woman leaped to her feet and pointed a sharp skinny fingertoward the tepee, her eyes flashed, and the cracked voice rang thinwith anger. 

"The girl!" she cried. "Jeanne, thy sister!"

Her son stepped close to her side and spoke low with the quiet voice ofassurance:

"No harm will come to the girl. I have many times talked with this manas he worked in the timber. His heart is good--and his lips do not lie. I, who have looked into his eyes, have spoken. And, that you shall knowmy words are true, if harm befall the girl at the hand of the white_chechako_, with this knife shall you kill me as I sleep. "

He withdrew a long, keen blade from its sheath and handed it to thesquaw, who took it. 

"And not only you will I kill, but him also, " she answered, testing itsedge upon her thumb. "For the moon has spoken, and blood will flow. Last night, in the wet red moon, I saw it--dripping tears ofblood--twelve, besides one small one, and they were swallowed up in themist of the river. I, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, the daughter of Kas-ka-tan, thechief, who know the signs, have spoken. 

"Before the full of the thirteenth moon blood will flow upon the bankof the river. But whose blood I know not, for a great cloud came andcovered the face of the moon, and when it was gone the tears of bloodwere no more and the mist had returned to the river--and the meaning ofthis I know not. "

She ceased speaking abruptly at a sound from the tepee as the girlemerged and stepped quickly to the fire. 

"I am glad you have come, " said Jeanne hurriedly to her brother. "You, who are skilled in the mending of bones. The man's leg is broken; it isswollen and gives him much pain. "

Jacques followed her into the tepee and, after a careful examination, removed the unconscious man. 

The setting of the bones required no small amount of labor andingenuity. Carmody was placed between two trees, to one of which hisbody was firmly bound at the shoulders. 

A portion of the bark was removed from the other tree and the smoothsurface rubbed with fat. Around this was passed a stout line, one endof which was made fast to the injured leg at the ankle. 

A trimmed sapling served as a capstan bar, against which the two womenthrew their weight, while Jacques fitted the bone ends neatly togetherand applied the splints. 

The Indians, schooled in the treatment of wounds and broken bones, werehelpless as babes before the ravages of the dreaded pneumonia whichracked the great body of the sick man. 

Bill Carmody's recollection of the following days was confined to ahopeless confusion of distorted brain pictures in which the beautifulface of the girl, the repulsive features of the old crone, and theswart countenance of the half-breed were inextricably blended. 

For two weeks he lay, interspersing long periods of unconsciousnesswith hours of wild, delirious raving. Then the disease wore itself out, and Jeanne Lacombie, entering the tepee one morning, encountered thesteady gaze of the sunken eyes. 

With a short exclamation of pleasure she crossed the intervening spaceand knelt at his side. The two regarded each other in silence. Atlength Bill's lips moved and he started slightly at the weak, tonelesssound of his own voice. 

"So you are real, after all, " he smiled. 

The girl returned the smile frankly. 

"M's'u' has been very sick, " she imparted, speaking slowly, as thoughselecting her words. 

Bill nodded; he felt dizzy and helplessly weak. 

"How long have I been here?" he asked. 

"Since the turning of the moon. "

"I'm afraid that is not very definite. You see I didn't even know themoon had been turned. Who turned it? And is it really turned to cheeseor just turned around?"

The girl regarded him gravely, a puzzled expression puckering her face. Bill laughed. 

"Forgive me, " he begged. "I was talking nonsense. Can you tell me howmany days I have been here?"

"It is fifteen days since we drew you from the river. "

"Who's _we_?"

Again the girl seemed perplexed. 

"I mean, who helped you pull me out of the drink?"

"Wa-ha-ta-na-ta. She is my mother. She is an Indian, and very old. "

"Are _you_ an Indian?" asked the man in such evident surprise that thegirl laughed. 

"My father was white. I am a breed, " she answered; then with a quicklifting of the chin, hastened to add: "But not like the breeds of therivers! My father was Lacombie, the factor at Crossette, andWa-ha-ta-na-ta was the daughter of Kas-ka-tan, the chief, and they weremarried by a priest at the mission. 

"That was very long ago, and now Lacombie is dead and the priest also, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta has a paper; also it is written in the book at themission that men may read it and know. "

Carmody was amused at her eagerness and watched the changing expressionof her face as she continued more slowly:

"My father was good. But he is dead and, until you came, there has beenno good white man. "

Bill smiled at the naïve frankness of her. 

"Why do you think that I am good?" he inquired. 

"In your eyes I have read it. That night, before the wild fever-spiritentered your body, I looked long into your eyes. And has not Jacquestold me of how you killed the _loup-garou_; of how you are hated byMoncrossen, and feared by Creed?

"Do I not know that fire cannot burn you nor water drown? Did you notbeat down the greatest of Moncrossen's fighting men? And has notWabishke told in the woods, to the wonder of all, how you drink nowhisky, but pour it upon your feet?"

The girl spoke softly and rapidly, her face flushing. 

"Do I not know all your thoughts?" she continued. "I who have sat atyour side through the long days of your sickness and listened to thevoice of the fever-spirit? At such times the heart cannot lie, and thelips speak the truth. "

She leaned closer, and unconsciously a slender, white-brown hand fellupon his, and the soft, tapering fingers closed upon his own. Adelicious thrill passed through his body at the touch. 

As he looked into the beautiful face so close to his, with the whiteflash of pearly teeth in the play of the red lips, the eyes luminous, like twin stars, a strange, numbing loneliness overcame him. 

She was speaking in a voice that sounded soothing and far away, so thathe could not make out the words. Slowly his eyelids closed, blottingout the face--and he slept. 

CHAPTER XXIX

A BUCKSKIN HUNTING-SHIRT

The days of his convalescence in the camp of the Lacombies were daysfraught with mingled emotions in the heart of Bill Carmody. 

Old Wa-ha-ta-na-ta treated him with cold deference, anticipating hisneeds with a sagacity that was almost uncanny. She appeared hardly tobe aware of his presence, yet many times the man felt, without seeing, the deep, burning gaze of the undimmed, black eyes. 

Jacques, whom he had known in the logging-camp as Blood River Jack, treated him with open friendliness, and as he became able to move aboutthe camp, taught him much of the lore of the forest, of the building ofnets and traps, the smoke-tanning of buckskin, and the taking anddrying of salmon. 

During the long evenings the two sat close to the smudge of thecamp-fire and talked of many things, while the women listened. 

But of the three it was the girl who most interested him. She was hisalmost constant companion, silent and subtle at times, and with theinborn subtlety of women she defied his most skilful attempts to shareher thoughts. 

At other times her naïve frankness and innocent brutality of expressionsurprised and amused him. Baffling, revealing--she remained at alltimes an enigma. 

By the middle of June Bill was able to make short excursions to theriver with the aid of the crutches which Blood River Jack crudelyfashioned from young saplings. 

With his increased freedom of movement his restlessness increased. Somewhere along the river, he knew, the bird's-eye logs were banked, awaiting the arrival of Moncrossen and Stromberg to raft them to therailway, and he surmised that their coming would not be long delayed. 

Over and over in his mind he turned schemes for outwitting the boss. The strength was rapidly returning to his injured leg and he discardedone crutch, using the other only to help him over the rough places. 

He was in no condition to undertake a journey to the railway, and inspite of Blood River Jack's expressed hatred of Moncrossen andfriendship for himself, he hesitated about taking the half-breed intohis confidence. 

At length he could stand the suspense no longer. Each day's delaylessened his chance of success. He decided to act--to lay the matterbefore Blood River Jack and ask his coöperation, and if he refused, toplay the game alone. 

He came to this decision one afternoon while seated upon a great logoverlooking the rushing rapid. Beside him sat Jeanne, apparently deeplyengrossed in the embroidering of a buckskin hunting-shirt. 

After a long silence Bill knocked the dead ashes from his pipe, and hisjaw squared as he looked out over the foaming white-water. He turnedtoward the girl and encountered the intense gaze of her dark eyes. 

The neglected needlework lay across her knees, the small hands werefolded, and the shining needle glinted in the sun where it had beendeftly caught into the yellow buckskin at the turning of an unfinishedscroll. 

"The logs which you seek, " she said quietly, "are piled upon the bankof the river, half a mile below the rapids. " The man regarded her witha startled glance. 

"What do you know about these logs--and of what I was thinking?"

She answered him with a curious, baffling smile, and, ignoring hisquestion, continued:

"You need help. I am but a girl and know naught of logs nor why theselogs did not go down the river with the others. But in your face as youpondered from day to day I have read it. Is it not that you wouldprevent Moncrossen from taking these logs? But you know not how to doit, for the logs must go down the river and Moncrossen must come up theriver?"

"You are a wonder!" he exclaimed in admiration. "That's exactly what'sbeen bothering me. " She blushed furiously under his gaze and, withlowering eyes, continued:

"I do not know how it can be managed, but Jacques will know. You maytrust Jacques as you trust me. For we are your friends, and his hatredof Moncrossen is a real hatred. "

She raised her eyes to his. 

"Do you know why Jacques hates Moncrossen, and why Wa-ha-ta-na-ta hatesall white men?" she asked. Bill shook his head and listened as thegirl, with blazing eyes, told him of the death of Pierre, and then, ofthe horror of that night on Broken Knee. 

At her words Bill Carmody's face darkened, and his great fists clencheduntil the nails bit deep into his palms. The steel-gray eyes narrowedto slits and, as the girl finished, he arose and gently lifted one ofthe little hands between his own. 

"I, too, could kill Moncrossen for _that_, " he said, and the tone ofhis voice was low, and soft, with a tense, even softness that soundedin the ears of the girl more terrible than a thousand loud hurledthreats. 

She looked up quickly into the face of the glinting eyes, her tiny handtrembled in his, and a sudden flush deepened the warm color of herneck. 

"For me?" she faltered. "_Me?_" And, with a half-smothered, frightenedgasp, tore her hand free and fled swiftly into the forest. 

Bill stared a long time at the place where she disappeared, and, smiling, stooped and picked up her needlework where it had fallen athis feet. 

He examined it idly for a moment and then more closely as a puzzledlook crept into his eyes. The garment he held in his hand was neverdesigned for a covering for the girl's own lithe body, nor was it smallenough even for Jacques. 

"She's worked on it every day for a month, " he murmured, as he glancedfrom the intricate embroidered design to his own shirt of raggedflannel, and again he smiled--bitterly. 

"She's a queer kid, " he said softly, as he recovered his crutch; "and amighty good kid, too. "

CHAPTER XXX

CREED

That night the four sat late about the campfire. 

Old Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, silent and forbidding, as usual, but with a sharpear for all that was said, listened as they laid their plans. 

At their conclusion the others sought their blankets, while Jacquestook the trail for the camp of old Wabishke whose help was needed inthe undertaking which was to involve no small amount of labor. 

As the two women finished the preparation of breakfast the followingmorning, the half-breed appeared, followed closely by the old Indiantrapper whose scarred lips broke into a hideous grin at the sight ofBill. 

"This is Wabishke, of whom I spoke, " said Jacques, indicating theIndian. Bill laughingly extended his hand, which the other took. 

"Well! If it isn't my friend, the Yankee!" he exclaimed. "Wabishke andI are old friends. He is the first man I met in the woods. " The Indiannodded, grunted, and pointed to his feet which were encased in a veryserviceable pair of boots. 

"Oh, I remember, perfectly, " laughed Bill. "Have you still got mymatches?" Wabishke grinned. 

"You keel _loup-garou_ with knife?" he asked, as if seekingcorroboration for an unbelievable story. 

"I sure did, " Bill answered. "The old gal tried to bite me. "

The Indian regarded him with grave approval and, stepping to his side, favored him with another greasy hand-shake, after which ceremony hesquatted by the fire and removing a half-dozen pieces of bacon from thefrying-pan proceeded to devour them with evident relish. 

Breakfast over, the three men accompanied by Jeanne set out for theriver, leaving to old Wa-ha-ta-na-ta the work of the camp. Sliding acanoe into the water, they took their places, Jacques and Wabishke atthe paddles, with Jeanne and Bill seated on the bottom amidships. 

Close to the opposite bank the canoe was headed down-stream and, underthe swift, strong strokes of the paddles, glided noiselessly in theshadows. A few minutes later, at a sign from Jacques who was in thebow, Wabishke, with a deft twist of his paddle, slanted the canoebankward. 

With a soft, rustling sound the light craft parted the low hangingbranches of killikinick and diamond willow, and buried its nose in thesoft mud. 

Peering through the tangle of underbrush the occupants of the canoemade out, some fifty yards below their position, a small clearing inthe center of which, just above the high-water mark of the river, was asmall pyramid of logs. 

Seated beside the pile, with his back resting against the ends of thelogs, sat a man holding a rifle across his knees. 

Bill Carmody's fighting spirit thrilled at the sight. Here at last wasaction. Here were the stolen logs of bird's-eye, and guarding them wasCreed!

While the others steadied the canoe he stepped noiselessly onto thebank, where he sank to his ankles in the mud, and, seizing hold of thebow shot the canoe out into the current. 

Creed had been left in the woods by Moncrossen, ostensibly to guard theBlood River camp against pilfering Indians and chance forest fires, buthis real mission was to keep watch on the bird's-eye until it could besafely rafted to the railway. 

Moncrossen promised to return about the middle of June, and tenmornings Creed had skulked the three miles from the lumber camp to thelogs, and ten evenings he had skulked fearfully back again, mutteringfutile curses at the boss's delay. 

Creed was uneasy. Not since the evening the greener had walked into HodBurrage's store at the very moment when he, Creed, was recounting tothe interested listeners the circumstances attending his demise, had hebeen entirely free from a haunting, nameless fear. 

True, as he told Blood River Jack, he had afterward seen with his owneyes, the greener go down under the rushing jam where no man couldpossibly go down and live. 

But, nevertheless, deep in his heart was the _terror_--nameless, unreasoning, haunting, --that clung to him night and day. So that ahundred times a day, alone in the timber, he would start and castquick, jerky glances over his shoulder and jump, white-faced andtrembling, at the snapping of a twig. 

As the days went by the nameless terror grew, dogging his footsteps, phantomlike by day, and haunting him at night, as he lay shaking in hisbunk in the double-locked little office. 

With the single exception of Blood River Jack, he had seen no humanbeing since the drive, and his frenzied desire for companionship wouldhave been pitiful, had it been less craven. 

He slept fitfully with his rifle loaded and often cocked in his bunkbeside him, while during the day it was never out of reach of his hand. 

In his daily excursions to the bird's-eye rollway he never took thesame route twice, but skulked, peering fearfully about in theunderbrush, avoiding even the game trails. 

And always he détoured widely the place where he had seen the greenerdisappear beneath the muddy, log-ridden waters. 

And so it was that upon this particular morning Creed sat close againstthe pyramid of logs--waiting. 

At a sound from the river he jerked his rifle into readiness forimmediate action and sat nervously alert, his thumb twitching on thehammer. Approaching down-stream came a canoe. 

Creed leaped to his feet with a maudlin grin of relief as he recognizedthe three occupants. Apparently they had not seen him, and he steppedto the bank fearful lest they pass. 

"Hey! You, Jack!" he called, waving his cap. 

The bow-man ceased paddling and gazed shoreward in evident surprise;the man on the bank was motioning them in with wide sweeps of the arm. The half-breed called a few hasty words over his shoulder and the canoeshot toward shore. 

"Where y' goin'?" asked Creed, as the three stepped onto the bank. Blood River Jack replied with an indefinite sweep of his arm to thesouthward. 

"Well, y' ain't in no hurry. Never seen a Injun yet cudn't stop long'nough to take a drink o' licker. Har, har, har!"

He laughed foolishly, with an exaggerated wink toward the old Indian. 

"How 'bout it, Wabishke; leetle fire-water make yer belt fit better?'Tain't a goin' to cost y' nawthin'. "

The Indian grinned and grunted acquiescence, and Creed inserted his armbetween two logs and withdrew a squat, black bottle. 

"Here's some reg'lar ol' 'rig'nal red-eye. An' here's lookin' at ye, "he said, as he removed the cork and sucked greedily at the contents. "Jest tuk a taste fust, 'cause I don't like to give vis'tors whisky Iwudn't drink m'self, har, har, har! Anyways, the way I figger, it'swhite men fust, then half white, then Injuns. " He passed the bottle toJacques. 

"'Fraid's little too strong fer ladies, " he smirked, at Jeanne, and, reaching out quickly, jerked the upturned bottle from Wabishke's lips. 

"Hey, y' ol' pirate! Y' don't need fer to empty it all to wunst. Setroun' a while, an' bimeby we'll have 'nother. 'S all on me to-day; thishere's my party. "

They seated themselves on the ground and engaged in conversation, inwhich Creed did most of the talking. 

"Trade rifles?" asked Blood River Jack, idly picking up Creed's gun andexamining it minutely. 

"Beats all how a Injun allus wants to be a tradin', " grinned Creed. "Don't know but what I mought, though, at that. What's yourn?"

"Winchester, 30-40, " replied Jacques, handing it over for inspection. 

"Mine, too, " said Creed; "only mine's newer. What'll y' give to boot?"Jacques did not hurry his answer, being engaged in removing thecartridges for the better inspection of magazine and chamber. 

"Mine's better kep', " he opined after a careful squinting down themuzzle. 

"Kep' nawthin'! 'S all nicked up. An', besides, it pulls hard. "

Jacques was deliberately refilling the magazine, but so intent wasCreed in picking out fancied defects in the other's weapon that hefailed to notice that the cartridges which were being placed in his ownrifle had had their bullets carefully drawn, while his originalcartridges reposed snugly in the pocket of the half-breed's mackinaw. 

"Tell y' what I'll do, " said Creed, speaking in a tone of the utmostgenerosity. "Give me ten dollars to boot, an' we'll call it a trade. "

Jacques laughed loudly and, handing the other his rifle, picked up hisown. 

"We must be goin', " he observed, and rose to his feet. 

"Better have 'nother drink 'fore y' go, " said Creed, tendering thebottle. They drank around and Creed returned the bottle to its cache, while the others took their places in the canoe. 

"Make it five, then, " Creed extended the rifle as though giving itaway. 

Jacques shook his head, and pushed the canoe out into the stream. 

The man on shore eyed the widening strip of water between the bank andthe canoe. 

"I'll make it three, seein' ye're so hell-bent on a trade, " he called. But his only answer was a loud laugh as the canoe disappeared around asharp bend of the river. 

Creed resumed his position with his back against the ends of the logs. 

At a point some fifty feet up-stream from the diminutive rollway, andabout the same distance from the shore, a blackened snag thrust itsugly head above the surface of the water, and against this snagbrushwood and drift had collected and was held by the push of thestream which gurgled merrily among its interstices. 

Creed's gaze, resting momentarily upon this miniature island, failedentirely to note that it concealed a man who stood immersed in theriver from his neck down, and eyed him keenly through narrowed grayeyes; and that also this man was doing a most peculiar thing. 

Reaching into the pocket of his water-soaked shirt he withdrew severallong, steel-jacketed bullets and, holding them in the palm of his hand, grinned broadly. 

Then, one by one, he placed them in his mouth, drew a long breath, anddived. The water at this point was about four feet in depth and the manswam rapidly, close to the bottom. 

Creed's glance, roving idly over the river, was arrested by a quickcommotion upon the surface of the water almost directly in front ofhim. 

He seized his rifle and leaped to his feet, hoping for a shot at astray otter. The next instant the rifle slipped from his nervelessfingers and struck upon the ground with a muffled thud. 

Instead of an otter he was looking directly into the face of a man. 

"God A'mi'ty, " he gurgled, "it's the greener!" He leaned heavilyagainst the logs, plucking foolishly at the bark. His scalp tingledfrom fright. 

His mouth sagged open and the lolling, flabby tongue drooled thickly. His face became a dull, bloodless gray, glistening glaireously withclammy sweat, and his eyes dilated until they seemed bulging from theirsockets. 

It seemed ages he stood there, staring in horrible fascination at theman in the river--and then the man moved!

He was advancing slowly shoreward, with a curious limp, as he hadentered Burrage's store. Creed's ashen lips moved stiffly, and histongue seemed to fill his mouth. 

"I've got 'em! I've got 'em, " he maundered. "'S the booze, an' I'mseein' things!"

His groping brain grasped at the idea, and it gave him strength--betterthe "snakes" than _that_! But he must do something, the man was comingtoward him--only hip-deep now--

"Go 'way! Go 'way!" he shrieked in a sudden frenzy of action. "Damnyou! Y're dead! D'ye hear me! Go 'way from here!"

Suddenly his weakening knees stiffened under him, and he reachedswiftly for the rifle on the ground at his feet. 

Slowly and deliberately he raised it, cocked it, rested it across alog, and took deliberate aim at the center of the man's face--twentypaces away. 

"Bang!" The crack of the rifle sounded loud and sharp in the tensestillness. 

The apparition, at the water's edge, raised its hand slowly to itslips, and from between its teeth took a small object which it tossedtoward the other. The object struck lightly against Creed's breast anddropped to the ground. 

He looked, downward--it was a 30-40 bullet--his own! He stared dumblyat the thing on the ground. Then, automatically, he fired again, takingcareful aim. 

Again the ghost's hand moved slowly toward its mouth, and again thelight tap upon his chest--and two bullets lay upon the ground at hisfeet. 

His head felt strange and large, and inside his skull things weremoving--long, gray maggots that twisted, and writhed, and squirmed, like fishing worms in a can. 

He laughed flatly, a senile, cackling laugh. He did not want to laugh, but laughed again and, stooping, reached for the bullets. He stared athis fingers, bewildered; they groped helplessly at a spot a foot fromthe place where lay the two bullets with their shining steel jackets. 

He must move his fingers to the right--this way. Again hestared--puzzled; they were moving farther and farther toward theleft--away from the bullets. Again the dry, cackling laugh. He wouldfool his fingers. He would move them _away_ from the bullets. 

He tried, and the next instant the groping fingers closed unerringlyupon the little cylinders. The laugh became an inarticulate babble ofsatisfaction, his knees collapsed, and he pitched forward and lay stillwith wide, staring eyes, while upon the corners of his mouth appearedlittle flecks of white foam. 

A shadow fell across his face--he was staring straight into the eyes ofthe greener, who stood, dripping wet with the water of the river intowhich he had fallen more than two months before. 

The man leaped from the ground in a sudden frenzy of terror, and fledscreaming into the forest, crashing, wallowing, tearing through theunderbrush, he plunged, shrieking like a demon. 

The greener stood alone in the clearing and listened to the diminishingsounds. 

At length they ceased and, in the silence, the greener turned towardthe sparkling river, and as he looked there came to his ear faint andfar, one last, thin scream. 

CHAPTER XXXI

THE ROBE OF DIABLESSE

It required three days of hard labor to remove the fifty-two bird's-eyemaple logs to a position of safety. Jacques made a trip to the logcamp, returning with a stout rope and an armload of baling wire whichhe collected from the vicinity of the stables. 

The fact that bird's-eye maple logs, when green, will sink in water, rendered necessary the use of two large pine logs as floats. These wereconnected at the ends and in the middle with rope sufficiently long topermit four of the heavier logs to rest upon the ropes between thefloats. 

The raft thus formed was laboriously towed up-stream to the eddy wherethe bird's-eye logs were wired together, weighted with stones, andallowed to sink. 

During the whole time Jeanne worked tirelessly by the side of the men, and when the last log rested safely upon the bottom of the river, andthe scars were carefully removed from the bank, Bill surveyed theresult with satisfaction. 

"I think that will keep Moncrossen guessing, " he laughed. "He won'tknow whether Creed ate the logs or an air-ship made away with them. "

"But, he will know they are _somewhere_, " said Jeanne gravely, "and hewill search for them far and wide. "

"He will not find them, " Jacques interrupted. "No man would searchup-stream for logs, even though he believed them to be upon the bottomof the river. "

"But, in the searching, he may come upon the lodge, and in his rage, who can tell what he would do?" Bill's eyes narrowed, and he answeredthe girl with a smile. 

"I will remain, and if Moncrossen comes----"

The girl laid a small hand upon his arm and looked into his eyes. 

"I am but a girl and know nothing of logs, but, is it not better thathe return down the river without searching?"

Carmody smiled into the serious dark eyes. "Go on, Jeanne, " he said, "tell us what you would do. "

"It is simple--only to build a big fire upon the spot where the logswere piled, and when Moncrossen finds the ashes he will seek no fartherfor his logs. "

"Great!" cried Bill, in undisguised admiration and, with the help ofthe others, proceeded to carry the plan into effect. All night theypiled fuel upon the fire, and in the morning their efforts wererewarded by a pile of ashes that would easily be mistaken for the ruinsof the bird's-eye rollway. 

With the passing of the long, hot days of summer, Bill Carmody regainedhis strength, and yet he lingered in the camp of the Lacombies. 

Creed was seen no more upon Blood River, and Bill assumed theresponsibility of guarding the log camp, making for the purpose almostdaily excursions with Jeanne or Jacques. 

August mellowed into smoky September--September gave place to the redand gold of October, and the blood of the forest folk quickened to thetang of the North. 

At the conclusion of one of these tours of inspection, Bill camesuddenly upon the girl standing in awe before the skin of Diablesse, which remained where he and Fallon had nailed it on the wall of thebunk-house. Bill carefully removed the nails and laid the dry pelt atthe feet of the girl. 

"See, " he said, "the skin of the werwolf--it is yours. "

"Mine!" she cried, with shining eyes. "You would give me _this_!"

Bill smiled. "Yes, that is all I have, here in the woods. But when Ireturn I will bring you many things from the land of the white men. "

"The robe of Diablesse!" she breathed softly, as she gazed down uponthe peculiar silvery sheen of the great white wolfskin. "I had ratheryou gave me this than anything else in the world. "

She stopped in sudden confusion. 

"And why?" questioned Bill, pleased at her evident delight. 

"It is, " she hesitated, and a slender hand clutched at her breast. "Itis as you spoke of the hunting shirt--that you would always keep itbecause it is the work of my hands. Only the robe means much more, for, among men but one man could have slain the _loup-garou_, and in all theNorth there is none like it--the robe of Diablesse! and it shall bringus luck--and--and happiness?" she added, the rich voice melting tosoftness. 

At the words the man glanced quickly into the face of the girl andencountered the shy, questioning gaze of the mysterious dark eyes. Thegaze did not falter, and the deep, lustrous eyes held the manenthralled in their liquid depths. She advanced a step, and stood herlithe young body almost touching his own, holding him fascinated in thecompelling gaze of the limpid eyes. 

"And happiness?" The words were a whispered breath; the bronzed face ofthe man paled and, with an effort, he turned swiftly away. 

"Luck! Happiness!" he repeated dully, with bowed head. "For me therecan be no happiness. "

With a low cry the girl was at his side and two tiny, white-brown handsclutched at the fringed arm of his buckskin shirt. The beautiful facewas flushed, the bosom heaved, and from between the red lips poured atorrent of words:

"You _shall_ find happiness! You, who are great and strong and braveabove all men! You, who are good, and whom the Great Spirit sent to mefrom the waters of the river!

"You, The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die, shall turn from your own kind, and shallfind your happiness beside the rivers, and in the forests of my people!Together we will journey to some far place, and in our lodge will dwelllove and great happiness. 

"And you shall become a mighty hunter, and in all the North you shallbe feared and loved. "

The girl paused and gazed wildly into the eyes of the man. His face wasdrawn and pale, and in his eyes she read deep pain. Gently his handclosed over the slender fingers that gripped his sleeve, and at thetouch the girl trembled and leaned closer, until her warm body restedlightly against his arm. Bill's lips moved and the words of histoneless voice fell upon her ears like the dry rustle of dead husks. 

"Jeanne--little girl--you do not understand. These things cannot be. Only unhappiness would come to us. There is nothing in the world Iwould not do for you. 

"To you I owe my life--to you and Wa-ha-ta-na-ta. But, love cannot beordered. It is written--and, far away, in the great city of the whitemen, is a girl--a woman of my own people----"

The girl sprang from his side and faced him with blazing eyes. 

"A woman of your people!" she almost hissed. "In your sleep you talkedof her, while the fever-spirit was upon you. I _hate_ her--this Ethel!She does not love you, for she will marry another! Ah, in the darknessI have listened, and listening, have learned to _hate_! She sent youaway from her--for, in your eyes she could not read the goodness ofyour heart!"

Bill raised his hand. 

"You do not understand, " he repeated, patiently. "I was not good--I wasa bad man!"

"Who, then, among white men is good? The men of the logs, who drinkwhisky, and fight among themselves, and kill one another? Is it thesemen that are good in the sight of your woman? And are you, who scornthese things--are you bad?"

"I, too, drank whisky--and for that reason she sent me away. "

"But, you cannot return to her! She is the wife of another! Over andover again you said it, in the voice of the fever-spirit. "

"No, " replied the man softly. "To her I cannot return. But, listen; Istart to-morrow for the white man's country. To find the man for whom Iwork, and tell him of the bird's-eye. 

"Soon I shall come again into the woods. I cannot marry you, for onlyevil would come of it. I will bring you many presents, and always weshall be friends--and more than friends, for you shall be to me asister and I shall be your brother, and shall keep you from harm. 

"To-morrow I go, and you shall promise me that whenever you are introuble of whatsoever kind you will send for me--and I shall come toyou--be it far or near, in the night-time or in the daytime, I willcome--Jeanne, look into my eyes--will you promise?"

The girl looked up, and a ray of hope lightened the pain in her eyes. 

"You will surely return into the North?"

"I will surely return. "

"I will promise, " she whispered, and, side by side, in the silence ofthe twilight, they left the clearing. 

CHAPTER XXXII

THE ONE GOOD WHITE MAN

The following morning Bill parted from his friends. As he was about tostep into the canoe Jeanne appeared at the water's edge bearing themackinaw which he had worn when they drew him from the river. 

Without meeting his glance she extended it toward him, speaking in alow, tense voice. 

"In the lining I have sewed them--the papers that fell dripping fromyour pocket--and the picture. Many times I have looked upon the face ofthis woman, who has caused you pain. And I have hated! Oh, how I havehated! So that I could have torn her in pieces. 

"And many times I would have burned them, that you might forget. But, instead, I sewed them from sight in the lining of the coat--and here isthe coat. "

Bill tossed the mackinaw into the bottom of the canoe. 

"Thank you, Jeanne, " he said. "And until we meet again, good-by!"

With a push of the paddle he shot the light canoe far out into thecurrent of the stream. 

Bill paddled leisurely, camping early and sitting late over hiscamp-fire smoking many pipefuls of tobacco. And, as he smoked, histhoughts drifted over the events of the past year, and the people whocomprised his little world. 

Appleton, who had offered him the chance to make good; whole-heartedFallon; devoted old Daddy Dunnigan; Stromberg, in whom was much toadmire; Creed, the craven tool of Moncrossen; the boss himself, crooked, brutal, vicious; Blood River Jack, his friend; Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, the sinister old squaw, who believed all white men to be bad; andJeanne, the beautiful, half-wild girl, within whose breast a great soulfluttered against the restraint of her environment. 

To this girl he owed his life, and he had repaid the debt by tramplingroughshod upon her heart. Bitterly he reproached himself for not seeinghow things were going. For not until the day she told him in theclearing had he guessed that she loved him. 

And yet now as he looked backward he could remember a hundred littlethings that ought to have warned him--a word here, a look, a touch ofthe hand--little things, insignificant in themselves, but in the lightof his present understanding, looming large as the danger signals of awell-ordered block system--signals he had blindly disregarded, to thewrecking of a heart. Well, he would make all amends in his power; wouldlook after her as best he could, and in time she would forget. 

"They _all_ forget, " he muttered aloud with a short, bitter laugh, asthe memory of certain staring head-lines flashed through his brain. "Iwish to God I could forget--_her!_"

But the old wound would not heal, and far into the night he sat staringinto the fire. 

"It's a man's game, " he murmured as he spread his blankets, "and I willwin out; but why?"

Beyond the fire came the sound of a snapping twig. The man started, staring into the gloom, when suddenly into the soft light of the dyingembers stepped Jeanne Lacombie. He stared at her speechless. 

There, in the uncertain glow, she stood, a Diana of flesh and blood, whose open hunting-shirt fell away from her rounded throat in soft, fringed folds. Her short skirt of heavy drilling came only to herknees; she wore no stockings, and her tiny feet were incased in heavilybeaded moccasins. 

And so she stood there in the midnight, smiling down upon the man whogazed speechless from his blanket upon the opposite side of the dyingfire; and then she spoke:

"I have come, " she said simply. 

"Jeanne!" cried the man, "why have you done this thing?"

"I love you, and I will go with you. "

"But, girl, don't you realize what it means? This is the third nightsince I left the camp of Jacques----" The girl interrupted him with alaugh:

"And I, too, have been gone three nights; have struck straight throughthe forest, and because the river makes a great bend of many miles Icame to this place before you, and have waited for you here a night anda day. 

"And now I'm hungry. I will eat first, and then we will sleep, andto-morrow we will start together for the land of the white men. "

The man's mind worked rapidly as he watched in silence while the girlremoved some bacon and bannock from his pack-sack and set thecoffee-pot upon the coals. When she had finished her meal he spoke, slowly but firmly. 

"Jeanne, you have waited here a night and a day; you are rested, youhave eaten. I will now make up the pack, and we will take the trail. "

"To-night?"

"Yes, to-night--now. The back trail for the lodge of Jacques. " The girlregarded him in amazement, and then smiled sadly, as a mother smiles onan erring child. 

"We cannot return, " she said, speaking softly. "Wa-ha-ta-na-ta wouldkill me. She thinks we came away together. Wa-ha-ta-na-ta was married;we are not married; we cannot go back. " The man rolled the blankets andbuckled the straps of his pack-sack. He was about to swing it to hisshoulders when the girl grasped his arm. 

"I love you, " she repeated, "and I will go with you. "

"But, Jeanne, " the man cried, "this cannot be. I cannot marry you. Inmy life I have loved but one woman----"

"And she is the wife of another!" cried the girl. 

Bill winced as from a blow, and she continued, speaking rapidly:

"I do not ask that you marry me--not even that you love me. It isenough that I am at your side. You will treat me kindly, for you aregood. Marriage is nothing--empty words--if the heart loves; nothingelse matters, and some day you will love me. "

The man slowly shook his head:

"No, Jeanne, it is impossible. Come, we will return to the lodge ofJacques. I myself will tell Wa-ha-ta-na-ta that no harm has befallenyou, and----"

"Do you think she will believe _you_? Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, who hates allwhite men and, next to Moncrossen, you most of all, for she has seenthat I love you. We have been gone three nights. She will not believeyou. If you will not take me I will go alone to the land of the whitemen; I have no place else to go. "

The man's jaw squared, his eyes narrowed, and the low, level tones ofhis voice cut upon the silence in words of cold authority:

"We are going back to-night. Wa-ha-ta-na-ta will believe me. She isvery old and very wise; and she will know that I speak the truth. "

The words ceased abruptly, and the two drew closer together, their eyesfixed upon the blanketed form which, silent as a shadow, glided fromthe bushes and stood motionless before them. 

Within an arm's reach, in the dull, red glow, the somber figure stoodcontemplating the pair through beady, black eyes, that glowed ominouslyin the half-light. 

Slowly, deliberately, a clawlike hand was withdrawn from a fold of theblanket, and the feeble rays of the fire glinted weakly upon the cold, gray steel of a polished blade. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE PROMISE

The silent, shadowy figure swayed toward Bill Carmody, who met thestabbing glare of the black eyes with the steady gaze of his gray ones. For long, tense moments their eyes held, while the girl watchedbreathlessly. 

Raising the blade high above her head, the old squaw brought itcrashing upon a rock at Carmody's feet. There was the sharp ring oftempered steel, and upon the pine-needles lay the broken blade, andbeyond the rock the hilt, with a scant inch of blade protruding at theguard. 

Stooping, the old woman picked up the two pieces of the brokensheath-knife, and, handing the hilt gravely to the astonished mancarefully returned the blade to her blanket. She pointed a long, skinnyfinger at Bill, and the withered lips moved. 

"You are the one good white man, " she said. "I, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, thedaughter of Kas-ka-tan, the chief, have spoken. I--who, since the deathof Lacombie, have said 'there is no good white man'--was wrong, and thewords were a lie in my mouth. In your eyes I have read it. You have thegood eye--the eye of Lacombie, who is dead. 

"I have followed upon the trail of my daughter, thinking it was in yourheart to meet her here and carry her to her ruin in the land of thewhite man. With this blade I would have killed you--for all mendie--would have followed and killed you in the land of your people. Butnow I know that your heart is good. I have broken the knife. 

"You will keep the hilt, and when you are in trouble, in need, in wantof a friend, you will send me this hilt, and I, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, thedaughter of Kas-ka-tan, the chief, will come to you. "

Her eyes rolled upward as though seeking among the tiny, far-winkingstars the words of some half-forgotten ritual, and her voice rose in aweird, hesitating chant:

 "Through the snows of Winter, Through the heat of Summer, Across high Mountains, Over broad Waters, Braving lean Want, Scorning fat Plenty, Nor turning aside From the fang of Wolf, From the forked arrows of Lightning, From the mighty voice of Thunder, From the hot breath of Fire, From the rush of Waters, From the sting of Frost. Nor lingering to the call of Love, Nor heeding the words of Hate. In the face of Sickness, In defiance of Death Will I come That you may know I am your Friend. Hear all ye Spirits and Devils that rule the World, And sit upon the High Places of the Great World, This is my Vow! Should my feet lag upon the Trail, Should my heart turn to Water, Should I forget-- So that in the time of my friend's need I answer not his call; Then, upon my head--upon the heads of my children--and their children Shall descend the Curse--the Great Curse of the Yaga Tah! The Man-Who-Lies-Hid-in-the-Sky!"

The quavering chant ceased, and the undimmed old eyes looked again intothe face of the man. 

"And because you are good, " she went on, "and because you have heardthe vow, when this broken blade comes to your hand you will know thatWa-ha-ta-na-ta, the daughter of Kas-ka-tan, the chief, in the lastextremity of her need, is calling you. 

"And because you are strong and brave and have the good eye--you willcome. And no people of the earth, and nothing that is upon the earth, nor of the earth, shall prevent you. I have spoken. "

Bill Carmody listened in awed silence until the old woman finished. 

"I, whom you choose to regard as the one good white man, " he repliedwith a dignity matching her own, "will one day prove my friendship. Upon sight of the fragment of blade I will come. 

"No people of the earth, and nothing that is upon the earth, nor of theearth, shall prevent me--and one day you will know that my words aretrue. "

He raised his hand and, gazing upward, repeated the words of thestrange chant. At their conclusion he gazed steadily into the face ofthe old squaw. 

"This is _the promise_, " he said gravely. "I have spoken. "

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE NEW BOSS

The twilight of late autumn darkened the landscape as Bill Carmodyfound himself once again at the edge of the tiny clearing surroundingthe cabin of Daddy Dunnigan. 

Through the window, in the yellow lamplight of the interior, he couldsee the form of the old man as he hobbled back and forth between thestove and the table. 

Remembering Creed, Bill feared the effect upon the old man should hepresent himself suddenly at the door. Advancing into the clearing, hewhistled. Daddy Dunnigan paused, frying-pan in hand, and peeredfutilely out of the window. Again Bill whistled and watched as theother returned the pan to the stove and opened the door. 

"Come on in out av that, ye shpalpeen!" called Dunnigan. "Ut's toime yebe comin' back to let th' owld man know how ye're farin'!"

Bill grasped the extended hand and peered into the twinkling eyes ofthe old Irishman. 

"Well, Daddy, you don't seem much surprised. "

"Oi know'd ye'd be along wan av these days, but ye tuk yer own toimeabout ut. "

"How did you know I wasn't drowned in the river?"

"Sur-re, Oi know'd ye _wuz_--didn't Oi see ye go undher th' logs wid meown eyes? An' didn't th' jam go rippin' an' tearin' into th' rapids?An' c'd on-ny man live t'rough th' loike av that? Oi _know'd_ ye wuzdead--till Oi seed Creed. Thin Oi know'd ye wuzn't. But Moncrossendon't know ut--nor on-ny wan ilse, ondly me. Oi'd 'a' gone to hunt ye, ondly Oi know'd phwin th' toime suited ye ye'd come here; so Oi waited. 

"Set by now er th' grub'll be cowld. They'll be toime fer palaverin'afther. "

When the dishes had been washed and returned to their shelves the twoseated themselves and lighted their pipes. 

"You say Creed returned to Hilarity and told of having seen me?" askedBill. 

"Well, he did--an' he didn't, " replied the old man slowly. "Ut's loikethis: Along in July, ut wuz, Moncrossen an' his gang av bur-rd's-eyepirates come roarin' out av th' woods huntin' fer Creed. They'd wint inbe th' river, but come out be th' tote-road, an' mad clean t'rough toth' gizzard. No wan hadn't seed um, an' they clum aboord th' thrain, cursin' an' swearin' vingince on Creed phwin they caught um. 

"Thin, maybe it's two wakes afther, we wuz settin' in Burrage's phwinth' dure bust open, an' in come Rad Cranston loike th' divil wuz aftherum. 

"'They's a woild man, ' he yells, 'come out av th' woods, an' he'stearin' things up in Creed's cabin!'

"Hod picks up a cleaver an' makes fer th' dure, wid us follyin' um, afther providin' oursilves wid what utinsils wuz layin' handy--a scythehere an' an axe there, an' some wan ilse wid a pitchfork. Rad brung uplasht wid a sixteen-pound posht-maul, bein' in no hurry at all feranother luk. 

"Trut' is, none av us wuz in no great hurry--Creed's woman havin'cashed his pay-check an' skipped out--but at lasht we come to phwere wec'd see th' place, an' sure enough th' dure shtood open an' insoidecome a racket av shmashin' furniture an' yellin' 'tw'd done proud tocamp-meetin' salvation. 

"Thin come a foine loud rattle av glass, an' out t'rough a windie cometh' half av a chair, follyed be a len'th av shtovepoipe an' a graneglass wather-pitcher. 

"Fer me own part, Oi'd seed such loike brick-a-brack befoor, an'besides Oi remimbered a dhrink Oi hadn't tuk earlier in th' evenin', soOi shtarted workin' me way to th' back av th' crowd, th' bether somewan ilse c'd see. 

"Oi'd no more thin tur-rned around phwin wid a whoop, 'tw'd wake th'dead, out t'rough th' windie come th' domnedest-lukin' cryther thisside av Borneo, a wavin' over his head wan av th' owld lady Creed's ridcotton table-cloths--an' niver another stitch to his name but a leatherbelt wid about six inches av pants a hangin' onto ut, an' a pair avcorked boots. 

"Phwin Oi shtar-rted from Burrage's Oi laid holt av a man's-sizecrowbar, but at that minit th' thing Oi helt in me hand luked about th'heft av a tinpinny nail. Be that toime all th' others wuz av loikemoind to me. They wuz considerable crowdin', an', bein' crippled, Oidhropped me crowbar an' laid a good holt on th' tail av Hod's coat. 

"Th' shtore wuz clost by, an' we had a good shtart; but th' thing thatwuz afther us wuz thravelin' loight an' in foorty-fut leps. 

"'Twuz a good race, an' wan Oi wanted to win; but, owin' to th'unyversal willin'ness av th' crowd to get into th' shtore, we pluggedup th' dureway, an' befoor we c'd get unstuck th' thing wuz onto us, gibberin' an' jabberin' an' screamin' an' laughin' all to wunst. 

"Ut tuk eight av us to howld um whilst Burrage toied um hand an' fut, an' phwin we'd dhrug um into th' shtore we seed 'twuz Creed hissilf. Twuz two days befoor th' sheriff come fer um, an' in th' mane toimehe'd gabble an' yell about th' greener comin' afther um, an' how hecome out av th' wather, an' so on. 

"Th' rist think ut's th' shtayin' alone made um loony, but Oi put twoan' two togither--here's Moncrossen losht his bur-rd's-eye an' Creedscairt witless be th' soight av th' greener--phwat's th' answer?

"Phy, th' b'y ain't dead at all. Some ways he got out av th' river, scairt th' dayloights out av Creed, an' made off wid th' bur-rd's-eye. Am Oi roight?"

"Exactly!" exclaimed Bill. 

"Oi know'd ut! Ye've th' luck av Captain Fronte's own silf! That comeout av ivery shcrape wid his loife, save th' lasht wan, an' he w'd thinav a domned nayger shell hadn't bust ag'in' his ribs--but that's toimesgone. "

"I wonder where Moncrossen is now?"

"Right here in Hilarity; him an' his crew unloaded yisterday fer toshtar-rt fer th' camp in th' marnin'. "

"I think I'll just let the boss believe I'm still in the river untilafter I have had a talk with Appleton. By the way, Daddy, how are youfixed for money?"

"Sure, Oi got more money thin a man ought to have--money in th' bankan' money in me pocket--take ut an' welcome"--he tossed a thick walletonto the table--"ondly ye won't have to go to Minneapolis. 

"Owld man Appleton's over to Creighton, eighty moiles wesht av here, sooperintindin' a new camp on Blood River, wan hundred an' tin moilesabove Moncrossen's. Fallon's wid um, an' Shtromberg, an' a lot more avth' good min that's toired av worrkin' undher Moncrossen. "

"He is not bossing the camp himself!" exclaimed Bill. 

"No, but he's got to kape an eye on't. Fallon'll be a kind av shtrawboss an' luk afther th' wor-rk, but th' owld man'll have to figger th'toime an' th' scale--Fallon ain't got no aggicatin'. 

"'Tis roight glad Oi'm thinkin' th' owld man'll be to lay eyes on ye. They say he wuz all bruk up phwin he heerd ye wuz dhr-rounded. "

Bill's visit to Hilarity was known to no one except Daddy Dunnigan, andthe following evening after Moncrossen's departure for the woods, thetwo proceeded to the railway by a circuitous route. 

Unobserved, he swung aboard the caboose of the local freight-trainwhich stood at the tiny platform, discharging goods. 

"He'll be afther makin' ye boss av th' new camp, " opined the old manfrom his position beside a pile of ties. "An' av ye nade a cook justdhrop me a loine an' Oi'll come. "

"I haven't got the job yet, " laughed Bill. 

"But ye will. Owld Appleton'll be glad enough not havin' to comethrapsin' into th' woods ivery month or so durin' th' winther. " The oldman leaned forward upon his crutch, and with pathetic eagerness scannedthe face of the younger man. 

"Me b'y, " he said, "av yer plans is changed--wor-rd from th' gir-rl, orwhat not, that'll be takin' ye back to Noo Yor-rk--ye'll take me widye?

"Oi may be a bit owld, but Oi'm as good as iver Oi wuz. Oi c'd lear-rnto run yer otymobile er take care av th' harses, er moind th' babies, ut makes no difference; for whilst a McKim lives owld Dunnigan belongsto luk afther um. "

"Never fear, Daddy!" cried Bill, as the train jerked into motion. "Nowthat we've found each other, we'll stick together until the end. " Andhe stood silent upon the steps of the caboose until the figure of theold Irishman blended into the background. 

In the front room of the one-story building with its undeceptivetwo-story front, where Appleton had established his headquarters in thelittle town of Creighton, the lumber magnate sat talking with IrishFallon. 

The tote-road leading to the new camp had been pushed to completion, and Appleton was giving Fallon some final instructions. 

"I must leave for Minneapolis in the morning, " he said. "Do the bestyou can, and I will run up as often as possible. "

"Oi'll do ut, sorr, " replied Irish. "Oi c'n lay down th' logs allroight; th' throuble'll be wid th' figgers. If ondly me frind, Bill, wuz here--sure, there wuz th' foine lad!"

Appleton pulled at his gray mustache and regarded the otherthoughtfully. 

"You knew him well--this Bill?" he asked. 

"Oi wuz th' fur-rst whoite man he seen in th' woods th' day he studknee-dape in th' shnow av th' tote-road, lukin' down at th' carcass avD'ablish. An' from that toime on till he wint down undher th' logs wewuz loike two brothers--ondly more so. "

"Pretty good man, was he?"

"A-a-h, there wuz a man!" Fallon's big fist banged noisily upon thetable, and his blue eyes lighted as he faced his employer. "MistherAppleton, ye losht a _man_ phwin th' greener wint undher. Fearin'nayther God, man, nor th' divil, he come into th' woods, an' in wansayson lear-rnt more about logs thin th' most av us'll iver know. "

"Moncrossen liked him--spoke very highly of him, and that is unusualwith Moncrossen. " Fallon's breath whistled through his teeth at thewords. 

"Loiked um, did he? Sure he loiked um--loike a rabbit loikes a wolf!"

He leaned forward in his chair, punctuating his remarks with stabs of ahuge forefinger upon the other's knee. 

"Misther Appleton, Moncrossen _hated um_! An' ivery man along th' riverthat day knows that av ut wuzn't fer Moncrossen, th' greener'd belivin' this minit--ondly we can't pr-roove ut. Th' boss hated umbecause he wuz a bether man--because he know'd he wuz a clane man, wida foightin' hear-rt an' two fists an' th' guts to carry um t'rough. Hechilled th' har-rt av th' boss th' fur-rst noight he seen um, an' fromthin on th' fear wuz upon um fer th' bird's-eye. "

"The bird's-eye?" inquired Appleton. "What do you mean?"

Fallon hesitated; his enthusiasm had carried him further than he hadintended. He gazed out of the window, wondering how to proceed, whenhis eyes fastened upon a large, heavily bearded man who approachedrapidly down the wooden sidewalk, a folded mackinaw swung carelesslyacross the fringed arm of his buckskin shirt. 

The iron latch rattled; the man entered, closed the door behind him, and, turning, faced the two with a smile. For a long moment the mengazed at the newcomer in silence; then Fallon's chair crashed backwardupon the floor as the Irishman leaped to his feet. 

"Thim _eyes_!" he cried, throwing a huge arm across the man's shouldersand shaking him violently in his excitement. "Bill! Bill! Fer th' loveav God, tell me 'tis yersilf! Ye damn' shcoundril, ain't ye dhroundedat all, at all? An' phwere ye ben kapin' yersilf?"

Bill laughed aloud and wrung Appleton's hand. 

The lumberman had risen to his feet, staring incredulously into theother's face while he repeated over and over again: "My boy! My boy!"

Fallon danced about, waving his arms and shouting: "Th' new camp'll got'rough hell a whoopin'! Bill'll be boss, an' th' min'll tear out th'bone to bate Moncrossen!"

Order was finally restored, and the three seated themselves while Billrecounted his adventures. Appleton's brow clouded as he learned thedetails of the bird's-eye plot. 

"So that's the way he worked it?" he exclaimed. "I knew that there wassome bird's-eye in the timber, and that I was not getting it. But Ilaid it to outside thieves--never supposed one of my own foremen wasdouble-crossing me. 

"That is Moncrossen's finish!" he added grimly. "I need him thiswinter. Too many contracts to afford to do without him. In the spring, though, there will be an accounting; and mark my words, he will getwhat is coming to him!"

"What next--for me?" asked Bill. 

Appleton smiled. 

"I think Fallon has disposed of your case, " he replied. "My boy, I wantyou to take this new camp and _get out logs_. I won't set any specificamount, I will tell you this: I _must_ have twenty-five million feetout of the Blood River country this winter. You are the firstinexperienced man I have ever placed in charge of a camp. I don't knowwhat you can do. I'll take the chance. It's up to you. 

"My camps are run without interference from the office. Results countwith me--not methods. Feed your crew all they can eat--of the best youcan get. Knock a man down first and argue with him afterward. Let themknow who is boss, and you will have no trouble. Don't be afraid tospend money, but _get out the logs_!"

The following morning the new foreman stood upon the platform of thestation as the heavy, vestibuled Imperial Limited ground to a stop, under special orders to take on the great lumberman. 

"So-long, Bill!" Appleton called. "See you next month. Bringing a partyinto the woods for a deer-hunt. May put up at your camp for a couple ofweeks. "

The train pulled out for the East, leaving Bill Carmody gazing, just ashade wistfully, perhaps, at the contented-looking men and women whoflashed past upon the rich plush cushions. 

But as the last coach passed he squared his shoulders with a jerk andturned quickly away. 

CHAPTER XXXV

A HUNTING PARTY

H. D. Appleton, millionaire lumberman, sighed contentedly as he addedcream to his after-dinner coffee. He glanced toward his wife, who wassmiling at him across the table. 

"Oh, you can drink yours black if you want to, little girl, " hegrinned; "but, remember 'way back when we were first married and I wasbossing camps for old Jimmie Ferguson, and we lived in log shacks 'wayup in the big woods, I used to say if we ever got where we could havecream for our coffee, I'd have nothing else to ask for?

"Well, to this day, drinking cream in my coffee is my idea of theheight of luxury. This is all right, and I enjoy it, too, I suppose. "He indicated with a wave of his black cigar the rich furnishings, theheavy plate and cut-glass that adorned the dining-room. "But, somehow, nothing makes me feel _successful_ like pouring real cream into mycoffee. "

The gray-haired "little girl" laughed happily. 

"You never have quite grown up, Hubert, " she replied. "Did you have ahard trip, dear? The three weeks you have been away have seemed likethree months to me. "

"No, no! I had a good trip. It looked rather hopeless at first, tryingto establish a new camp, with no one really capable of running it; butjust at the last minute--You remember the man I told you about lastfall--the young fellow who throttled that scoundrel after the wreck inthe Chicago railroad yards, and who refused to tell me his name untilafter he had made good?"

"Yes--he was drowned last spring, wasn't he? Poor boy, I have oftenwondered who he was--a gentleman, you said?"

"By gad, he's more than a gentlemen--he's a _man_! And he wasn'tdrowned at all. Got rescued somehow by an old squaw and her daughter. His leg was broken, and when he got well he stayed in the woods andlooked after the camp all summer; and not only that, he recoveredfifty-two bird's-eye maple logs that had been stolen by some of my ownmen. 

"He found me in Creighton, and I made him boss of the new camp. He's awinner, and the men will work for him till they drop. "

"Oh, by the way, Hubert, " said Mrs. Appleton. "Mr. Sheridan called up aday or two ago and wanted to know when you would return. He said youand he had planned a deer-hunt this fall. "

"Yes; we'll go about the first of the month. It's been a good whilesince Ross Sheridan and I have had a hunt together; not since the olddays on the Crow Wing. Remember the time Ross and I got lost, andnearly scared you womenfolks to death?"

"Indeed I do. I never will forget that blizzard, and those three awfuldays--we had been married only six months, and Mary Sheridan and I werethe only women in the camp. 

"I remember how good all the men were to us--telling us you were in nodanger, and not to worry--and all during the storm they were searchingthe woods in squads. Oh, it was awful! And yet----" Her voice trailedinto silence, and she stared a long time into the open fire that blazedin the huge fireplace. 

"And yet, what, little girl, " asked Appleton, smiling fondly uponher--"what are you thinking about? Come, tell me. "

She turned her eyes toward him, and the man detected a wistful look inthem. 

"I was thinking, dear, of how happy we were those three years we spent'way up in the timber while you were getting your start. Not that wehaven't always been happy, " she hastened to add, "because we have. Wecouldn't have been happier unless--unless--some children had come. But, dear, those days when we were so poor and had to work so hard, andevery dollar counted--and we had to do without things we both wanted, and sometimes things we really needed. 

"And, oh, Hubert dear, do you remember the organ? And how long it tookus to save up the sixty dollars? And how I cried half the night forpure joy when you brought it home on the ox-sled? And how I used toplay in the evenings, and the Sheridans were there, and the men wouldcome and listen, and their big voices would join in the singing, andhow sometimes a man would draw a rough sleeve across his eyes when hethought no one was looking--do you remember?"

"Yes, yes, yes--of course I remember!" The lumberman's voice wassuspiciously gruff. "Seems almost like another world. " His wifesuddenly stretched her arms towards the open fire:

"Oh, Hubert, I want to go back!"

"What?"

"Yes, dear, just once more. " Appleton saw the tears in her eyes. "Iwant to smell the fragrance of the pine woods--and sit on the thickpine-needles--and cook over an open fire! Bacon and trout andcoffee--yes, and no _real cream_, either!" She smiled at him throughher tears. "Canned milk, and maybe some venison steaks. 

"I want to borrow your pocket-knife and dig out spruce gum and chew it, with the little bits of bark in it, " she went on, "and I won't promisenot to 'pry, ' with it, either. I hope I do break the blade! Do youremember that day, and how mad you were?

"I want to see the men crowd into the grub-shack, and hear the sound ofthe axes and saws and the rattle of chains and the crashing of bigtrees. I want to see the logs on the rollways; and, Hubert, you won'tthink I'm awful, will you, dear, but I want to--just once more in mylife--I want to hear a big man _swear_!"

H. D. Appleton stared at his wife in blank amazement, and then, throwing back his head, roared with laughter. 

"Well, you sure will, little girl, if you try to slip any canned milkinto _my_ coffee!"

His wife regarded him gravely. 

"I am not joking, Hubert. Oh, can't you see? Just once more I _must_have a taste of the old, hard, happy days--can't I?"

"Why, Margaret, you don't really mean that you want to go into thewoods--seriously?"

"Yes, I do mean just exactly that--seriously!"

Appleton tugged at his mustache and puckered his forehead. 

"We might make up a party, " he mused. "I'll speak to Ross in themorning. "

The little gray-haired woman stepped lightly around the table, and, seating herself on his lap, captured his big fingers in her own. 

"How many times must I tell you not to pull your mustache, dear? Now, listen; I have a plan. There will be Mary Sheridan and Ross and EthelManton--you know she promised us a visit this fall, and I expect herany day now. A trip into the woods will do her a world of good, poorgirl. She has had lots of responsibility thrust upon her since brotherFred died, with young Charlie to look out for, and the care of that bighouse. 

"Mrs. Potter, you know she lives next door to Ethel, writes me that shedoes not believe the girl is happy--that this St. Ledger, or whateverhis name is, that she is reported engaged to, is not the kind of a manfor Ethel at all--and, that she hasn't seemed herself for a year--someunhappy love affair--the man was a scamp, or something--so this tripwill be just what she needs. Charlie will be with her, of course, andwe can invite that young Mr. Holbrooke; you have met him, that niceyoung man--the VanNesses' nephew. 

"We will go away up into the big woods where you men can hunt to yourheart's delight; and we women will stay around the camp and do thecooking and smell the woods and chew spruce gum. Oh, Hubert, won't itbe just _grand_?"

Appleton caught something of his wife's enthusiasm. 

"It sure will, little girl! But what's _he_ for?"

"What is who for?"

"This Holbrooke person. Where does he come in on this?"

"Why, for Ethel, of course! Goose! Don't you see that if Ethel is nothappy--if she is not really in love with this St. Ledger--and shespends two or three weeks in the same camp with a nice young man likeMr. Holbrooke--well, there's no place like the woods for romance, dear;you see, I know. And he has money, too, " she added. 

Appleton suddenly lifted his wife to her feet and began pacing up anddown the room. 

"Money!" he exclaimed. "He never earned a cent in his life. "

"But he is the VanNess heir!"

"Old VanNess made his money selling corsets and ribbons. "

"Why, dear, what difference does that make? I am sure the VanNesses areamong----"

"I don't care who they're among, or what they're among!" interruptedher husband. "We don't want any niece of ours marrying ribbons. Hold ona minute, let me think. By gad, I've got a scheme!"

He continued to pace up and down the length of the room, puffingshortly upon his cigar and emitting emphatic grunts of satisfaction. 

"I've got it!" he exclaimed. "If you're bound to marry Ethel off wewill give her the chance to marry a _man_. Go ahead and make up theparty, but leave ribbons out of it. We will let Ethel rest up for a fewdays and then we will start--straight for the new camp. There is a_man_ there. "

"But, " objected his wife, "you know nothing about him. You don't knoweven his name. "

"What difference does that make? I know a good man when I see one. Iknow enough about him to know that he is good enough for Ethel or anyother woman. And, if he hasn't got a name now, by gad, he is makingone--up there in the big country!"

"But he has no money. "

"No money! How much did we have when we were married? Why, little girl, you just got through saying that the happiest days we ever spent wereup there in the woods when money was so scarce that we knew the date onevery dollar we owned--and every scratch and nick on them--and thedimes and pennies too. "

The little woman smiled. "That is true, Hubert, but somehow----"

"Somehow nothing! If we did it, these two can do it. They've got abetter chance than we had. I'm not going to live forever. I need apartner. I'm getting old enough to begin to take things easier--to stepaside and let a younger man shoulder the burden. "

He threw his arm lovingly about his wife's shoulders, and drew herclose. "We never had a son, sweetheart, " he said gravely, "but if wehad I'd want him to be just like that boy. He is making good. "

Margaret Appleton looked up into her husband's eyes. 

"You haven't made many mistakes, dear, " she whispered. "I hope he willmake good--for your sake and--maybe for Ethel's. "

CHAPTER XXXVI

TOLD ON THE TRAIL

It was a merry party that clambered into the big tote-wagon in thelittle town of Creighton one morning in early November. Upon request ofAppleton and Sheridan, two of the road's heaviest lumber shippers, aprivate car had been coupled to the rear of the Imperial Limited atWinnipeg. 

Later the big train hesitated at Hilarity long enough to permit ahalf-breed guide in full hunting regalia to step proudly aboard, to theenvy of the dead little town's assembled inhabitants. And later stillthe Limited stopped at Creighton and shunted the private car onto aspur. 

Appleton promptly impressed one of his own tote-wagons which had beensent to town for supplies; and before noon the four-horse team wasswung into the tote-road carrying the hunting party into the woods. 

Tents, blankets, and robes had been ranged into more or lesscomfortable seats for the accommodation of the party, while youngCharlie Manton insisted upon climbing onto the high driver's seat, where he wedged himself uncomfortably between the teamster and BloodRiver Jack, the guide. 

From the time the latter had joined the party at Hilarity the boy hadstuck close to his side, asking innumerable questions and listeningwith bated breath to the half-breed's highly colored narratives inwhich wolves, bears, and Indians played the important parts. 

In the evening, when they camped beside the tote-road, and he waspermitted to help with the tents and the fire-wood, the youngsterfairly bristled with importance, and after supper when the whole partydrew about the great camp-fire the boy seated himself close by the sideof the guide. 

"You never told me your name, " he ventured. 

"Blood River Jack, " the man replied. 

"That's a funny kind of a name, " puzzled the boy. "Why did they nameyou that?"

"Jacques--that is my name. Blood River--that is where I live. It isthat my lodge is near the bank of the river and in the Blood Rivercountry I hunt and lay my trap lines, and in the waters of the river Ifish. What is your name?"

"New York Charlie, " unhesitatingly replied the boy and flushed deeplyat the roar of laughter with which the others of the party greeted hisanswer. But the long-haired, dark-skinned guide, noting the angry flashof the wide, blue eyes, refrained from laughter. 

"That is a good name, " he said gravely. "In the land of the white manmen are called by the name of their fathers. In the woods it is notoften so, except when it be written upon papers. The best man in theNorth is one of whom men know only his first name. He is M's'u'Bill--The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die. "

"Why can't he die?" asked the youngster eagerly. 

Jacques shook his head. 

"Wa-ha-ta-na-ta says 'all men die, '" he replied; "but--did not the_chechako_ come into the North in the time of a great snow, and withoutrackets mush forty miles in two days? Did he not kill with a knifeDiablesse, the werwolf, whom all men feared, and with an axe chop inpieces the wolves of her pack?

"Did he not strike fear to the heart of the great Moncrossen with alook of his eye? And, with three blows of his fist, lay the mightyStromberg upon the floor like a wet rag? Did he not come without hurtthrough the fire when Creed locked him in the burning shack? And did henot go down through the terrible Blood River rapids, riding upon a log, and live, when Moncrossen ordered the breaking out of the jam that hemight be killed among the pounding logs? These are the things that killmen--yet the _chechako_ lives. "

"Gee, Eth, think of that!" exclaimed the boy, turning toward hissister, who from her place by the side of her Aunt Margaret had been aninterested listener. "He must be _some man_! Where does he live? Willwe see him?"

Before the half-breed could reply Appleton broke in. 

"He sure is _some man_!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "And you willsee him about day after to-morrow night, if we have good luck. I don'tknow about all the adventures Blood River Jack mentioned, but I haveheard of some of them, and I can add the story of the outwitting of acouple of card-sharps and a fight in the dark, in the cramped quartersof an overturned railway coach, in which he all but choked the life outof a human fiend who was robbing the dead and injured. 

"And I might tell of another fight--the gamest fight of all--but, waittill you know him. He is foreman of the camp which will be ourheadquarters for the next two or three weeks. "

"To hear them talk, " said Mrs. Appleton to her niece, "one wouldimagine this man a huge, bloodthirsty ruffian; but he isn't. Hubertsays that he is in every respect a gentleman. "

"Yes, " agreed her husband, "but one who is not afraid to get out andwork with his two hands--and work hard--and who has never learned themeaning of fear. I took a chance on him, and he has made good. "

The phrase fell upon the ears of the girl with a shock. They were thewords _he_ had used, she remembered. Was _he_ making good--somewhere?She felt her heart go out with a rush to this big man she had neverseen, and she found herself eagerly looking forward to their meeting. 

"Oh, he must be splendid!" she exclaimed impulsively, and her faceglowed in the play of the firelight--a glow that faded almost to pallorat the words of the half-breed. 

"He has come again into the woods?" he asked quickly. "It is well. Fornow Jeanne need have no fear. He promised her that he would returnagain into the North--and to her. "

"What?" cried Appleton in surprise. "Who is this Jeanne? And why shouldhe return to her?"

"She is my sister, " Jacques replied simply. "Her skin is white like theskin of my father. She is beautiful, and she loves him. She helpedWa-ha-ta-na-ta to draw him from the river, and through all the longdays and nights of his sickness she took care of him. When he went outof the woods she accompanied him for three days and three nights uponthe trail to the land of the white man, and he promised her that hewould come again into the woods and protect her from harm. "

At a hurried glance from his wife Appleton changed the subjectabruptly. "I wish to thunder it would snow!" he exclaimed. "Huntingdeer without snow is like fishing without bait. You might accidentallyhook one, but it's a long chance. "

Blood River Jack sniffed the air and shrugged, glancing upward. 

"Plenty of snow in a few days, " he said. "Maybe too much. "

CHAPTER XXXVII

IN THE OFFICE

The setting sun shone weak and coppery above the pines as the bigfour-horse tote-team dashed with a flourish into the wide clearing ofthe new camp on upper Blood River. The men had not yet "knocked off, "and from the impenetrable depths of the forest came the ring of axesand the roar of crashing trees. 

In the little blacksmith-shop a grimy-faced, leather-aproned man bentover a piece of glowing iron which he held in long tongs, and the redsparks radiated in showers as the hammer thumped dully on the softmetal--thumps sharply punctuated by the clean ring of steel as thepolished face of the tool bounced merrily upon the chilled surface ofthe anvil. 

The feel of snow was in the air and over by the cook-shack men werehauling fire-wood on a pole-drag. The team brought up sharply beforethe door of the office which was located at one end of a long, lowbuilding of logs, the two other rooms of which contained stoves, chairs, and a few rough deal-tables. 

Appleton leaped from the wagon and swung the ladies lightly to theground, while the teamster and Blood River Jack, assisted by Charlie, proceeded to unload the outfit. The lumberman pushed open the door ofthe office and glanced within. It was empty. He called one of the menfrom the cook-shack and bade him build a fire in the little air-tight. 

"Well, H. D. , your man ain't an office foreman, anyhow, " grinnedSheridan, with a nod of approval toward the cold stove. 

Sheridan was a bluff man with a bristling red mustache--the kind thatinvariably chew upon their cigars as they talk. 

Appleton turned to the ladies. 

"Make yourselves at home, " he said as the fire roared up thestove-pipe. "Ross and I will look over the works a bit. Where is theboss?" he asked of the man who was returning to the wood-pile. 

"Out in the cuttin' somewheres; er me'be over to the rollways, " repliedthe man, laughing. "Big Bill he's out among 'em _all_ the time. "

"By Glory! H. D. , we've all got to hand it to you when it comes topicking out men. I'd like to catch one of _my_ foremen out on the workssome time--I wouldn't know whether to fire him or double his wages!"

Sheridan mouthed his cigar, and the two turned into a skidway. 

Appleton smiled. He raised a finger and touched his eyelid. 

"It's the eye, " he said. "Look in a man's eye, Ross. I don't give adamn what a man's record is--what he's done or what he hasn't done. Letme get a good look into his eye when he talks and in half a minute I'llknow whether to hire him or pass him on to you fellows. Here he comesnow. "

Bill took keen delight in showing the two lumbermen about the camp. 

"What's the idea of the ell on the bunk-house?" asked Appleton. 

"Teamster's bunk-house, " replied the foreman. "You see, I know how itfeels to be waked up at four in the morning by the teamsters piling outof their bunks; so I built a separate bunk-house for them. The men worktoo hard to have their sleep broken into that way. And another thing--Ibuilt a couple of big rooms onto the office where the men can playcards and smoke in the evening. I ordered a phonograph, too. I expectit in on the tote-wagon. "

Sheridan grinned skeptically and spat out part of his cigar. Appletonmade no comment. 

"Come over to the office, Bill, " he said. "I want you to meet theladies--my wife and niece and Mrs. Sheridan. "

"I am afraid I am not very presentable, " replied Bill dubiously as theycrossed the clearing in the lengthening shadows; but he went with themwithout hesitation. 

They were met at the door by a plump-faced lady of ample proportionswho was evidently fighting a losing battle with a tendency toward_embonpoint_; and a slight, gray-haired one who stood poised upon thesplit puncheon that served as a door-step. 

"Ladies, this is Bill, the foreman of this camp. Mrs. Sheridan, Bill, and my wife. "

The ladies bowed formally, and secretly approved of the grace withwhich the foreman removed his cap and returned their salute. Nevertheless, there was an icy note in Mrs. Appleton's voice as shesaid:

"My niece begs to be excused. She is very tired after her rather hardtrip. " If Bill noticed the frigidity in the tone he gave no sign. 

"I imagine it has been a very trying trip for you all. However, I willoffer you the best accommodations the camp affords. If you will kindlychoose which of those two rooms you prefer I will have your belongingsmoved in at once. "

"I suppose you brought cots, " he added, turning to Appleton. 

"Yes, everything necessary for a tenderfoot outfit. "

"When the ladies have selected their room I will have your gear movedinto the other, " said Bill; and, with a bow to the ladies, moved off inthe direction of the cook-shack. 

Alone in the office, Ethel Manton gazed about upon the meagerfurnishings; a desk, the little air-tight stove with its huge wood-box;three wooden chairs, a trunk secured by a padlock, and a bunk neatlylaid with heavy blankets. 

Several pairs of boots, moccasins, and heavy mittens were ranged alongthe floor next to the wall, while from pegs above them hung a fadedmackinaw, a slicker, and several pairs of corduroy trousers. 

Tacked to the wall above the desk was a large, highly colored calendar, while upon the opposite wall hung a rifle and a belt of yellowcartridges. Her woman's eye took in the scrupulous neatness of the roomand the orderly disposition of the various articles. 

For the first time in her life she was in a man's room, and she felt akeen thrill of interest in her surroundings. Upon the top of the deskbeside the little bracket-lamp was a short row of books. 

"It is too bad, " she muttered, "that he couldn't have been _nice_. HowI would have enjoyed talking with him and telling him how splendid itis that he is _making good_!

"Maybe somewhere a girl is wondering where he is--and waiting day afterday for word from him--and worrying her very heart out. Oh, I hope shewill never know about this Jeanne--ugh! An Indian--and Uncle Appletonsaid he is a _gentleman_!"

She paused before the desk and idly read the titles of the books; therewere a logger's manual, a few text-books on surveying and timberestimating, several of the latest novels, apparently unread and awell-thumbed copy of Browning. 

"Browning! Of all things--in a log camp! Now I know there is agirl--poor thing!" Open, face downward upon the surface of the deskwhere it had been pushed aside to make room for a rough sketch of thecamp with its outreaching skidways and cross-hauls, lay a small volume. 

"And Southey!" she exclaimed under her breath, and picked up the book. It was "Madoc, " and three lines, heavily underscored, stood boldly outupon the page:

 "Three things a wise man will not trust, The wind, the sunshine of an April day, And woman's plighted faith. "

Over and over she read the lines, and, returning the book to its place, pondered, as she allowed her glance to rove again over the little roomwhose every detail bespoke intense masculinity. 

"I might at least be nice to him, " she murmured. "Maybe the girl _was_horrid. And he is 'way up here, trying to forget!" Unconsciously sherepeated the words of her Uncle Appleton: "He _has_ made good. "

And then there flashed through her mind the words of the guide: "She isbeautiful, and she loves him. She accompanied him for three days andthree nights on the trail to the land of the white man, and he promisedthat he would come again into the woods and protect her from harm. "

"This Indian girl, " she whispered--"she loves him, and he persuaded herto accompany him, and when they drew near to civilization he sent herback--with a promise!"

Her lips thinned and the hot blood mounted to her cheeks. No matterwhat conditions sent this man into the woods, there could be nojustification for _that_. She shuddered as she drew her skirts awaywhere they brushed lightly against the blankets of his bunk, and turnedtoward the door. 

And just at that moment the door opened, and in the gathering darknessa man stood framed in the doorway. She drew back, startled, and withthe swiftness of light her glance swept him from the top of his cap tothe soles of his heavy boots. 

He was a large man whose features were concealed by a thick beard. Hisfringed and beautifully embroidered shirt of buckskin was open at thethroat, as if to allow free play to the mighty muscles of hiswell-formed neck. 

Only a few seconds he stood thus, and with a swift movement removed thecap from his head. 

"You will pardon me, " he said, and his eyes sought hers; "I did notknow any one was here. "

At the first sound of his voice the girl started. One quick step, andshe stood before him, staring into his eyes. She felt her flesh growcold, and her heart seemed gripped between the jaws of a mighty vise. 

"_You!_" she gasped, and swayed unsteadily as her hand sought herthroat. Her voice came dry and hard and choking as she repeated theword: "_You!_" And in that moment the man saw her face in the deepeninggloom of the room. 

"_Ethel!_" he cried, springing toward her with outstretched arms. Then, when she was almost within their grasp, the arms dropped, for the girlshrank from his touch and her eyes blazed. 

Thus for a moment they stood facing each other, the girl--white, tense--with blazing eyes, and the big man, who fought for control ofhimself. Finally he spoke, and his voice was steady and very low. 

"Forgive me, Ethel, " he said. "For the moment I forgot that I have notthe right--that there is another----"

With a low, moaning cry the girl covered her face with her hands. Evensince she faced him there the thought had flashed through her brainthat there might be some mistake--that the man might even yet be as heappeared to be--big and brave and _clean_. 

But now--from his own lips she had heard it--"there is another"--andthat other--an _Indian_!

A convulsive shudder shook her whole body, the room seemed to reel; shepressed her hands more tightly to her eyes, as if to shut out the sightof him, and the next instant all was dark, and she pitched heavilyforward into the arms of the man. 

For one brief moment he held her, straining her limp body to his. Thehands relaxed and fell away from her pallid face, and the bearded lipsbent close above the soft lips of the unconscious girl--but _only_ fora moment. 

Without touching the lips, the man straightened up and, crossing to thebunk, laid the still form upon the blankets. With never a backwardglance, he passed out through the door. 

It was dark in the clearing, and a couple of steps brought him face toface with Appleton, who was coming to tell his niece that the ladies'quarters were ready. 

The foreman paused and looked squarely into the face of his employer. He slowly raised an arm and pointed to the open door of the office. 

"Miss Manton, " he said, "has fainted. " And without waiting for a reply, passed on into the night. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

CHARLIE FINDS A FRIEND

The following morning the camp looked out upon a white world. Thethreatened snow which began during the night was still falling, andfrom the windows the dark walls of the clearing could be seen but dimlythrough the riot of dancing flakes. 

It was a constrained and rather glum party that sat down to breakfastshortly after daylight in the room adjoining the office, where two dealtables had been drawn together and spread with a new, white oilcloth. 

Ethel Manton had entirely recovered from her syncope of the previousevening, and had offered no elucidation other than that of fatigue. Nevertheless, not a person in the room but felt that there had beenanother and more immediate cause for the girl's collapse. 

Charlie had begged to be allowed to "eat with the men, " and the foremanhad courteously declined Appleton's invitation to join the party duringtheir stay in camp. 

The dismal and sporadic attempts at conversation had slumped into anawkward silence, in the midst of which the door burst open and youngCharlie catapulted into the room. 

"Oh, Eth! Guess who he is!" he cried. "Guess who's the boss--the manthe Indians call The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die'! It's _Bill Carmody_! And Iknew him the minute I saw him, if he _has_ got whiskers all over hisface and a buckskin shirt. 

"And he knew _me_! And he shook hands with me right before all themen--and you ought to seen 'em look! And he's going to teach me how towalk on snowshoes! Oh, ain't you _glad_! 'Cause now you and Billcan----"

"_Charlie!_" The girl's face flamed, and the word seemed wrung from hervery heart. The boy paused for a moment in the midst of his breathlessharangue and eyed his sister with disgust. 

"You know you _do_ love him, " he continued, his eyes flashingdefiantly, "even if you did have a scrap--and he loves you, too! Andthat dang St. Ledger's just nothing but a--a--a _squirt_--that's whathe is--and if I was Bill Carmody I'd punch his head for him if he even_spoke_ to you again--if you was _my_ girl!

"And I'm going to tell him we _know_ he never swiped those bonds, andyou stuck up for him when old man Carmody told you he did. "

The last words of the boy's remarks were addressed to an empty chair, for the girl, white and trembling, had fled into the other room andbanged the door after her. 

Mrs. Appleton, with an unintelligibly muttered excuse, hurriedlyfollowed, leaving her husband gazing from her retreating back to theexcited face of the youngster, and muttering: "Bless my soul! Bless mysoul!" between the gulps of his coffee, which for once in his life heswallowed with never a growl at the canned milk. A moment later heabruptly left the table and, motioning the boy to follow, led the wayto the office. 

A half-hour passed, and Charlie left the building under the strictestkind of orders not to mention to Bill Carmody either Ethel or thebonds. 

Puzzling his small head over the inexplicable doings of grown-uppeople, he wandered toward the cook-shack to hunt up Daddy Dunnigan, with whom he had already struck up a great friendship. 

"She loves him and he loves her, " he muttered to himself as he scuffedhis brand-new moccasins through the soft snow, "and each one tries tolet on they don't. And Uncle Appleton won't let me tell Bill _she_ doesso he'd go and tell her _he_ does; and then old man Carmody and hisbonds could go to the _devil_!

"You bet, I hope I never get in love and act like a couple of fools. Now, I bet she'll marry that _sniffit_, and he'll marry Blood RiverJack's sister. " The boy paused and glanced speculatively at the fallingsnow. "I wonder if he wants to? Anyhow, I can ask him that much. "

Later, in the office, Mrs. Appleton broke in upon her husband's thirdblack cigar. There was no doorway connecting the office with the othertwo rooms, and the lumberman watched the snowflakes melt on his wife'shair as she seated herself directly in front of him. 

"Well, Hubert Appleton, this is a nice mess you have got us into, Imust say!"

"_Me!_" grinned the man. "Why, little girl, this is your party. "

"I wish you would tell me who it was that suggested leaving out youngMr. Holbrooke, and coming here so that Ethel could meet this _man_?"

"She--er--met him--didn't she?"

"You needn't try to be facetious! What are you going to do about it?"

"Who--me? Oh, just stick around and watch the fun. "

"Fun! Fun! Hubert Appleton, aren't you _ashamed_ of yourself? And thatpoor girl in there crying her eyes out! Fun, indeed--it's _tragedy_!"

"There, there, little woman; don't let's get excited. It's up to us tokind of figure things out a bit; but the young folks themselves will bethe real actors. 

"Now, just how much--or, how little did she tell you?"

"She told me _everything_. Poor dear, it did her good. She has hadnobody to tell--nobody to cry with her and sympathize with her. "

When his wife concluded, H. D. Appleton had received a very accuratechronicle of the doings of Bill Carmody from the time of his boyhooduntil chance threw them together in the smoking-compartment of thewest-bound sleeper. 

The lumberman listened attentively, without interrupting, until hiswife finished. 

"Does she think Bill took those bonds?" he asked. 

"No. She does not. Even with everything else against him, she cannotbring herself to believe that he is a thief. "

"Do _you_ think he took them?"

"Why--I--I don't know, " she hesitated. 

"Do you _think_ he took them?"

The little woman looked into her husband's eyes as she purposelydelayed her reply. 

"No, " she said at length. "I do not. But his own father accused him. "

Appleton leaned forward in his chair and brought his fist down upon thedesk-top. 

"I don't give a damn _who_ accused him!" he cried. "That boy neverstole a bond, or any other thing, and I'll stake my last cent on it!"

"Oh, it isn't the bonds. Ethel does not believe he stole them. But--theother--you heard what the guide said--and Ethel heard it. She never_can_ get over _that_! He may be honest--but he is a perfect_villain_!"

"Hold on, now. Let's go easy. Maybe it isn't so bad as it sounds. "

"Not so bad! Hubert Appleton, do you mean to tell me that you would, for a minute, think of allowing your niece to _marry_ such a man?"

Appleton smiled into the outraged eyes of his wife. 

"Yup. I think I would, " he replied, and then hastened to add:

"Wait here and I will fetch Blood River Jack. He may have told morethan he knows, or he may not have told all he knows. When you come tothink of it, from what he _did_ tell, we only jumped at conclusions. "

He hurried from the office, returning a few minutes later with thehalf-breed, who seated himself and lighted the proffered cigar withevident enjoyment. 

"Now, Jack, " Appleton began, speaking with his accustomed brevity, "tell us about Monsieur Bill and this sister of yours. Did you say hewas going to marry her?"

The guide looked from one to the other as if silently taking theirmeasure. Finally he seemed satisfied. 

"No, " he said gravely, "he will not marry Jeanne. "

The lumberman cleared his throat and waited while the man looked outupon the whirling snow, for well he knew that the half-breed must beallowed to take his own time--he could not be "pumped. " And Mrs. Appleton, taking her cue from her husband, curbed her impatience, andwaited with apparent unconcern. 

"It is, " the guide began, as if carefully weighing his words, "that youare the good friends of M's'u' Bill. Also I have seen that you know themen of the logs. 

"Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, my mother, who is old and very wise, knows the men ofthe logs, and, knowing them, hated M's'u' Bill, and would have returnedhim to the river, but Jeanne prevented. For Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, knowing ofthe fatherless breeds of the rivers, hated all white men, and a greatfear was in her heart for the girl, who is her daughter, and thedaughter of Lacombie whom, she says, was the one good white man; butLacombie is dead. 

"So always in the days of the summer, when these two would leave thelodge to visit the deserted camp of Moncrossen, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta followedthem. Stealthily and unknown she crept upon their trail, and always hersharp eyes were upon them, and in the fold of her blanket was concealeda long, keen blade, and behind the unfailing gaze of the black eyes wasthe mind to kill. 

"Thus passed the days of the summer, and the hand of Wa-ha-ta-na-ta wasstayed, but her vigilance remained unrelenting. For deep in her heartis seared the memory of two winters ago, when Moncrossen gazed upon thebeauty of Jeanne, and came to the tepee in the night, knowing I wasaway, and Wa-ha-ta-na-ta fought him in the darkness until he fled, cursing and swearing vengeance. 

"Never since that night has the girl been safe, for Moncrossen, withthe cunning of the wolf, is waiting his time--and some day he willstrike!

"But I shared not the fear of my mother that harm would come to Jeanneat the hand of the great _chechako_, for I have looked into his eyes, and I know that his heart is good. 

"Upon the day before his departure for the land of the white man hegave to the girl the skin of Diablesse, and then she told him she lovedhim, and begged him to remain with her in the country of the Indians. 

"But he would not, for he does not love Jeanne, but another--a woman ofhis own people, who lives in the great city of the white man. And eventhough this woman sent him from her, he loves her, and will marry noother. 

"Listening, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta heard him tell this to Jeanne; but of thiswoman the girl knew, for he talked incessantly of her, and cried outthat she would marry another--in the voice of the fever-spirit, in thetime of his great sickness. 

"The following day he departed in a canoe, and as he pushed from theshore, Jeanne handed him his mackinaw, and words passed between themthat Wa-ha-ta-na-ta could not hear from her position behind a log. 

"But, as the canoe passed from sight around a bend in the river, thegirl plunged into the woods, and Wa-ha-ta-na-ta returned to the tepeeand made up a light pack and slipped silently upon her trail. The girlcut through the forest and came again to the river, and for a night anda day awaited the coming of the canoe. 

"The third evening it came and the man camped, and Jeanne crept closeand watched him across the blaze of his little fire as he smoked andstared into the embers. While Wa-ha-ta-na-ta also crept stealthily tothe fire, making no sound, and she came to within an arm's reach of theman's back, and in her hand was clutched tightly the sheath-knife withits long, keen blade. 

"At the midnight the man unrolled his blankets and laid down to sleep, and then it was that Jeanne stepped into the firelight. And in the deepshadow, Wa-ha-ta-na-ta gripped more tightly the knife and made ready tostrike. "

The half-breed paused while the others waited breathlessly for him toresume. 

"Think not that Jeanne is bad. She is good, and her heart is the pureheart of a maiden. But, such is the love of woman--to face gladly thesneers of the world, and the wrath of her people--for she did not askhim to marry her--only to take her. 

"But the man would not, and commanded her to return to the lodge. Shetold him that she could not return--that three days and three nightshad passed since they had departed together, and that, if he would nottake her, she would go alone to the land of the white man. 

"Then M's'u' Bill arose and folded his blankets and made up his pack, and when he spoke to her again it was in the voice of the terriblesoftness--the softness that causes men first to wonder, and then toobey, though they know not why. He said that he himself would take herback, and that Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, who is old and very wise, would knowthat his words were true. 

"Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, lurking there in the deep shadow, in that moment knewthat the man's heart was good. And she stepped into the firelight, andlooked long into his eyes--and she broke the knife--and between themthere passed the _promise_. "

Jacques puffed slowly upon his cigar, arose to his feet, and stoodlooking down upon the two who had listened to his words. 

"It is well, " he said, and his dark eyes flashed, "for the heart ofMoncrossen is bad, and the beauty of Jeanne has inflamed the evilpassions of him, and he will stop at nothing in the fulfillment of hisdesire. 

"But, into the North has come a greater than Moncrossen. And terriblewill be the vengeance of this man if harm falls upon Jeanne. For he isher friend, his word has passed, his heart is strong and good, and heknows not fear. 

"Upon Moncrossen will fall the day of the Great Reckoning. And, in thatday, justice will be done, for he will stand face to face with M's'u'Bill--The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die--the man whom Wa-ha-ta-na-ta has named'The One Good White Man'!"

CHAPTER XXXIX

BILL'S WAY

"And, to think, " whispered Mrs. Appleton as she wiped a tear from hereye, after the half-breed's departure, "that in New York this same manhad earned the name of 'Broadway Bill, the sport'!"

"Yes, " answered her husband; "but Broadway Bill has passed, and in hisplace, out here in the big country, is Broadgauge Bill, the _man_! Iknew I was right, Margaret, by gad, I knew it! Look in his eye!"

Followed, then, in the little office, an hour of intimate conversation, at the conclusion of which the two arose. 

"Not a word to Ethel, remember, " admonished the woman, and laughedknowingly as her husband stooped and kissed her. 

During the days that followed, Appleton and Sheridan, accompanied byBlood River Jack, hunted from early morning until late evening, whenthey would return, trail-weary and happy, to spend hours over thecleaning and oiling of guns and the overhauling of gear. 

Young Charlie was allowed to go on some of the shorter expeditions, butfor the most part he was to be found dogging the heels of Bill Carmody;or perched upon a flour-barrel in the cook-shack, listening to thetales of Daddy Dunnigan. 

The ladies busied themselves with the care of the two rooms, withuseless needlework, and with dummy auction, varying the monotony withdaily excursions into the near-by forest in quest of spruce-gum andpine-cones. 

Since the morning Charlie had broken in so incontinently upon theirbreakfast no reference had been made to Bill Carmody by any member ofthe party; while the foreman pursued the even tenor of his way, apparently as unconcerned by their existence as they were by his. 

One afternoon as the ladies were starting upon one of their tramps theycame face to face with the foreman, who tipped his cap, bowed coldly, and passed into the office, closing the door behind him. 

Mrs. Appleton halted suddenly, glanced toward the building, andretraced her steps. It was but a short distance, and Ethel walked back, waiting at the door while her aunt entered their own apartment. 

The girl watched abstractedly, thinking the older woman had returnedfor something she had forgotten. 

Suddenly she became all attention, and a hot flush of anger mounted toher face as she saw her aunt walk to the table, pick up her purse andseveral rings which she had left, and with a glance at the thick, logwall which separated the room from the office, deliberately walk to hertrunk and place the articles under lock and key. 

Apparently Mrs. Appleton had not noticed the girl's presence, but morethan once during the afternoon the corners of her mouth twitched when, in response to some question or remark of hers, the shortness of thegirl's replies bordered upon absolute rudeness. 

And late that night she smiled broadly in the darkness when the lowsound of stifled sobs came from the direction of the girl's cot. 

Immediately after breakfast the following morning, Ethel put on herwraps and started out alone. Arriving, after a long, aimless ramble, atthe outermost end of a skidway, she sat upon a log to rest and watch ahuge swamper who, unaware of her presence, was engaged in slashing theunderbrush from in front of a group of large logs. 

Finally, tiring of the sight, she arose and started for the clearing, and then suddenly drew back and stepped behind the bole of a greatpine, for, striding rapidly toward her on the skidway was Bill Carmody, and she pressed still closer to the tree-trunk that he might passwithout observing her. 

He was very close now, and the girl noticed the peculiar expression ofhis face--an expression she had seen there once before--his lips weresmiling, and his gray eyes were narrowed almost to slits. 

The man halted scarcely fifty feet from her, at the place where theswamper, with wide blows of his axe, was laying the small saplings andbrushwood low. She started at the cold softness of the tones of hisvoice. 

"Leduc, " he said, "just a minute--it will hardly take longer. "

The man turned quickly at the sound of the voice at his side, and forthe space of seconds the two big men faced each other on the packedsnow of the skidway. 

Then, with a motion of incredible swiftness, and without apparenteffort, the foreman's right arm shot out and his fist landed squarelyupon the nose of the huge swamper. 

The girl heard the wicked spat, and the peculiar, frightened grunt asthe man reeled backward, and saw the quick gush of red blood thatsplashed down his front and squirted out over the snow. 

Before the man had time to recover, the foreman advanced a step andstruck again. This time it was his left hand that clove the air in along, clean swing, and the man went down into the snow without a soundas the fist thudded against his neck just below the ear. 

Without so much as a glance at the man in the snow, Bill Carmody turnedon his heel and started back down the skidway. 

Few seconds had elapsed, and a strange, barbaric thrill ran through thegirl's body as she looked out upon the scene, quickly followed by awave of sickening pity for the poor wretch who lay sprawled in thesnow. 

And, then, a great anger surged into her heart against the man who hadfelled him. She dashed from her hiding-place, and in a moment stoodfacing him, her blue eyes flashing. 

"You _brute_!" she cried, "what right had you? Why did you strike him?"The man regarded her gravely, lifting his cap politely as if answeringa most commonplace question. 

"Because, " he replied, "I wanted to, " and, with a curt bow, steppedinto the timber and disappeared, leaving her alone in the skidway withthe bloody, unconscious form in the snow. 

Never in her life had Ethel Manton been so furiously angry--not becausea man had been felled by a blow--she had forgotten that--but because, in demanding an explanation, in attempting to call Bill Carmody toaccount, she had laid herself open to his stinging rebuff. 

Without pretense of defense or justification, the man had quietly toldher that he knocked the swamper down "because he wanted to"; andwithout waiting for comment--as if the fact that "he wanted to" wassufficient in itself--had gone about his business without giving thematter a second thought. 

The flash of anger, which in the first place had prompted her to speakto the man, was but an impulsive protest against what she considered anact of brutality; but that quickly passed. 

The anger that surged through her heart as she gazed, white-faced, atthe spot where the big man disappeared, was the bitter anger ofoutraged dignity and injured pride. 

He had not taken the trouble to find out what she thought, for the veryobvious reason that he had not cared what she thought--and so he lefther. And when he had gone the girl plodded wrathfully back to camp andspoke to no one of what she had seen. But, deep down in her heart, sheknew there had been a reason for Bill's act--and she knew that thereason was good. 

That same evening Appleton pushed his chair back from the table andglanced toward Ethel, who had got out a bit of crochet-work. Then, witha sidewise glance at his wife, he remarked thoughtfully:

"I'm afraid I'll have to get rid of Bill. A Canuck swamper named Leduccomplained to me that the boss slipped up on him and knocked himinsensible with a club. I can't stand for that--not even from Bill. "

At the mention of the foreman's name the girl looked up quickly. 

"He _didn't_ hit him with a club! He hit him with his fist! And there_was_ a reason----" The girl stopped abruptly, and a wave of crimsonsuffused her face. She could have bitten her tongue off for speaking--fordefending this man. 

"How do _you_ know?" asked her uncle in surprise. 

"I saw him do it, " she replied; realizing that, having gone so far, shemust answer. 

"Why did he strike him?" persisted Appleton. 

"You might ask _him_ that, " she said and, with a defiant toss of herhead, quitted the room and closed the door behind her. 

The Sheridans had been taken into confidence, and when the four foundthemselves alone they smiled knowingly. 

As the days slipped into the second week of their stay, the carcassesof many deer hung from poles in the clearing, and the outside walls ofthe log building were adorned with the skins of numerous wolves andbobcats. 

Hardly a day passed but some one, by word or look, or covert sneer, expressed disapproval of the boss; and Ethel, entirely ignorant of thefact that these expressions of disapproval were made only in herpresence, and for her special benefit, was conscious of a feeling ofgreat pity for the lonely man. 

The indescribable restlessness of a great longing took possession ofher; she found herself, time and again, watching from the window, andfrom places of concealment behind the trunks of trees, while the bigforeman went stolidly about his work. 

The fact that she should hate Bill Carmody was logical and proper; butshe bitterly resented the distrust and criticism of the others. Shewished now with all her heart that she had not confided in her aunt, and a dozen times she caught herself on the point of rushing to hisdefense. 

Not since that morning on the skidway had the two met. Bill deviatednot one whit from the regular routine of his duties, and the girlpurposely avoided him. 

She hated him. Over and over again she told herself that she hated anddespised him, and yet, on two or three occasions when she knew he hadgone to the farthest reaches of the cutting, she had slipped unobservedinto the office and read from his books--not the uncut novels--but thewell-thumbed copies of Browning and Southey; and as she read shepondered. 

She came upon many marked passages; and in her heart the unrestcontinued, and she allowed her hands to stray over the coarse cloth ofhis mackinaw, and once she threw herself upon his bunk and buried herface in his blankets, and sobbed the dry, racking sobs of her deepsoul-hurt. 

Then she had leaped to her feet and smoothed out the wrinkles in theblankets, and stooped and straightened the row of boots and moccasinsalong the base-log--and quickly disarranged them again for fear hemight remember how he left them--and rushed from the office. 

Of these secret visits the members of the party knew nothing, but DaddyDunnigan, from the window of the cook-shack, took note of the girl'scomings and goings, and nodded sagely and chuckled to himself. ForDaddy Dunnigan, wise in the ways of women, had gathered much from thetalk of the impetuous youngster. 

CHAPTER XL

CHARLIE GOES HUNTING

Blood River Jack halted suddenly in his journey from the bunk-house tothe grub-shack and sniffed the air. 

He dropped the butt of his rifle to the hard-packed snow of theclearing and glanced upward, where a thin sprinkling of stars winkedfeebly in the first blush of morning. 

The dark sky was cloudless, and the trees stood motionless in thegloom, which slowly dissipated where the first faint light ofapproaching day grayed the east. The air was dry and cold, but with nosting of crispness. The chill of it was the uncomfortable, penetratingchill that renders clothing inadequate, yet brings no tingle to theexposed portions of the body. 

Again the man sniffed the dead air and, swinging the rifle into thecrook of his elbow, continued toward the grub-shack. 

Appleton and Sheridan accepted without remonstrance the guide'sprediction of a storm and retired to the "house, " as the rooms in whichthe party was quartered had come to be known--not entirely unthankfulfor a day of rest. 

The crew went into the timber, as usual; the guide retired to his bunkfor a good snooze; and young Charlie Manton, tiring of listening toDaddy Dunnigan's yarns, prowled about the camp in search of amusement. 

Entering the bunk-house, his attention was attracted by the loudsnoring of Blood River Jack, and his eye fell upon the half-breed'srifle and cartridge-belt, which reposed upon the floor just beneath theedge of his bunk. 

The boy crept close, his soft moccasins making no sound, until he waswithin reach of the gun, when he dropped to the floor and lifted it inhis hands. For many minutes he sat upon the floor examining the rifle, turning it over and over. 

At length he reached for the cartridge-belt, and buckling it about hiswaist, left the room as noiselessly as he had entered and, keeping thebunk-house in line with the window of the cook-shack, slippedunobserved into the timber. 

Upon his hunting expeditions with the others, Charlie had not beenallowed to carry a high-power rifle. It was a sore blow to his pridethat his armament had consisted of a light, twenty-gauge shotgun, whosepossibilities for slaughter were limited to rabbits, spruce-hens, andptarmigan. 

Farther and farther into the timber he went, avoiding the outreachingskidways and the sound of axes. Broad-webbed snow-shoe rabbits leapedfrom under foot and scurried away in the timber, and the whir of anoccasional ptarmigan or spruce-hen passed unheeded. 

He was after big game. He would show Uncle Appleton that he _could_handle a rifle; and maybe, if he killed a buck or a wolf or a bobcat, the next time he went with them he would be allowed to carry aman's-size weapon. 

An hour's tramp carried him to the bank of the river at a point severalmiles below the camp, where he seated himself upon a rotten log. 

"Blood River Jack just wanted to sleep to-day, so he told 'em it wasgoing to storm, " he soliloquized as he surveyed the narrow stretch ofsky which appeared above the snow-covered ice of the river. 

But somehow the sky did not look as blue as it had; it was a sicklyyellow color now, like the after-glow of a sunset, and in the center ofit hung the sun--a dull, copper sun, with uneven, red edges which lostthemselves in a hazy aureola of yellowish light. 

The boy glanced uneasily about him. The woods seemed uncannily silent, and the air thick and heavy, so that the white aisle of the riverblurred into dusk at its farther reaches. 

It grew darker, a peculiar fuliginous darkness, which was not of thegloom of the forest. Yet no smell of smoke was in the air, and in thesky were no clouds. 

"Looks kind of funny, " thought the boy, and glanced toward the river. Suddenly all thought of the unfamiliar-looking world fled from hisbrain, for there on the snow, not twenty yards distant, half crouched along, gray body with the claws of an uplifted forefoot extended, andcruel, catlike lips drawn into a hideous snarl. 

The other forefoot rested upon the limp, furry body of a rabbit, andthe great, yellow-green eyes glowed and waned in the dimming light, while the sharply tufted ears worked forward and back in quick, nervoustwitches. 

"A _loup-cervier_, " whispered the boy, and slowly raised Blood RiverJack's rifle until the sights lined exactly between the glowing eyes. He pulled the trigger and, at the sharp metallic click with which thehammer descended upon the firing-pin, the brute seized the rabbitbetween its wide, blunt jaws and bounded away in long leaps. 

Hot tears of disappointment blurred the youngster's eyes and trickleddown his cheeks--he had forgotten to load the rifle, and his handstrembled as he hurriedly jammed the long, flask-shaped cartridges intothe magazine and followed down to the river on the trail of the bigcat. 

He remembered as he mushed along on his small rackets that Bill hadtold him of a rocky ledge some five or six miles below camp, and hadpromised to take him to this place where the _loup-cerviers_ had theirdens among the rocks. 

The trail held to the river, whose banks rose more abruptly as heproceeded, and at length, as he rounded a sharp bend, he could make outdimly through the thickening air the outline of a high rocky bluff; buteven as he looked, the ledge was blotted out by a quick flurry of snow, and from high among the tree-tops came a long, wailing moan of wind. 

The trees pitched wildly in the icy blast; the moan increased to amighty roar, and the air was thick with flying snow. Not the soft, flaky snow of the previous storm, but particles fine as frozen fog, that bit and stung as they whirled against his face in the eddyinggusts that came from no direction at all and every direction at once. 

The boy bowed his head to the storm and pushed steadily forward--he_must_ kill the _loup-cervier_, whose trail was growing momentarilymore indistinct. 

His eyes could penetrate but a few yards into the white smother, andsuddenly the dark wall of the rock ledge loomed in front of him, andthe trail, almost obliterated now, turned sharply and disappearedbetween two huge, upstanding bowlders. 

CHAPTER XLI

THE BLIZZARD

At eleven o'clock in the morning Bill Carmody ordered his teams to thestables. 

At twelve o'clock, when the men crowded into the grub-shack, the airwas filled with fine particles of flinty snow, and the roar of the windthrough the pine-tops was the mighty roar of the surf of a poundingsea. 

At one o'clock the boss called "gillon, " and with loud shouts and roughhorse-play, the men made a rush for the bunk-house. 

At two o'clock Daddy Dunnigan thrust his head through the doorway ofthe shop where Bill, under the blacksmith's approving eye, wascompleting a lesson in the proper welding of the broken link of a logchain. 

With a mysterious quirk of the head he motioned the foreman to follow, and led the way to the cook-shack, where Blood River Jack waited withlowering brow. 

"D'yez happin to know is th' b'y up yonder?" asked the old Irishman, with a jerk of his thumb in the direction of the house. Bill beat thedry snow from his clothing as he stared from one to the other. 

"The boy!" he cried. "What do you mean? Come--out with it--_quick_!"

"It is that my rifle and belt have gone from under the bunk, " BloodRiver Jack answered. "They were taken while I slept. The boy did notcome to dinner in the grub-shack. Is it that he eats to-day with hispeople?"

"Good Lord! I don't know! Haven't you seen him, Daddy?"

"Not since mebbe it's noine o'clock in th' marnin', an' he wint to th'bunk-house. I thoucht he wuz wid Jack. " Bill thought rapidly and turnedto the old man. 

"Here, you, Daddy--get a move on now!" he ordered. "That ginger cake ofyours that the kid likes, hustle some of it into a pail or a basket orsomething, and carry it up to the house. Tell them it's for Charlie, and you'll find out if he's there. If not, get out by saying that he'sprobably in the bunk-house, and get back here as quick as you can makeit. There is no use in alarming the people up there--yet. "

"Here you, Jack, go help the old man along. It's a tough job buckingthat storm even for a short distance. Come now, beat it!"

After ten minutes the two returned, breathless from their short battlewith the storm. 

"He ain't there, " gasped the old man and sank down upon the wood-boxwith his head in his hands. "God help um, he's out in ut!"

"I'm going to the office, " said the foreman and stepped out into thewhirling snow. 

"Man! Man!" called Daddy, springing to his feet; "ye ain't a goin' tothry----" The door banged upon his words and he sagged slowly onto hisrough seat. 

A few minutes later Appleton stamped into the cook-shack. "Did you findhim, Daddy?" he asked. 

The old man shook his head. "He ain't in th' camp, " he muttered. "Hetuk Jack's gun whilst he slep' an' ut's huntin' he's gone--Lard hilpum!"

"Where is Bill?" the lumberman inquired. 

"Av ye're quick, ye may catch um in th' office--av ye ain't Oi'mthinkin' ye niver will foind um. Be th' luk in his eye, he's goneafther th' b'y. "

The lumberman plunged again into the storm and made his way to theoffice. It was empty. As he turned heavily away the door opened andEthel Manton flung herself into the room, gasping with exertion. Givingno heed to her uncle's presence, the girl's glance hurriedly swept theinterior. 

Her hand clutched at the bosom of her snow-powdered coat as she notedthat the faded mackinaw was gone from its accustomed peg and thesnowshoes from their corner behind the door. 

Instantly the truth flashed through her brain--Charlie was lost in theseething blizzard and somewhere out in the timber Bill Carmody wassearching for him. 

With a smothered moan she flung herself onto the bunk and buried herface in the blankets. 

 * * * * *

The situation the foreman faced when he plunged into the whirlingblizzard in search of the boy, while calling for the utmost in man'swoodsmanship and endurance, was not so entirely hopeless as wouldappear. He remembered the intense interest evinced by the boy a fewdays before, when he had listened to the description of the rocky ledgewhich was the home of the _loup-cerviers_, and the eagerness with whichhe begged to visit the place. 

What was more natural, he argued, than that the youngster, findinghimself in unexpected possession of a rifle and ammunition, had decidedto explore the spot and do a little hunting on his own account?

The full fury of the storm had not broken until noon, and he figuredthat the boy would have had ample time to reach the bluff where hecould find temporary shelter among the numerous caves of its rockyformation. 

Upon leaving the office, the boss headed straight for the rollway, andthe mere holding his direction taxed his brain to the exclusion of allother thoughts. 

The air was literally filled with flying snow fine as dust, whichformed an opaque screen through which his gaze penetrated scarcely anarm's reach. 

Time and again he strayed from the skidway and brought up sharplyagainst a tree, but each time he altered his course and flounderedahead until he found himself suddenly upon the steep slope where thebank inclined to the river. 

When Bill Carmody turned down-stream the gravity of his undertakingforced itself upon him. The fury of the storm was like nothing he hadever experienced. 

The wind-whipped particles cut and seared his face like a shower ofred-hot needles, and the air about him was filled with a dull roar, mighty in volume but strangely muffled by the very denseness of thesnow. 

It took all his strength to push himself forward against the terrificforce of the wind which seemed to sweep from every quarter at once intoa whirling vortex of which he himself was the center. 

One moment the air was sucked from his lungs by a mighty vacuum, andthe next the terrible compression upon his chest caused him to gasp forbreath. 

The fine snow that he inhaled with each breath stung his lungs and hetied his heavy woolen muffler across his mouth. He stumbled frequentlyand floundered about to regain his balance. He lost all sense ofdirection and fought blindly on, each bend of the river bringing himblunderingly against one or the other of its brush-grown banks. 

The only thought of his benumbed brain was to make the rock ledgesomewhere ahead. It grew dark, and the blackness, laden with theblinding, stinging particles, added horror to his bewilderment. 

Suddenly his snowshoe struck against a hard object, and he pitchedheavily forward upon his face and lay still. He realized then that hewas tired. 

Never in his life had he been so utterly body-weary, and the snow wassoft--soft and warm--and the pelting ceased. 

He thrust his arm forward into a more comfortable position andencountered a rock, and sluggishly through his benumbed facultiespassed a train of associated ideas--rock, rock ledge, _loup-cerviers_, the boy! With a mighty effort he roused himself from the growinglethargy and staggered blindly to his feet. 

He filled his lungs, tore the ice-incrusted muffler from his lips and, summoning all his strength, gave voice to the long call of the woods:

"Who-o-o-p-e-e-e!"

But the cry was cut off at his lips. The terrific force of the shiftinggusts hurled the sound back into his throat so that it came to his ownears faint and far. Again and again he called, and each time the feebleeffort was drowned in the dull roar of the storm. 

An unreasoning rage at the futility of it overcame him and he plungedblindly ahead, unheeding, stumbling, falling, rising to his feet andstaggering among the tumbled rocks at the foot of the bluff--and thenalmost in his ear came the sharp, quick sound of a rifle-shot andanother and another, at a second apart--the distress signal of theNorthland. 

CHAPTER XLII

BUCKING THE STORM

Bill Carmody wheeled against the solid rock wall and frantically felthis way along its broken surface. His groping hands encountered a cleftbarely wide enough to admit the passage of a man's body. 

With a final effort he called again; instantly the high, clear tones ofthe boy's voice rang in his ears from the depths of the rock cavern, and the next moment small hands were tugging at his armpits. 

"Oh! Bill, I knew you would come!" a small voice cried close to hisear. "It was my last three shots. I've been shooting every little whilefor hours and hours. Hold on! We've got to take off your snowshoes;they won't come through the door. "

A few minutes later the man sat upon the hard floor of the cave whichreeked of the rank animal odor of a long-used den. The place was bareof snow and he leaned back against a soft, furry body while the boyrattled on:

"I killed the _loup-cervier_! I chased him in here and shot him rightsquare through the head. And he never kicked--just slunked down in aheap and dropped his rabbit. And now, if we had some matches, we couldbuild a fire--if we had some wood--and cook him. I'm hungry--aren'tyou?"

The boy's utter disregard of the real seriousness of their plight, andthe naïve way in which he accepted the coming of his friend as a matterof course, irritated the man, who listened in scowling silence. 

"Blood River Jack _was_ right, " Charlie went on. "I thought he justwanted a chance to sleep for a day. Pretty good storm, isn't it? Say, Bill, how did he know it was going to snow?"

"Look here, young man, " Bill replied wrathfully, "do you realize thatwe are in a mighty bad fix, right this minute? And that it is yourfault? And that there was only about one chance in a thousand that Iwould find you? And that if we ever get out of this, and your UncleAppleton don't give you a darn good whaling, I _will_?" The man felt asmall body press close against him in the darkness. 

"Honest, Bill, I'm sorry, " a subdued voice answered. "I thought Jackwas fooling, and I _did_ want to show 'em I could kill something biggerthan a rabbit. You aren't mad, are you, Bill? I hope Eth won't worry;we'll prob'ly have to stay here all night, won't we?"

"All night! Won't worry! Don't you know that this is a _regular_blizzard--the kind that kills men at their own doors--and that it maylast for a week? And here we are with no fire-wood, and nothing to eat!The chances are mighty good that we'll never see camp again--and youpipe up and hope your sister won't worry!"

Charlie leaned over closer against Carmody's body. 

"Why, we've _got_ to get back, Bill!" he said, and his voice was veryearnest now. "We're all Eth's got--you and me--and she _needs_ us. "

The boy felt a sudden tightening of the muscles beneath the heavymackinaw, and the quick gasp of an indrawn breath. A big arm stoleabout his shoulders. The harshness was gone from Bill's voice, and whenhe spoke the sound fell softly upon the culprit's ears. 

"Sure, kid, we'll get back. Buck up! We've got a fighting chance, andthat's all we need--men like you and me. Life up here is a hard game, kid, but we're no quitters! This is just one of the rough places in thelong, long trail. 

"And, say, kid--just man to man--I want you always to remember_that_--she needs you--and some day she may need you _bad_. This St. Ledger may be all right, but----"

"St. Ledger!" The voice of the boy cut sharply upon the darkness. "Say, Bill, you aren't going to marry Blood River Jack's sister, are you?"

"What!"

"Why, Blood River Jack's sister, you know, that helped fish you out ofthe river. "

"Lord! _No!_ What ever put that into your head?"

"Blood River Jack told us when we were coming out about you--only wedidn't know it was _you_, then. And he said that his sister was pretty, and she loved you, and she went down the river with you for three orfour days, or something. And Eth thinks you love this half-breed girl. And, maybe, if you did marry her, Eth would marry St. Ledger; but shedon't love him. "

Bill sat suddenly erect, and the arm about the boy's shoulder tightenedand shook him roughly. 

"Look here! How do you know? I read an account of their engagement 'wayalong last winter. "

"That was a _dang lie_! 'Cause I was in the den when she called St. Ledger up about it. She gave him the darndest talking to he ever got, and she told him she never would marry him as long as she lived. AndEth _does_ love you! And you ought to heard her stick up for you whenold----"

The boy stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering his uncle's injunctionof silence. "There's an old dead tree right close to the door of thecave, " he added hastily. "We might get some wood off that. "

"What were you saying?" inquired Bill. "Never mind the wood. "

"Nothing--I forget, I mean. Come on, let's get some wood--I'm hungry. "

And in spite of his most persistent efforts, not another word couldBill Carmody get out of the youngster, except the mournful soliloquythat:

"I bet Uncle Appleton _will_ whale me--anyway, he couldn't whale ashard as you. "

In the thick blackness of the storm the man groped blindly near thesnow-choked entrance to the den, guided in his search for the dead treeby the voice of the boy from the interior. 

It was no easy task to twist off the dead limbs and carry them one byone to the cavern where the boy piled them against the wall. At length, however, it was accomplished, and Bill crept in and whittled a pile offine shavings. 

A few minutes later the flicker of a tiny flame flashed up, theshavings ignited, and the narrow cavity lighted to the crackle of thefire. Together they skinned the rabbit which the dead lynx had dropped, and soon they were busily engaged in roasting it over the flames. 

The two were far from comfortable. Despite the fact that the fire hadbeen built as near as possible to the entrance, the smoke whipped backinto their faces. The air became blue and heavy, they coughed, andtears streamed from their eyes at the sting of it. 

"I'm thirsty, " said the boy, as he finished his portion of the rabbit. "I guess we'll have to eat snow; there's nothing to melt it in. "

"Never eat snow, " the man cautioned as his eyes swept the barreninterior. 

"Why not?"

"It will burn you out. I don't know why, but when a man starts eatingsnow, it's all off. "

Directly in front of him, in the rock floor, was a slight depression, and with a stick Bill scraped the fire close to this natural basin andfilled it with dry snow. At the end of ten minutes the snow had melted, leaving a pool of filthy, black water. 

"It's the best we can do, " laughed the man as the boy made a wry faceas he gulped down a swallow of the bitter floor-washing. 

They set about skinning the _loup-cervier_, and spread the pelt uponthe floor for a robe. 

"We'll have to tackle the cat for breakfast, " grinned Bill. 

"Oh, this is fun!" cried the boy. "It's like getting cast away andliving in a cave, like you read about. " But the humor of the situationfailed to enthuse Bill, who lighted his pipe and stared moodily intothe tiny fire. 

The two spent a most uncomfortable night, their brief snatches of sleepbeing interrupted by long hours of wakefulness when they huddled closeto the small blaze. 

The scarcity of wood and the danger of suffocation precluded thebuilding of an adequate fire, and the miserable night wore interminablyupon the nerves of the imprisoned pair. 

At last the dull gray light of morning dispersed the gloom, and the twocrept to the snow-choked door. 

The storm raged unabated, and their eyes could not penetrate the opaquewhiteness of the powdery snow. Bill gathered more firewood, cut up thelynx, and roasted the hams, shoulders, and back. 

The meat was dry and stringy, with a disagreeable, strong flavor thatsavored intimately of the rancid odor of the den. Nevertheless, theydevoured a great quantity of the tough, unpalatable food, washing itdown with bitter drafts from the pool of dirty snow-water, thick withashes and the pungent animal reek. 

Again the man filled his pipe and sat gazing out upon the whirlingvoid. 

"Bill, let's try it, " said a voice at his elbow. "She's waiting forus--and worrying. "

Carmody glanced quickly into the determined little face. The boy hadvoiced his own thoughts to the letter, and he remained long withoutspeaking, carefully weighing the chances. 

"It's better than staying here, " pursued the youngster; "'Cause, if wedon't snufficate, we'll starve to death, or freeze. We can tie us toeach other so we won't get lost, and all we got to do is stick to theriver. I can make it if you can, " he added naïvely. 

Bill grinned, and then his eyes became serious and he beganmethodically to stow the remains of the roast cat into his pockets. 

"It's going to be an awful pull, kid. You are a man, now, and I'll giveit to you straight--maybe we'll make it, and maybe we won't. But I'dhate to 'snufficate'--and she _is_ worrying. We'll try it--and God helpus, if we don't keep the river. "

The skin of the lynx was cut into strips and fashioned into a rawhideline which Bill made fast to their belts, leaving plenty of slack toallow free use of the rackets. The rifle was left in the cave, and, muffled to the ears, the two stepped out into the storm. 

Bill judged it to be well after noon when a sudden tightening of theline brought him to an abrupt halt. 

Many times during the long hours in which they forged slowly ahead hadthe line gone taut as the boy fell in the snow, but each time it wasfollowed by a wriggling and tugging, and the youngster scrambled gamelyto his feet and floundered on in the wake of his big friend. 

But this time Carmody waited in vain for the movement of the line thatwould tell him that the boy was regaining his feet--the line remainedtaut, and Bill turned and groped in the snow. He lifted the boy to hisfeet, but the small body sagged limply against his own, and the headrolled weakly. 

He shook him roughly and, with his lips close to the boy's ear, shoutedwords of encouragement. But his only answer was a dull look from thehalf-closed eyes, and a sleepily muttered jumble of words, in which hemade out: "Can't make it--all in--go on--she does love you. "

Again and again he tried to rouse him, but all to no purpose; the boyhad battled bravely to the end of his endurance, and now only wanted tobe let alone. Bill sat beside him in the snow and, sheltering him asbest he could from the sting of the wind-driven particles, produced apiece of the meat from his pocket. 

The boy gnawed it feebly, and the food revived him somewhat, so thatfor a few rods he staggered on, but the line again tightened, and thistime the man knew that it was useless to attempt to arouse his littlecompanion. 

Hurriedly removing his mackinaw, he wrapped it around the body of theboy and, by means of a "squaw hitch" sling, swung him to his back. Theboy's dangling rackets hindered his movement, and he slashed the thongsand left them in the snow. 

Then, straining the last atom of his vitality, he plunged ahead. 

The early darkness of the North country settled about the staggeringman. His progress was painfully slow and, without sense of direction, he wallowed forward, stumbling, falling, struggling to his feet only tofall again a few rods farther on. 

The weight of the boy seemed to crush him into the snow, and each timeit became harder and harder to regain his feet against the mercilessrush of the blizzard. 

He lost all hope of making camp. He did not know whether it was near orfar, he only knew that he was upon the river, and that he must push onand on. 

He realized dully that he might easily have passed the rollways hoursago. He even considered doubling back; but what was the use? If hepassed them once, he would pass them again. 

Every drop of his fighting blood was up. He would push on to the end. He would die, of course; but he wouldn't die _yet_! And when he diddie, he would _fall_ to die--he would never _lie down_ to die!

It was not far off, he knew--that fall, when he would never get up. Hewondered who would find them; Blood River Jack, probably. As he leanedinto the whirling, cutting wind, he thought of Jeanne and of hispromise to Wa-ha-ta-na-ta. 

His fists clenched, and a few more rods were gained. He thought ofEthel, and of what Charlie had told him in the cave:

"_She needs us; we're all she's got--you and me. _"

Again the fists in the heavy mittens clenched, and more rods werecovered. It was growing black; the white smother of snow ceased todance before his eyes. His advance now was hesitating, dogged; eachstep became a measure of time. 

He reeled suddenly against an unyielding object. A tree, he thought, and grasped it for support as he struggled to get his bearings. He wasoff the river; yet, when had he ascended the bank?

The tree felt smooth to the touch, and he moved his mittens up and downthe trunk. Suddenly he realized that it was no tree, but a skinnedpole. His numbed brain groped dully as his hands traveled up and downits smooth length. 

At the height of his waist he encountered a rope, and at the feel ofthe heavy line the blood surged to his head, clearing his brain. 

"The _water-hole_!" he cried thickly. "They've roped off thewater-hole!" Frantically he pulled himself along, hand over hand. Therope seemed endless, stretching from stake to stake. 

He was ascending the bank now at the foot of the rollways--and, at thetop was the camp!

He exerted his strength to the uttermost ounce, heaving and liftingwith the huge muscles of his legs, and pulling with his arms until itseemed they must be torn from his shoulders, inching himself along, gasping, sweating, straining. 

The incline grew steeper, his frozen mittens slipped, the guide-ropetore from his grasp, and he pitched heavily backward into the softsmother. 

He struggled helplessly. Something seemed pressing him down, down--atlast he was _home_. He had won out against the terrible odds, and theboy was safe. 

He had brought him back to her, and now he must sleep. How warm andcomfortable it was in the bunk. He did not know a man could be sosleepy. 

What was it the girl was singing as he passed her window only a fewnights ago--when he paused in the darkness of the clearing to listen?

Dreamily the words floated through his brain:

 "And the women are weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come back to the town. "

But he had come back. He smiled vaguely; they needn't wring their handsand weep--and the rest of it:

 "For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner it's over the sooner to sleep, And good-by to the bar and its moaning. "

Sleep! That's what he needed--sleep. He could sleep forever and ever, here in his warm, warm bunk. And the moaning of the bar--he liked that;he could hear it moaning now--roaring and moaning. 

Bill Carmody closed his eyes. The fine, sifting snow came and coveredhis body and the smaller body of the boy who was lashed firmly to hisbroad back--and all about him the blizzard howled and roared andmoaned. 

And it was night!

CHAPTER XLIII

IN CAMP AGAIN

The violence of the storm precluded the use of horses about the camp, and the trail that slanted from the clearing to the water-hole was soondrifted high with snow, rendering useless the heavy tank-sled. Fallon, who had been placed in temporary charge of the camp, told the men intowater-shifts; barrels were lashed to strong sleds and man-hauled to thetop of the bank, where the guide-rope had been run to the water-hole. 

The men of the shift formed a long line reaching from the sled to theriver, and the water dipped from the hole cut in the ice was passedfrom man to man in buckets to be dumped into the barrels anddistributed between the stables, cook-shack, bunk-house, and "house. "

Darkness had fallen when the men of the afternoon shift wallowed towardthe river upon the last trip of the second day of the great blizzard. The roar of the wind as it hurled the frozen particles against theircold-benumbed faces drowned their muttered curses as, thirty strong, they pushed and hauled the cumbersome sled to the top of the bank. Seizing the buckets, they strung out, making their way down the steepslope with one hand on the guide-rope. 

Suddenly the foremost man stumbled and fell. He scrambled profanely tohis knees and began feeling about in the thick darkness for his bucket. His mittened hand came into contact with the object which, protrudingfrom the snow, had tripped him, and with a vicious wrench he endeavoredto remove it from the trail. It yielded a little, but remained firmlyimbedded. 

With a wild yell he forgot his bucket and began digging and clawing inthe snow, for the object he grasped was the bent ash edge of asnowshoe, and firmly lashed in the center of the webbing was themoccasined foot of a man. 

Other men came, floundering and sprawling over each other in thedarkness, and the word was bellowed from lips to listening ear that aman lay buried beneath the drift. 

"Dig! Ye tarriers!" roared Fallon as his heavy mittens gouged into thesnow. "Dig! Ut's th' boss!" he yelled into the ear of the nearest man. "Oi know thim rackets!"

And from lip to bearded lip the word passed, and the big men of thelogs redoubled their efforts; but the fine snow had packed hard aroundthe prostrate form, and it was many minutes before they had uncoveredhim sufficiently to note the smaller body lashed tightly upon his back. The frozen lash was soon severed and the two exanimate bodies lifted ineager hands. 

Buckets were left to snow under as the men crowded up the bank, howlinginto each other's ears. Big Stromberg, who bore the boss in his arms, was propelled up the steep slope by the men who crowded about him, pushing, pulling, hauling--the ground-gaining, revolving wedge of theold days of mass formation in football. 

"To th' office wid um!" roared Fallon in Stromberg's ear as they milledacross the clearing. "Th' b'ys'll crowd th' bunk-house till theyhindher more thin hilp!"

The boy responded quickly to vigorous treatment and stimulants and wasremoved to his own bunk and placed under the able care of his AuntMargaret and Mrs. Sheridan. 

In the office Ethel Manton, white-faced and silent, watchedbreathlessly the efforts of Appleton and Blood River Jack to revive theexhausted and half-frozen foreman. The lumber magnate unscrewed thesilver cap from a morocco-covered flask and poured out a generous doseof liquor; but before it reached the unconscious man's lips thehalf-breed stayed his hand. 

"M's'u' Bill drinks no whisky, " he said. "Even in the time of his greatsickness would he drink no whisky; and if you give him whisky he willbe very angry. "

Appleton paused and glanced curiously from the face of the half-breedto the still form upon the bunk, and the other continued:

"It is strange--I do not know--but he told it to Jeanne one day--that, in the great city of the white man is a girl he loves. He used to drinkmuch whisky, and for that reason she sent him from her--and now hedrinks no whisky--even though this girl has married another. "

Ethel stared at the speaker, wide-eyed, and the pallor of her faceincreased. 

"Married another!" she gasped. 

Jacques regarded her gravely. "I know nothing except it was told me byJeanne, " he returned--"how he talked in the voice of the fever-spirit, that this girl would marry another. In the paper he read it--but evenso, will he drink no whisky. One week ago did he not hear how one nightin the bunk-house Leduc tried to make the little boy drink whisky? Anddid he not hunt up Leduc the next morning, and, upon the skidway, smashthe nose of him and knock four teeth from his jaw?"

The guide paused, and Appleton slowly screwed the silver top to hisflask and returned it to his pocket. 

"Upon the stove is a pot of very strong coffee which Daddy Dunnigantold me to bring, " Jacques went on; "and he is even now making broth inthe cook-shack. M's'u' Bill cannot die. The strong coffee and the goodbroth will bring him back to life; for he is called in the woodsThe-Man-Who-Cannot-Die. 

"If he could die he would die in the blizzard. For, since blizzardswere known, has no man done a thing like this--to search for two daysand a night for one boy lost in the snow, and carry him home insafety. "

The half-breed finished, and the girl, with a low cry, sank into achair and, leaning forward upon the desk, buried her face in her armswhile her shoulders shook with the violence of her sobbing. 

Appleton crossed to her side and laid a hand gently upon her shoulder. 

"Come, Ethel, " he said; "this has been too much for you. Let me takeyou to the house. "

But the girl shook her head. She raised her eyes, wet with tears, andwith an effort controlled her voice. 

"My place is here--with _him_, " she said softly as she arose, and, walking to the side of the cot, looked down at the set face of theunconscious man. "Leave me alone now. There is nothing you can do. Iwill stay with him while you sleep. Draw your cot close to the wall, and if I need you I will knock. Jacques will go to the cook-shack, " sheadded, turning to the half-breed, "and when the broth is ready bring itto me. "

The men obeyed without question, and as the office door closed behindthem the girl dropped to her knees beside the bunk and, throwing herarms about the man's neck, pressed her soft cheek close against hisbearded face. 

The little tin lamp in its bracket beside the row of books on the topof the desk was turned low and its yellow light illuminated dimly theinterior of the rough room. She slipped into an easier position and, seated upon the floor at the edge of the low bunk, drew his head closeagainst her breast. At the touch--the feel of this strong man lyinghelpless in her arms--the long-pent yearning of her soul burst thestudied bonds of its restraint and through her whole body swept thetorrent of a mighty love. 

Resistlessly it engulfed every nerve and fiber of her--wave upon waveof wild, primitive passion surged through her veins until her heartseemed bursting with the sweet, intense pain of it. Fiercely, in thehot, quick flame of passion, she strained him to her breast and herlips sought his in an abandon of feverish kisses. 

And in that moment she knew that, in all the world of men, this man was_her_ man. Always he had dominated her life--always she had known thisgreat love, had fought against it, and feared it--and always she hadheld it in check. 

But now, alone in the night, with the man lying helpless in her arms, this mighty passion welled to the bursting of restraint. 

Her heart, subservient no longer to the will of her brain nor to creedsnor the tenets of convention, had this night come into its own, and sheloved with the hot, savage mate-love of her pristine forebears. 

The man's lips moved feebly upon hers and the closed eyelids fluttered. The girl sprang to the stove and returned a second later bearing athick porcelain cup steaming with strong, black coffee. 

She raised his head upon her arm and, holding the cup, let part of itscontents trickle between his lips. He strangled weakly and swallowed. 

Again she tilted the cup and again he swallowed. "My darling! Mydarling!" she sobbed as the fluttering eyelids half opened and the lipsmoved, and then leaned close to catch their faintest murmur. 

"Jeanne, " he whispered, "Jeanne, little girl----" and then the lipsceased to move, he shuddered slightly through the length of him, hiseyes closed, and he slept. 

The thick cup thudded heavily upon the floor and its contents splashedunheeded over her gown, as the girl sat motionless, staring past thebunk at the blank wall of logs. 

The little nickel-plated alarm-clock ticked loudly in sharp, insistentthrees, as she sat, white of face, with set lips and unwinking eyesstaring stonily at the parallel logs of the wall. 

Centuries of supercultivation and the refinement of breeding wereconcentrated in that white-lipped, cold-eyed stare, which is theheart-mask of the _recherché_ woman of empire. And then--the maskdropped. 

The inevitable artificiality of years of unconscious eugenic selectionmelted in a breath before the fierce onrush of savage emotion. The girlsprang to her feet as the hot blood surged to her face and pacedfrantically back and forth in a fume of primordial hate. Her smallfists clenched till pink nails bit deep into soft, pink palms. Hernostrils dilated, quivering; her eyes flashed, and the breath hissedthrough her lips in deep sobs of impotent rage against the woman whohad robbed her of this man's love and whose name was upon his lips inthe first moment of his awakening. 

She paused and gazed into the face of the man who was the hero of herfondest dreams--the man who had overcome obstacles, who defied dangerand death, and had won, with his two hands and the great force of hispersonality, the respect and devotion of the big men of the roughcountry. 

And he was hers--never had he been aught else but hers--and she hadlost him! Wildly she resumed her restless pacing, while the words ofthe half-breed rang in her ears: "She is beautiful, and she loves him. "

She halted abruptly, and in her eye flashed a momentary ray of hope;the man had said, not "He loves her, " but, "She loves him. " Could itbe--but, no, there were his own words, spoken at the time of theirfirst meeting in the gloom of this very room: "I forgot that I have notthe right--that there is another. "

And was it not _her_ name that sprang to his lips in thehalf-consciousness of a few moments ago? In her mind she pictured thewild, dark beauty of the other girl, and in the jealous fury of herheart could have torn her in pieces with her two hands. 

"M's'u' Bill drinks no whisky"--the dream of her life had beenrealized, but in the realization she had been beaten--all her hopes andprayers, the long, bitter hours of her soul-anguish, which burned andgnawed beneath the stoicism and apathy her environment demanded, hadgone for naught, and she, who had borne the brunt of the long battle, was brushed aside and forgotten. 

The spoils belonged to another--and that other, an _Indian_!

CHAPTER XLIV

THE MISSING BONDS

The walls of the room seemed the restraining bars of a prison, shuttingher apart from life and the right to love. She lifted the latch andflung open the door, standing upon the threshold amid the seethinginrush of the storm. 

The fine snow felt good against her throbbing temples, and she staredinto the blackness whose whirling chaos voiced the violence of theheart-storm that raged within her breast. _He_ had conquered the storm!

She shivered as an icy blast sent the snow-powder flying half acrossthe room, closed the door, and resumed her tireless journey to and fro, to and fro, and at each turn she glanced at the sleeping man. 

She dropped to her knees beside the bunk and looked long into hisrugged face. He, too, had suffered. She remembered the deep hurt in hiseyes at their parting. Yet he was not beaten. 

She had sent him from her, heartsick and alone into the great world, and he had fought and conquered and earned a place among men. 

And as the girl looked, her eyes grew tender and the pain in her heartseemed more than she could bear. When she rose to her feet the savagehatred was gone from her heart, and in its place was determination--thedetermination to win back the love of this man. 

She, too, would fight, even as he had fought--and win. He had not beendiscouraged and beaten. She remembered the look upon his face as hestrode toward her that morning on the skidway in search of Leduc. 

Unconsciously her tiny fists doubled, her delicate white jaw squared, and her eyes narrowed to slits, even as his had narrowed--but her lipsdid not smile. 

He was _her_ man! She could give him more than this half-breed girlcould give him, and she would fight to win back her own--that which hadbeen her own from the first. 

Almost at her feet upon the floor, just under the edge of the bunkwhere it had been carelessly tossed, lay his mackinaw of coarse, striped cloth. The girl stooped, drew it forth, and smoothed it out. 

"His coat, " she breathed almost reverently as she patted its roughfolds. "He took it off and wrapped it around Charlie. Oh, it must havebeen terrible--_terrible_!"

She was about to hang it upon its peg when something fell to the floorwith a sharp slap--a long, heavy envelope that had dropped from aragged tear in the lining where the men had ripped it from the body ofthe boy. 

She hung the garment upon its peg and stooped to recover the packet. The envelope was old, and had evidently been exposed to the action ofwater, for the flap gaped open and the edges were worn through at theends. Upon one side was tightly bound a photograph, dim and indistinctfrom the rub of the coarse cloth. 

Her lips tightened at the corners as she stepped to the desk and turnedup the lamp. She would see what manner of girl it was who had scored soheavily against her in this battle of hearts. She held the pictureclose to the yellow flame and stared unbelievingly at the nearlyeffaced features. 

With a swift movement she tore the encircling cord from the packet andexamined it more closely. Her heart beat wildly, and the blood surgedthrough her veins in great, joyous waves. For the photograph showed, not the dark features of the Indian girl, but--_her own_!

Worn almost beyond recognition it was, with corners peeled and rolledback from the warped and water-thickened mounting--but unmistakably_her picture_. 

"He cares! He does care!" she repeated over and over. "Oh, my boy! Myboy!" And then her eyes fell upon the thick envelope with its wornedges and open flap which lay unheeded upon the desk-top. 

Mechanically she reached for it, and her hand came in contact with itsthick, heavily engraved contents. She raised the papers to the lightand stared; there were five in all, neatly folded, lying one uponanother. 

The green background of the topmost one was faded and streaked, and athin, green wash had trickled over the edges of the others, stainingthem. 

A yellow slip of paper fluttered to the desk. She picked it up and readthe almost illegible, typewritten lines. It was a memorandum addressedto Strang, Liebhardt & Co. , and bearing the faded signature of HiramCarmody. 

A sudden numbness overcame the girl. She sank slowly into the chair infront of the desk and stared dully from the yellowed slip of paper tothe faded green bonds. 

The room seemed suddenly cold, and she stared, unseeing, at herbloodless finger-tips. She tried to think--to concentrate her mind uponthe present--but her brain refused to act, and she muttered helplessly:

"The bonds--the bonds--he took the bonds!"

Like one in a dream, she arose and replenished the fire in the littleair-tight. It had burned almost to ashes. 

She watched the yellow flames lick hungrily at the bubbling pitch ofthe knot she had thrown upon the coals, and glanced from the flaringflames to the little pile of green papers--and back again at the littleflames that climbed higher about the resinous chunk. 

"Why not?" she muttered. "They can never prove he took them, and hewould think that they were lost. " For a long time she sat, thinking, and then she closed the stove and returned to the desk. 

"I stood by him when his father accused him, " she murmured, "when Ithought he was innocent. And now--oh, I can't! I can't give him up!"Her voice quavered pitifully, and she clutched at the hurt in herthroat. 

"I can't!" she gasped again. "He needs me now. He is mine! _Mine!_" shecried fiercely. "We will work it out together. He was weak then--butnow he is strong. I will tell him that I know, and persuade him toreturn them. And then he will be clean--brave and strong and _clean_!"

She started nervously at the sound of a fumbling at the latch. Hastilycatching up the bonds, she thrust them into the bosom of her gown andturned to face Blood River Jack, who entered, bearing a steaming pailof broth and a larger pail covered with a clean white cloth. 

Behind him Daddy Dunnigan noisily stamped the snow from his feet. Theold man hobbled to the side of the bunk and looked intently into theface of the sleeper, and, stooping, held his ear close to the man'sheart. 

With a satisfied nod he turned to the girl, who stood close by hisside. 

"He's shlaypin' foine, " he said, and the little red-rimmed eyes lookedstraight into the eyes of blue. "But, miss, hear-rt-hunger has kiltmore good min thin belly-hunger--ye'll foind th' _broth_ in yonbuckut. "

He joined the half-breed, who waited in silence. At the door he turnedand again addressed the girl. 

"In th' big buckut's ye're oun snack. Ate ut befoor ut gits cowld. Phwin ye're done, wake um up an' make um dhrink some coffee an' all hec'n howld av th' broth. He's th' bist man in th' woods, an' ut's up toyou to pull um t'rough. "

Before the girl could reply the door closed and the two men wereswallowed up in the storm. 

Ethel was surprised to find that she was hungry, and the appetizingluncheon which old Daddy Dunnigan had carefully prepared and packed forher was soon disposed of. 

The hands of the little alarm-clock pointed to two as she crossed andknelt at the side of the sleeping man. She leaned over and kissed hisforehead--his lips--and whispered softly into his ear. 

"Bill--Bill, _dear_. "

She blushed at the sound of the word, and glanced hurriedly about theroom, but there was no one to hear, and the man slept on undisturbed bythe tiny whisper. She laid a hand upon his shoulder and shook himgently. 

"Bill--wake up!" He stirred slightly, and a sigh escaped him. 

"Come, wake up, dear, you must eat. "

This time she did not blush at the word, and the shaking became morevigorous. Carmody moved uneasily, grunted, and opened his eyes. Ethelstarted at the steady gaze of the grey eyes so close to her own. Thegrey eyes closed and he passed a hand slowly across them. 

"A dream, " he muttered, and the girl leaned closer. 

"No, Bill, " she whispered, "it is not a dream. I am here--Ethel--don'tyou know me?"

"Ethel, " he repeated, and the name seemed to linger on his lips. "Wemust get back to her, kid, she is worrying--come--mush, kid--mush!" Thegirl laid a soft hand on his forehead and smoothed back the tangledhair. 

"Bill, dear, " she whispered, with her lips close to his, "Charlie issafe. And you are safe, here in the office--with me. "

Bill seemed suddenly to grasp the situation. 

"Ethel!" he exclaimed. And then, in a dull, tired voice, "I--I broughthim back to you. " His eyes closed, and he turned his face toward thewall. 

Ethel poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove, and returning, seated herself upon the edge of the bunk. Deftly her arm slipped underhis head, and she held the cup to his lips. Bill drank greedily to thelast drop, and the girl filled another cup with broth. 

This time he helped a little, and she raised him higher and pillowedhis head against her breast. He sipped the broth hungrily, but veryslowly, pausing a long time between sips. 

Ethel's body thrilled at the touch of him, the little hand that heldthe cup trembled, and the man, close-pressed against her soft breast, heard the wild pounding of her heart. 

Suddenly he looked up into her eyes. Her face flushed crimson, and theswift down-sweep of the long lashes hid the soft, blue eyes from theintense, burning gaze of the hard grey ones. In confusion she avertedher face. 

There was a swift movement beside her, and the next instant strong armswere about her, and she heard, as from afar, the heavy thud as theporcelain cup struck the floor. 

Vainly she struggled in a sudden frenzy of panic to free herself fromthe embrace of the encircling arms, and her heart was filled with agreat, passionate gladness at the futility of her tiny efforts as shefelt herself drawn closer and ever closer against the mighty chest ofthe big man whom, in spite of herself, and of his own shortcomings andweaknesses, she loved with the savage abandon that is the wonder-loveof woman. She knew, too, that the deep music in her ears was the soundof his voice which came in short, stabbing, half-sentences. 

"Ethel! Ethel! Little girl--you are mine, mine, _mine_! You _do_ loveme! Darling, better than life itself, I love you. I have always lovedyou! Tell me, dear, it was all a lie--about St. Ledger. Tell me youlove me, dearest!"

The bearded lips found hers, and for answer, her struggles ceased, herbody relaxed against his body, her soft arms stole timidly about hisneck, and there was a wild singing in her heart. 

"And there has never been another?" she whispered a few minutes lateras she sat close beside him and watched him sip hot broth from thethick cup. The grey eyes twinkled. 

"Don't you _know_, sweetheart, that there has never been another? Why, you have known me all my life!" But the blue eyes were serious. 

"I mean, since--since you went away?" For answer the man raised his armand pointed toward the opposite wall. 

"Hand me that mackinaw, " he said. Ethel gasped and stared at him wideeyed. "The _mackinaw_--that old striped coat next to the slicker, " hesmiled. 

"But----" she stifled the protest, and the man wondered at the suddenpallor of her face. 

"Hand it here, " he repeated, "there is something I want to show you. "

Without a word the girl crossed the room and, removing the mackinawfrom its peg, laid it upon the blanket within reach of his hand. Hedrew it to him, and the girl watched in silence while he ran hisfingers over the lining. 

He plunged his arm to the elbow into the ragged hole and explored tothe very corners the space between the lining and the cloth. With ablank expression of disappointment he looked up at her. 

"They are gone, " he said in a low voice. "My letters and my picture. _Your_ letters, dear--and _your_ picture----"

"Letters!" the girl gasped, leaning forward and staring into his eyes. 

"Why, yes, darling. There were only a few. You wrote them when I was inEurope. They were all I had--those few little letters, and thephotograph. You remember--the one you gave me----"

"But--I don't understand----"

"I always kept it on my desk at home, " he continued, ignoring theinterruption. "And your letters, too--all sealed in a big envelope. Andthe morning I went away I bound the picture to the envelope and put itin my pocket, and I have always kept it with me. 

"A thousand times, dear, I have looked at the picture. It has been myfetish--the little amulet that keeps a man from harm. And whether ornot it has succeeded, dear heart, you must judge for yourself. "

"But, the letters--you never took them out--never read them?" The manwas surprised at the intense eagerness of her tone. 

"No, " he answered, "I never read them. You see, it got to be a sort ofgame with me. It was a big game that I played against myself, and whenI was sure I had won I was going to open the letters. "

He paused and looked into the girl's eyes. "And then, one day Ihappened to read in an old newspaper the account of your engagement toSt. Ledger. I almost lost the game, then--but I didn't. And--afterthat--the letters never were the same, and I--I just played the game to_win_. "

There were tears in the girl's eyes, and she clutched at his hand. 

"But the bonds?" she cried. The man regarded her with a puzzled look. 

"Bonds--bonds--what bonds?"

"Why, the bonds you were to have delivered to Strang, Liebhardt & Co. Securities, or something. "

Bill stared uncomprehendingly, then suddenly he laughed. 

"Oh! Those! Why, I handed them over to father. You see, Dad handed itto me pretty straight that morning. In fact, he--er--fired me. So Igave him the bonds and----"

The sentence was never finished. With a glad cry the girl flung herselfupon him, and to his unutterable wonder sobbed and sobbed. 

CHAPTER XLV

SNOW-BOUND

Late in the following afternoon Ethel awoke and lay for a long timerevelling in her new-found happiness, and thinking of the big man whohad come once more into her life, this time bringing her only gladnessand the joy of an infinite love. 

Her heart glowed with pride as she thought of the strength and the finecourage of him, and she flushed as she wondered how, even with thebonds in her hands, she could have doubted his innocence. Ah, well, shewould never doubt him again. 

She smiled fondly, but the smile slowly faded, for in her mind at thatmoment was a doubt--a vague, elusive doubt, that rested upon theslender fabric of a half-breed's fireside tale. 

Somewhere in the wild country was another girl--a girl who wasbeautiful and who loved this man--_her_ man. 

In the small hours of the morning as they talked he had not mentionedthis girl, and Ethel forbore to question him, hoping that he would tellher of his own accord. But whether or not he purposely avoided thesubject she did not know. 

She believed in him--believed in his great love for her, in hisabsolute honesty and the new-found strength in him. Yet, hovering likea specter, intangible, elusive, menacing--the one disturbing element inher otherwise perfect happiness--was the other girl. 

Who was she? What was she? What had she been to him? What had beentheir relations? And why had she accompanied him on his journey out ofthe woods? The phantom girl took on a sinister form as the questiontantalized her brain. 

This wild woman had helped to draw him from the river, had nursed himthrough a long sickness. He was under obligations to her, and--was thatthe _only obligation_?

The girl flushed hotly, and with an impatient movement flung theblankets from her, and proceeded to dress. 

"I will never, never ask him, " she decided, as she sat upon the thickbearskin in front of the stove and drew on her stockings. "He loves meand I love him. 

"If he tells me it will be of his own free will; he shall not know thatI ever heard of this girl. What is past, is past. There are sealedchapters in the lives of most men--why should I care?

"He is mine--mine!" she cried aloud, "and I love him!"

But deep down in her heart she knew that she did care--and that shewould always care. And the knowledge hurt. 

Her toilet completed, the girl passed into the other room, whereAppleton and Sheridan were engaged in a lively discussion with theladies. 

"How is he?" She addressed her uncle, who answered with twinkling eyes. 

"Bill? Oh, he's all right. Feeling fit as a fiddle. Wanted to get outon the job, but I wouldn't let him. He was going anyhow, and the onlyway I could make him stay in was to threaten to wake you up to give himhis orders straight from headquarters. "

Ethel blushed furiously as the smiles of the others were directedtoward her. "Yup, he wouldn't stand for that, " went on Appleton. "Saidhe'd rather lie in bed for a week than have you puttering around. "

With a disdainful toss of her head the girl seated herself at thetable. 

"Now, Hubert Appleton, you stop teasing that poor girl!" Aunt Margaretrallied in her defence. "Don't pay any attention to him, honey. Bill isdoing nicely, and we're all crazy to congratulate you. We think he isjust _grand_!"

Dinner had been kept piping hot, and Ethel hid her confusion behind anappetizing array of steaming dishes. 

"And what do you think?" continued her aunt, who hovered about thetable with fussy little pats and arrangement of dishes, "we have tostay here all winter!"

"What?" cried the girl in dismay. 

"That is just what we both said--Mary and I. But there is no help forit. The tote-road is drifted twenty feet deep. Hubert and Mr. Sheridanare going to make the trip on snowshoes; they must get back tobusiness. The supplies will have to be brought in on dog-sleds, and wehave got to stay. "

"I'll bet Ethel could think of a worse predicament, " grinned Appleton. "She'll be a regular sourdough before spring; won't want to come out. "

"But I have nothing to wear!"

"Nothing to wear!" scoffed her uncle. "Tell me, please, what in timeyou women have got packed in those half a dozen trunks, then? It's notgrub. I'll bet there's clothes enough in those trunks to last threewomen fourteen years! Still, if you really get cold, you might ask Billto lend you a pair of his----"

"Hubert Appleton!" The lumberman glanced at his wife in surprise. "Apair of his moccasins--they'll keep your toes warm. "

The girl finished her belated dinner, and throwing a coat over hershoulders stepped out into the clear, crisp air. Immediately in frontof the building the wind had swept the ground almost bare of snow, butEthel gasped with surprise as her eyes sought the other buildings ofthe camp. 

The blacksmith's shop was entirely buried under a huge drift; only onehalf of the cook-shack roof was visible, and the bunk-house was buriedto the eaves. A twenty-foot drift cut off the view of the stables, andthe whole crew was busy digging paths and breaking out skidways. 

The storm had ceased as suddenly as it had come, and the sun shone withdazzling whiteness upon the mystic, snow-buried world. 

In the office she found Bill fully dressed, propped against hispillows, a villainous black pipe between his lips, reading. He laidaside his book and pipe and stretched his arms toward her. 

She crossed, blushing, to his side, and for a long time sat with herhead resting upon his shoulder, while his great arms held her closeagainst his beating heart. 

And under the spell of his presence and his gently murmured words oflove, the disquieting fear vanished, and she knew that he was all hers. And she laughed at her fear, and drove it from her in the foolishbelief that it could never return. 

"Dear, " she said later when their conversation assumed an intelligibleform, "you must send those bonds back by Uncle Appleton. Justthink--your father thinks you _stole_ them!"

The man smiled:

"Yes, poor old dad. It must be kind of rough on him to think his son isa thief. He was sore that morning, and so was I, and we didn't part thebest of friends. But I would rather return the bonds myself. Darling, we will take them to him, you and I, next summer, when we go back tothe old town. "

"Go back!" exclaimed the girl. 

"Sure. When we go back on our honeymoon. Now that I have you I amnever, never going to let you go, and when next you see the big burg, you will be Mrs. Bill Carmody. "

He kissed the serious blue eyes that looked up into his. 

"But, dear, we are coming back here?"

"Back here!" he exclaimed in surprise. "You! Back here! In the woods!"

The girl nodded. 

"I love the woods; I will always love them. It was in the woods thatyou found _yourself_ and your place among men. And it was in the woodsthat I found you--the _real_ you--the _you_ I have always loved!"

"But, dear heart, it is a rough life up here. It is new to you now, andyou are enchanted; but there is so much you would miss. I have to comeback, of course--will have to for several years to come. We could havea house in Minneapolis, and Charlie could go to school. "

"What! And only have you for five or six months in the year? No, _sir_!Charlie could live with Uncle and Aunt Margaret and go to school, butyou and I are coming into the woods. 

"Aunt Margaret lived in camps for years when she was first married, andthey were as poor as church mice. She told me all about it. Of course, there is hard work; but it is all so big, and grand, and free, andthere is lots of fun, too, and you will have to teach me to shoot andwalk on snowshoes and fish through holes cut in the ice. 

"I can cook and sew, and we will have a victrola, and lots of books andthings--anyway, that is the way it is going to be, so there is no usearguing about it. " And the boss smiled as he realized what Appletonmeant when he said: "Orders straight from headquarters. "

The two lumbermen took their departure the following morning amid thehearty farewells of the snow-bound camp. They were accompanied by BloodRiver Jack, who reluctantly agreed to see the dog-team tote serviceestablished before returning to his lodge at the foot of the rapid. 

"We'll come up for you in the spring, " called Appleton, "and we'llfollow the drive in a bateau. You got a bigger taste of the old lifethan you bargained for, little girl, " he smiled at his wife; "but thetote-road is ruined for this winter and you'll have to make the best ofit. "

"H. D. And I will sure think of you girls while we're sitting in thebaldheaded pews at the Gaiety this winter gloating over the grand operawe're missing!" called Sheridan, rolling his cigar juicily between hisgrinning lips. 

"Men of your age----" began Mrs. Sheridan. 

"Hubert Appleton! If I hear----" But the protests of the "girls" fellupon deaf ears as the men disappeared in the wake of the guide, slapping each other upon the back in high glee. 

The question of grand opera was a joke of long standing between them, and up to the present had been on the husbands, who, despite theirprotests, had manfully endured their annual week of martyrdom. 

"Cheer up, ladies, " smiled Bill, "the graphophone is a very good one, and in the office is a whole box of records of my own selection. If weare snow-bound we will not have to entirely forego even grand opera. "

CHAPTER XLVI

AN ANNOUNCEMENT

Despite the handicap of the deep snow, results in the new camp werehighly satisfactory to Bill Carmody. 

Not a man in the crew but swore by the boss, and each day threw himselfinto the work with a will that made for success. And each night, as herolled into his bunk, not a man but knew that the boss himself had thatday worked harder than he. 

"Niver wuz such a crew in th' woods, miss, " boasted Daddy Dunnigan oneafternoon as Ethel stood in the door of the cook-shack and watched theold man's preparation of the gigantic supper. 

"Oi've logged a bit, here an' there, an' always Oi've be'n where minwuz--but niver Oi've seed 'em buckle down an' tear out th' bone, wanday wid another, save in th' so'gerin' days av Captain Fronte McKim. 

"Th' same wuz th' boss's uncle, an' he's a McKim fr' th' sole av hisfeet to th' peak av his head, barrin' th' licker, an' th' min'll got'rough hell an' hoigh wather fer um, beggin' ye're pardon--an' heain't no dommed angel, nayther, beggin' ut ag'in, miss. 

"Ye sh'd see th' hand av poker he plays, an' th' beautiful swearin' avum, phwin things goes wrong! An' ye sh'd see um foight wanst! An' nowhe's gone an' poshted a foive per cint bonus av they bate Moncrossen'scut, an' uts loike handin' ut to 'em, 'cause he knows th' b'ys isalready doin' their dommedest, beggin' ye're pardon, miss. 

"Oi'll bet me winther's wages, come shpr-ring, we'll have Moncrossenshnowed undher dayper thin' yon smithy, an' they had to tunnel to foindut. "

The girl laughed happily and passed on with a great love in her heartfor Daddy Dunnigan and the big, rough men out in the timber who were"tearing out the bone" that _her_ man might make good. 

Day by day the black pyramids of the rollways lengthened, and theskidways were pushed farther and farther into the timber. And, of allthe men in the crew, none worked harder nor to better purpose thanStromberg, the big hulking Swede, whom Fallon had warned Bill was thebrains of Moncrossen's bird's-eye gang. 

Neither Bill nor the big swamper had ever alluded to that affair in thebunk-house upon the night of their first meeting, and it was with afeeling of surprise that the foreman looked up one evening as he satalone in the little office to see Stromberg enter and cross to hisside. 

The man lost no time in coming to the point. 

"Bill, " he began, "I went up with Buck Moncrossen this summer to bringdown the bird's-eye. We found a pile of ashes where the logs shouldhave been. Moncrossen thinks Creed burned them--or let someone do it. 

"It was a crooked game, and I was in it as deep as any one. I ain'ttrying to beg off--but, I'd rather be square than crooked--and that'sthe truth. I ain't spent most of my life in the woods not to be able totell hardwood ashes from soft-wood, and I know you slipped one over onus. 

"You're going to make good in the woods. You'll be the big boss, someday. I expect to do time for my part in the bird's-eye game, and I'lltake all that's coming to me. And I won't snitch on the rest to get alighter sentence, either. 

"I know Appleton, and I know we'll get ours in the spring, but what Iwant to know is: when I get out, can I come to you for a job?"

Bill rose from his chair and thrust a big hand toward the other. 

"Stromberg, " he said, "you are no more a crook than I am. You threw inwith a bad bunch--that's all. Suppose we just forget the bird's-eyebusiness. You and Fallon are the two best men I've got. 

"We are going to beat Moncrossen this year, and every man in the crewhas got to help do it--and next winter--well, Mr. Appleton will have aneye peeled for a man to take Moncrossen's job--see?"

The two big men shook hands, and as he made his way to the bunk-house, Stromberg wondered at the peculiar smile on the boss's lips as he said:

"There are a hell of a lot of good men wasted because of a bad start. So-long. "

The weeks slipped rapidly by. The weather settled, keen and cold, withthe crew keyed to the highest pitch of efficiency. 

"Beat Buck Moncrossen!" became the slogan of the camp, and with thelengthening days it became apparent that a record cut was being bankedon the rollways. 

It was a wonderful winter for Ethel Manton. The spirit of the bigcountry entered her blood. More and more she loved the woods, andlearned to respect and admire the rough loyalty of the big men of thelogs. 

She had come to call most of them by name, as with a smile and a nod, or a wave of the hand, she passed them in the timber on her dailyexcursions in search of rabbits and ptarmigan. And not a man in thecrew but would gladly have fought to the last breath for "the boss'sgirl. "

And now the feel of spring was in the air. Each day the sun climbedhigher and higher, and the wind lost its sting. The surface of the snowsoftened by day, and high-piled white drifts settled slowly into soggymasses of saturated, gray slush. 

Bill figured that he had nearly fifteen million feet down when hecalled off his sawyers and ordered the clean-up. The nights remainedcold, freezing the surface of the sodden snow into a crust of excellentfooting, so that the day's work began at midnight and continued untilthe crust softened under the rays of the morning sun. 

The men laughed and sang and talked of the drive, and of the waterfrontdives of cities, whose calk-pocked floors spoke the shame of the men ofthe logs. 

But most of all they talked of the wedding. For as they sat at thesupper-table on the day the last tree fell, the boss entered, accompanied by the girl. 

In a few brief words he told them that he was proud of every man jackof them; that they were the best crew that ever came into the woods, and that they had more than earned the bonus. 

He told them that he realized he was a greener, and thanked them fortheir loyalty and coöperation, without which his first season as campforeman must have been doomed to failure. 

Cheer after cheer interrupted his words, and when he took Ethel by thehand and announced that they were soon to be married in that very roomand invited all hands to the wedding, their cheers drowned his voicecompletely. 

But when the girl tried to speak to them, choked in confusion, and withher eyes brimming with tears, extended both hands and gasped: "Oh, I--Ilove you all!" the wild storm of applause threatened to tear the rooffrom the log walls. 

It was Ethel's idea that they should be married in the woods. Her lovefor the wild country grew deeper with the passing days. She loved itall--the silent snow-bound forest, the virile life of the big camp withits moments of tense excitement, the mighty crash with which tall treestore through the branches of lesser trees to measure their length onthe scarred snow, the thrill of hunting wild things, and the longevenings when the rich tones of the graphophone fell upon her ears amidrough surroundings, like a voice from the past. 

But most of all she loved the long walks in the forest, in the deepgloom of moonlit nights with the weird, mysterious shadows all aboutthem as the big man at her side told her of his great love while theyplanned and dreamed of the future; and then returned to the littleoffice where she listened while he read aloud, pausing now and then tolight his black pipe and blow clouds of blue smoke toward the lowceiling. 

He had grown very close to her, and very dear, this big, impetuous boy, who had suddenly become a masterful man, and in whom she found each daysome new depth of feeling--some entirely unsuspected and unexplorednook of his character. 

Her doubts and fears had long since been thrust aside, and even theexistence of the Indian girl had been forgotten. And so it was thatwhen Ethel told Bill one evening she wished their wedding to take placein the camp, amid the scenes of their future hardships and happiness, he acquiesced gladly, and to the laughing outrage of her dignity pickedher up in his two hands and tossed her high in the air as he would havetossed a baby. 

And now the time of the wedding was very near. The clean-up wasfinished, and day by day they awaited the coming of Appleton andSheridan, and of Father Lapre, of the Rice Lake Mission. 

The men of the crew set about to make the event one long to beremembered in the Northland. Flowers were unobtainable, but a frame inthe form of a giant horseshoe was constructed and covered over withpine-cones. 

A raid was made upon the oat-bin, and the oats sifted between thescales of the cones and moistened. The structure was placed near thestove in the bunk-house, and when the tiny, green shoots began toappear, woe to him who procrastinated in the closing of the door orneglected to tend fire when it was his turn!

The walls of the grub-shack were completely hidden behindpine-branches, and festoons of brilliant red _bakneesh_ encircled theroom and depended from the chains of the big, swinging lamps. 

In the bunk-house the men busied themselves in the polishing ofbuck-horns for the fashioning of a wonderful chair in whose make-upwould be found neither nails nor glue, its parts being bound togetherby means of sinews and untanned buckskin thongs. 

The bateaux were set up and waiting at the head of the rollways. Thesnow of the forest slumped lower and lower, and innumerable icy rillsfound their way to the river over the surface of whose darkened, honeycombed ice flowed a shallow, slushy stream. 

Father Lapre arrived one morning, pink, smiling, and wet to the middle, having blundered onto thin ice in the darkness. The following morningSheridan and Appleton appeared with mysteriously bulging packs, andweary from their three nights' battle with the slippery, ice-crustedtote-road. 

CHAPTER XLVII

MONCROSSEN PAYS A VISIT

In the filthy office of the camp on the Lower Blood River, BuckMoncrossen sat at his desk and glowered over his report sheets. Theill-trimmed lamp smoked luridly, and the light that filtered throughits blackened chimney illumined dimly the interior of the little room. 

The man pawed over his papers with bearlike clumsiness, pausing now andthen to wet a begrimed thumb and to curse his luck, his crew, hisemployer, and any and everything that had to do with logs and logging. 

It had been a bad season for Buck Moncrossen. The spring break-up wasat hand, and the best he could figure was a scant nine million feet, where Appleton had expected the heavy end of a twenty-five-million-footcut. 

Many of his best men had gone to the new camp to work, as theysupposed, under Fallon. The previous winter's bird's-eye cut was lost;Creed was gone; Stromberg was gone, and he trusted none of his mensufficiently to continue the game. The boss rose with a growl, and spatcopiously in the direction of the stove. 

"Damn Appleton! And damn the crew! Nine million feet! At that, though, I bet I've laid down half agin as much as the new camp. Fallon neverrun a crew, an' he had his camp to build to boot. "

He resumed his seat, and reaching to the top of the desk drew down aquart bottle, from which he drank in long, deep gurgles. He stared along time at the bottle, drank again, and stooping, began to unlace hisboots. 

"I'll start the clean-up in the mornin', an' then I'll find time to paya little visit I be'n aimin' to pay all winter. Creed said she wassomewheres below the foot of the rapids. It's anyways ten days to thebreak-up; an' I ain't worryin' a damn if I do happen to foul Fallon'sdrive. "

Jacques Lacombie had so arranged his trap-lines that on his longestcircle he should be absent only one night from the lodge where oldWa-ha-ta-na-ta kept an ever-vigilant eye upon the comings and goings ofJeanne. 

Since his return after the great blizzard the half-breed had madenumerous trips to the camp of Moncrossen, carrying fresh venison, andhe did not like the shifting glances the boss bent toward him, nor theleering smile with which he inquired after Jeanne. 

As the freezing nights hardened the crust upon the surface of thesodden snow, Jacques discarded his rackets and, spending his days inthe lodge, attended his traps at night by the light of a lantern. 

Daylight found him one morning headed homeward on a course parallelingthe river and nearly opposite Moncrossen's camp. Steadily he ploddedonward, and a smile came to his lips as he formulated his plans for thesummer, which included the removal of Jeanne from her dangerousproximity to Moncrossen. 

He would change his hunting-ground, move his lodge up the river, andnext season he would supply the camp of M's'u' Bill, whose heart wasgood, and who would see that no harm came to the girl. 

He swung onto the marshy arm of a small lake, whose surface wasprofusely dotted with conical muskrat houses which reared their browndomes above the broken rice-straw and cattail stalks. 

He had nearly reached the center when suddenly he halted, whirled halfaround, and clutched frantically at the breast of his shirt. It was asthough some unseen hand had dealt him a sharp blow, and a dull, scorching pain shot through his chest. 

He drew away his hand, red and dripping, glanced wildly about, staggered a few steps, and crashed headlong, with a rustling sound, into the thick growth of dry cattail stalks. 

On the bank of the marsh a thin puff of vapory smoke drifted across theface of a blackened stump and dissolved in the crisp air, and the sharpcrack of a high-power rifle of small caliber raised scarcely an echoagainst the wall of the opposite shore. 

A man stepped from behind the stump, glanced sharply about him, andgrinned as he leisurely pumped another cartridge into the chamber. 

He bit the corner from a thick plug of tobacco, and gazed out over themarsh, which showed only the light yellow of the dry stalks and thebrown domes of the rat-houses. 

"That ain't so bad fer two hundred yards--plugged him square in themiddle, too. God! I'd hate to die!" he muttered, and, turning, followedthe shore of the lake and struck into the timber in the direction inwhich the other had been going. 

An hour later he slipped silently behind the trunk of a tree at theedge of a tiny clearing in the center of which stood a single, smoke-blackened tepee. 

The blue smoke from a small fire in front of the opening floated lazilyupward in the still air, and beside the blaze a leathern-faced cronesquatted and stirred the contents of a black pot which simmered from across-piece supported at the ends by crotched sticks driven into theground. 

The old squaw fitted the lid to the pot, hung the long-handled spoonupon a projection of a forked upright, and, picking up a tin pail, disappeared down the well-worn path to the river. With an evil leer theman stepped boldly into the clearing and crossed to the opening of thetepee. 

Stooping, he suddenly looked within, where Jeanne Lacombie knelt uponone knee as she fastened the thongs of her moccasin. The man grinned ashe recognized the silvery hairs of the great white wolf skin which thegirl had thrown across her shoulders. 

"So you swiped the greener's wolf-hide, did you? I seen it was goneoffen the end of the bunk-house. "

At the sound the girl looked up, and the blood froze in her veins atthe sight of the glittering eyes and sneering lips of Moncrossen. Hespoke again:

"You thought I was done with you, did you? Thought I'd forgot you, an'the fight the old she-tiger put up that night on Broken Knee? But thatwas in the dark, or there'd been a different story to tell. "

The words came in a horrible nasal snarl, and the little eyes glowedlustfully as they drank in the rich curves of the girl who had sprungto her feet, her muscles tense with terror. 

"Come along, now--an' come peaceable. You're _my_ woman now. I'mwillin' to let bygones be bygones, an' I'll treat you right long as youdon't try none of your tricks. You'll learn who's boss, an' as long asyou stay by me you'll get plenty to eat an' white folks clothes towear--that's a heap better'n livin' like a damned Injun--you'll soonfergit all this. "

His promises terrified the girl even more than the angry snarl, andwith a loud cry she tried to spring past him, but his arms closed abouther and he laughed a hard, brutal laugh of contempt for her punystruggles. 

A shadow fell upon them, and the man whirled, dodging quickly as thesharp bit of an axe grazed his shoulder and tore through the wall ofthe tepee. He released the girl and lunged toward the old squaw, whowas reaching for the pot with its scalding contents. 

Seizing her by the arm, he threw her heavily to the ground, where shelay while the girl fled to the edge of the clearing and paused, for sheknew that in the forest she could easily elude the heavy-footed lumberboss. Moncrossen, too, realized that pursuit would be useless, and inhis rage leveled his rifle at the figure upon the ground. 

"Come back here!" he cried. "Come back, or by God I'll plug her like Iplugged----" He stopped abruptly and glanced along the sights. 

The girl hesitated, and the voice of Wa-ha-ta-na-ta fell sharply uponher ear:

"No! No! Do not come! He will not shoot! Even now his finger fluttersupon the trigger! He is afraid to shoot!" And she glared defiantly intothe glittering eyes that squinted above the gun-barrel. Slowly themuzzle lowered and the man laughed--a hard, dry laugh. 

"You're right!" he sneered. "I won't shoot. But if she don't come backyou'll wish to God I had shot!"

He turned to the girl: "I ain't goin' to chase you. I'm goin' to standpat. When you git ready you c'n come to me--up to the camp. MeanwhileI'll put the old hag where the dogs won't bite her, an' while you stayaway she don't eat--see? She ain't nothin' but a rack o' bones nohow, an' a few days'll fix her clock. "

"Go find Jacques!" cried the old woman, fumbling at her blanket. 

The man laughed. "Sure, go find him!" he taunted. 

A skinny hand was withdrawn from the blanket and the clawlike fingersclutched a fragment of broken knife-blade. She held it before the manand the shrunken lips mumbled unintelligible words; then, with a swiftmovement, she flung it from her and it rang upon the ice at the feet ofthe girl, who stooped swiftly and seized it. 

"Go!" cried the old woman. "Far up the river to the camp of theOne-Good-White-Man!"

Again Moncrossen laughed harshly. 

"You can't work none of your damned charms on me!" he sneered. "G'wanup the river. There ain't no one up there but Fallon's camp, an' youmight better stick with me. Only don't stay too long. This here oldleather image can't live without eatin', an' when you come we'll haveheap big potlatch. "

The wigwam of old Wabishke, the Indian trapper, was pitched in a densethicket on the shore of the little muskrat lake. In the early gray ofthe morning the old Indian was startled by the sound of a shot. 

He peered cautiously through the branches and saw a man pitch forwardamong the rice-stalks. Five minutes later another man carrying a riflepassed within a hundred feet of him and disappeared in the timber inthe direction of Blood River Rapids. When he was gone Wabishke ranswiftly to the fallen man and conveyed him to the wigwam, where heplugged the bullet-hole with fat and bound up the wound. 

Two hours later the bushes parted and Jeanne Lacombie burst pantinginto the wigwam. The girl uttered a wild cry at the sight of herbrother lying motionless upon the robe and dropped to her knees at hisside. 

"Moncrossen, " grunted the Indian, and watched in silent wonder as thegirl leaped to her feet and, seizing an empty pack-sack, began stuffingit with food. Snatching a light blanket from the floor, she swung thepack to her shoulders and without a word dashed again into the forest. 

CHAPTER XLVIII

THE WEDDING

The events incident to the wedding of Bill Carmody and Ethel Manton areindelibly stamped upon the memory of every person present. The day waswarmer than any preceding one, with a lowering, overcast sky. The dark, soggy snow melted rapidly, and the swollen surface stream gnawed andtore at the honeycombed ice of the river. 

In the cook-shack Daddy Dunnigan superintended the labors of half adozen flunkies in the preparation of the Gargantuan wedding feast whichwas to follow the ceremony, and each man of the crew worked feverishlyin the staging of the great event. 

The table, which extended the full length of the grub-shack, wasscrubbed until it shone and was moved to one side to make room for theheavy benches arranged transversely, one behind the other. 

The wide aisle between the table and the ends of the benches, leadingfrom the door to the improvised altar at the farther end of the room, was carpeted with blankets from the bunk-house, and suspended from theceiling immediately in front of the altar swung the massive horseshoe, fresh and green with sprouting grain. 

During the afternoon a warm drizzle set in and the men completed thepreparations amid a muttered cursing of the weather. 

An ominous booming and cracking now and then reached their ears fromthe direction of the river where the sullen, pent-up waters threatenedmomentarily to break their ice bonds, and the men knew that the logsmust go out on the flood though the heavens fell. 

The drizzle continued, the gray daylight wore into darkness, and withthe darkness came the return of good cheer. For rollways must be brokenout in the light of day, and the air rang with loud laughter and therhythmic swing of roaring chanteys, as the men realized that they werenot to be robbed of their gala day with its long night of feasting. 

The phonograph, with its high-piled box of records, occupied aconspicuous place upon the dais, and upon the long table was displayedan enormous collection of gifts, chief among which was the ingeniouslyconstructed chair with its broad back of flaring moose antlers. 

At seven-thirty the men filed in from the bunk-house and found placesupon the benches where they sat awkwardly, conversing in loud whispers. 

Father Lapre, book in hand, took his place at the altar, and a fewminutes later Bill Carmody entered with Sheridan and strode rapidly upthe aisle. At the sight of the boss the crew rose as one man and theroom rang with a loud, spontaneous cheer. 

The little priest held up his hand for silence. At a signal someonestarted the graphophone, and to the sweet strains of a march the brideappeared, leaning upon the arm of her uncle. 

Slowly, with bowed head, in the midst of a strained silence, shetraversed the length of the long room, the cynosure of all eyes. Whenalmost at the altar she raised her eyes to the man who awaited herthere. 

Her quick, indrawn breath was almost a gasp, and Appleton felt her armtremble upon his. 

He stood waiting for her--this man into whose keeping she was givingher life--exactly as she had seen him at the time of their firstmeeting in the North country when he stood, big and bearded, in thegathering dusk, framed in the doorway of the little office. 

In one swift glance she saw that every detail was the same, from thehigh-laced boots to the embroidered hunting-shirt open at thethroat--only his eyes were different--there was no pain, now, in thegray eyes that blazed eagerly into her own--only happiness, and theburning passion of love. 

And then her uncle retired, and she stood alone with the man, facingthe priest. She could hear the voice of the little pink priest and ofthe big man at her side, and as in a dream she found herself repeatingthe words of the ritual. 

She knew that a ring was being placed upon her finger, and she was awife. And that the priest, in solemn voice, with outstretched hands, was extending them his blessing. 

The voice hesitated--stopped. 

In the rear of the room the door was thrown violently open and bangedloudly against the log wall. There was a confused scuffling of feet anda scraping of heavy benches as the men craned their necks toward theentrance. 

Involuntarily Ethel turned, and there, gliding swiftly toward her upthe blanket-carpeted aisle, was the most picturesquely beautiful womanshe had ever seen. 

Wide-eyed she stared at the newcomer. Her face went deathly white, andthe heart within her breast turned to ice, for instinctively she knew, by the wild, intense beauty of the woman, that she stood face to facewith the Indian girl--the Jeanne of Bill Carmody's whispered words!

Her brain took in the details with incredible rapidity; and the girlwas still coming toward her as she noted the dazzling brightness of thegreat silvery wolf-skin that was flung about her shoulders and caughttogether at her soft throat; the mass of black hair, upon which themist-beads sparkled like a million diamonds; the dark, liquid eyes, andthe even, white teeth that glistened between the curving red lips. 

The girl was at her side now, and with a low cry threw herself upon herknees before the man, and stretched her arms toward him gropingly. 

"M's'u' Bill!" she cried, and the voice was sweet and soft; the wordsuttered with imploring intensity. And then in Ethel's ears was thevoice of her husband. 

"Jeanne, Jeanne, " he said; "why have you come? Speak, girl; why haveyou come to me?"

At the sound of the name, the thought that at the very altar thiswoman's name was upon the lips of her husband, the hot blood surged toher face and the tiny fists clenched. She was about to speak, but wasforestalled by the half-breed girl who had leaped to her feet andthrown her arms about Bill's neck and was speaking in short, stabbingwords:

"Come! Come now--with me! Oh, do not wait! Come--even now it may be toolate!"

The low voice quivered with excitement, and the man's hand patted hershoulder soothingly as he endeavored to quiet her. Ethel took a quickstep forward, and the hard tone of her voice cut upon the air like thering of tempered steel. 

"Who are you?" she cried. "Speak! What is this man to you?"

The Indian girl turned and faced her, seeming for the first time awareof her presence. The dark, liquid eyes flashed as she drew herself toher full height. 

"To me, he is _everything_! I would die for him! _I love him!_"

The tense tones rang through the long room where a hundred and fiftybig men sat silent--hypnotized by the intense drama of the scene. 

With a lithe, swift movement the half-breed girl raised her hands toher bosom and tore at the fastenings of her hunting-shirt. There wasthe sound of popping buttons, the heavily embroidered shirt flew open, and there, gleaming cold and gray in the lamplight, upon the warm ivoryof her bared breast lay a naked blade--the broken blade of a sheathknife!

She broke the cord that held it suspended about her neck and extendedthe blade toward the man, uttering but a single word:

"Come!"

And as Bill's eyes fell upon the bit of metal his form stiffened andhis fists clenched. 

"I will come--lead on!" he answered For in his mind rang the words ofhis solemn promise: "No people of the earth, and nothing that is uponthe earth, nor of the earth, shall prevent me--and one day you willknow that my words are true. "

The half-breed girl had already turned away when the man's eyes soughtthe eyes of his wife. She was regarding him with a strange, frightenedstare. Her face had turned marble white at his words, and she gaspeduncertainly for breath. 

Her pallor alarmed Bill, who stepped toward her with outstretched arms;but she shrank from his touch and her blue eyes fixed him with theircold, frightened stare. 

"Ethel!" he cried. "Darling--my wife! _I must go!_ It is _ThePromise_!" Unconsciously he repeated the words of the old squaw. "Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, in the last extremity of her need, is calling--and Imust go to her. 

"Oh, can't you see?" he cried suddenly, as the look of horror deepenedupon the face of his wife. "Darling--only long enough to give heraid--then I will return! Surely, surely, dear, you trust me! You willbelieve in me--just this once! When I return to you I will explainall--I can't wait, now--good-by!"

He turned to follow the Indian girl, but before he could take a stephis wife's arms were about his neck and her words came in great chokingsobs:

"No! No! No! You are _mine_! You cannot go! You will not leave me atthe altar! Oh, if you loved me--if you loved me, you could not go!"

Bill's arms were about her, and the words rushed from his lips: "Loveyou! I love you more than life itself--I live for _you_! But Ipromised--my word has passed--_I must go!_ In a day--two days--aweek--you shall know and understand. "

With a low, moaning cry Ethel tore herself from his embrace and reeled, fainting into the arms of the priest, while her husband, white lipped, followed swiftly after the Indian girl who had already gained the endof the aisle. 

But a few moments had elapsed since Jeanne Lacombie had burst into theroom. Moments so tense--so laden with terrible portent--that, althoughevery person in the room heard each spoken word, brains failed to grasptheir significance; and Appleton, from his bench near the door, as hesaw Bill Carmody turn from his fainting wife, for the first timedoubted his sincerity. 

Men were on their feet now, gazing incredulously at the boss, who, looking neither to the left nor to the right, strode rapidly down theaisle. 

Scarcely knowing what he did, with the one thought uppermost in hismind, to stop the foreman and bring him to his senses, Appleton leapedthe intervening benches and, slamming the heavy door, shot the stoutbar. 

With a roar of anger Bill seized a heavy split log bench, sending acouple of lumber-jacks tumbling among the feet of their fellows, andwhirling it high above his head, drove it crashing through the door. 

The bar snapped like a toothpick, the heavy panel split in half anddropped sidewise, and without a moment's hesitation Bill grasped thehalf-breed girl about the waist and swung her through the splinteredaperture. 

Turning, he swept the room with a glare of defiance. For a moment menlooked into the narrowed eyes; and then, as the eyes of the boss restedfor an instant upon the inert form of his wife, they saw the defiantglare melt into a look of compassion and misery such as none had everseen in human eyes. 

Then his shoulders stiffened, his jaw squared, and without a word hestepped through the shattered door and disappeared in the blackdrizzle. 

CHAPTER XLIX

ON THE RIVER

That Blood River Jack's fear for the safety of Jeanne was well foundedwas borne home to Bill Carmody in the story the girl poured into hisears as they pushed on in the direction of Moncrossen's camp. 

The night was jet black, and Bill marveled at the endurance of the girland the unfailing sagacity with which she led the way. 

The honeycombed river ice sagged toward the middle of the stream, andthe water from the melting snow followed this depression, leaving thehigher edges comparatively dry and free from snow. 

The drizzling rain continued as the two stumbled forward, slipping andsplashing through deep pools of icy water. Each moment they were indanger of plunging through some hole in the rotting ice; but the girlpushed unhesitatingly onward, and the man followed. 

Between them and the camp of Moncrossen lay upward of a hundred milesof precarious river trail, and with no crust on the water-soaked snowof the forest they could not take advantage of the short cuts whichwould have stricken many miles from their journey. 

It was broad daylight when Bill called a halt, and after manyunsuccessful attempts succeeded in kindling a sickly blaze in theshelter of a clay-streaked cut-bank. 

He unslung the pack which he had taken from the shoulders of the girl, and removed some bacon and sodden bannock. As they toasted the baconand dried the bannock at the smoky fire the girl hardly removed hergaze from the face of the big, silent man who, during the whole longnight, had scarcely spoken a word. 

Her eyes flashed as they traveled over the mighty breadth of him andnoted the great muscular arms, the tight-clamped jaw, and the steelyglint of the narrowed gray eyes. 

Her face glowed with the pride of his strength as she recalled theparting scene in the bunk-house when he had hurled the heavy bench, crashing through the door, and defied the men of the logs. 

He had done this thing for _her_, she reflected--for her, and that hemight keep his promise to old Wa-ha-ta-na-ta. She wondered at hissilence. Why did he not speak? And why did he sit gazing withtight-pressed lips into the flaring, spitting little fire?

Her breath came faster, and she laid a timid hand upon the man's arm. 

"The woman?" she asked abruptly. "Who is this woman with the hair ofgold and the eyes of the summer sky?" The slender fingers gripped hisarm convulsively. "She is the woman of the picture!" she cried, and hereyes sought his. 

Bill Carmody nodded slowly and continued to stare into the fire. 

"She is my--my wife, " he groaned. 

"Your--_wife_!"

The girl repeated the words dully, as if seeking to grasp their import. Her fingers relaxed, her eyes closed, and she lay heavily back upon theblanket. A long time she remained thus while Bill stared stolidly intothe fire. 

At length he aroused himself and glanced toward Jeanne, who lay at hisside, breathing the long, regular breaths of the deep sleep of utterweariness; and he noted the deep lines of the beautiful face and thehollow circles beneath the closed eyes that told of the terribletrail-strain. 

"Sixty straight hours of _that_!" he exclaimed as his glance traveledover the precarious river trail. Curbing his patience, he waited anhour and then gently awoke the sleeping girl. 

"Jeanne, " he said as she gazed at him in bewilderment, "you need sleep. I will go alone to the camp of Moncrossen. " At the words she sprang toher feet. 

"No! No!" she cried; "I have slept. I am not tired. Come--to-day, andto-night--and in the morning we come to the camp. "

"We must go then, " said Bill, and added more to himself than to Jeanne:"I wonder if he would _dare_?"

"He would dare _anything_--that is not good!" the girl answeredquickly. "He has the bad heart. But Wa-ha-ta-na-ta will not starvequickly. She is old and tough, and can go for many days without food;as in the time of the famine when she refused to eat that we, herchildren, might live. 

"Even in times of plenty she eats but little, for she lives in the longago with Lacombie--in the days of her youth and--and happiness. For sheloved Lacombie, and--Lacombie--loved--her. "

The girl's voice broke throatily, and she turned abruptly toward theriver. 

The fine, drizzling rain, which had fallen steadily all through thenight, changed to a steady downpour that chilled them to the bone. 

The stream of shallow water that flowed over the surface of the iceswelled to a torrent, forcing them again and again to abandon the riverand slosh knee-deep through the saturated snow of the forest. 

Broken ice cakes began to drift past--thick, black cakes which scrapedand ground together as they swung heavily in the current. 

"The ice is going out!" cried the girl in dismay. "We can no longerkeep to the river!"

Bill's teeth clenched. "The breakup!" he groaned. "Moncrossen will goout on the flood, and Wa-ha-ta-na-ta----"

He redoubled his efforts, fairly dragging the girl through the deepslush. The rain was carrying off the snow with a rush. The gullies andravines were running bankful, and time and again the two were forced toplunge shoulder-deep into the icy waters. 

At noon they halted, and in the dripping shelter of a dense thicketwolfed down a quantity of sodden bannock and raw bacon. The river rosehourly, and the crash and grind of the moving ice thunderedcontinuously upon their ears. 

Progress was slow and grueling. By the middle of the afternoon they hadcovered about forty miles. The water from the rising river began to setback into the ravines, forcing them to make long detours before daringto chance a ford. 

Darkness came as an added hardship, and as they toiled doggedly aroundan abrupt bend they saw on a tiny plateau, high above the dark watersof the river, a faint flicker of light. 

The girl paused and regarded it curiously; then, hurrying to the point, she peered up and down the river, striving for landmarks in thegathering gloom. 

"Vic Chenault's cabin!" she cried. "I missed it coming up. I knew itwas somewhere up the river. He is a friend of Jacques, and his fatherwas the good friend of Lacombie. "

Drenched and weary, the two pushed toward the light, crossingswift-rushing gullies whose icy waters threatened each moment to sweepthem from their feet. 

Slipping and stumbling through the muck and slush, crashing throughdripping underbrush, they stood at length before the door of thelow-roofed log cabin. 

Their knock was answered by a tousled-headed man who stood, lamp inhand, and blinked owlishly at them from the shelter of the doorway. 

"You are Vic Chenault?" asked the girl, and, without waiting for hisgrunted assent, continued: "I am Jeanne Lacombie, and this is M's'u'Bill, The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die. "

At the mention of the names the door swung wide and the man smiled awelcome. They entered amid a rabble of sled-dogs and puppies, whichrolled about the floor in a seemingly inextricable tangle, withnumerous dusky youngsters of various ages and conditions of nudity. 

Chenault's Indian wife sat upon the edge of the bunk, a blackenedcob-pipe between her teeth, industriously beading a moccasin; andseemed in no wise disturbed by the arrival of visitors, nor by thebabel of hubbub that arose from the floor, where dogs and babies howledtheir protest against the cold draft from the open door and the poolsof ice-cold water that drained from the clothing of the strangers. 

Chenault pronounced a few guttural syllables, and the stolid squawreached behind her and, removing a single garment of flaming red calicofrom a nail, extended it toward Jeanne. 

The girl accepted it with thanks, and her eyes roved about the cabin, which, being a one-roomed affair, offered scant privacy. The womancaught the corner of a blanket upon a projecting nail and anothercorner upon a similar nail in the upright of the bunk, and motioned thegirl behind the screen with a short wave of her pipe. 

The man offered Bill a pair of faded blue overalls and a much-bepatchedshirt of blue flannel, and when Jeanne emerged, clad in the best dressof her hostess, Bill took his turn in the dressing-room. 

"Can't be too pedicular in a pinch, " he grinned as he wriggleddubiously into the dry garments, and in a few minutes he was seatedbeside the girl upon a rough bench drawn close to the fire. 

Chenault, being a half-breed, was more inclined toward garrulity thanhis Indian spouse. 

"How you come?" he asked with evident interest. Jeanne answered him, speaking rapidly, and at the end of a half-hour the man was in fullpossession of the details of their plight. He slowly shook his head. 

"Moncrossen camp ver' far--feefty--seexty mile, " he said. "You nomak'. "

Bill looked up suddenly. "Have you a canoe?" he inquired. 

The other looked at him in surprise. "Canoe, she no good!" he grunted. "Too mooch ice. Bre'k all to hell in one minute!"

With an exclamation he leaped to his feet. "By gar! De flat boat!" hecried triumphantly. 

"She is all build for tak' de fur. De riv', she run ver' swift. In demorning you go--in de evening you come on de camp!"

"I will pay you well for the boat, " said Bill eagerly. "I have no moneyhere. Give me a pencil; I will write an order on Monsieur Appleton, theman who owns the woods. "

At the words the half-breed shrugged. 

"You no got for mak' write, " he said. "You tell Wa-ha-ta-na-ta youcome--by gar! You come! You tell me you pay--you pay. You no got formak' write. "

Bill smiled. 

"That is all right, providing I get through. What if the boat getstipped over or smashed in the ice?"

Chenault shrugged again. "You De-Man-Who-Cannot-Die, " he said. "You gotde good heart. In de woods all peoples know. You no mak' write. I gotno penzil. "

CHAPTER L

FACE TO FACE

Before daylight next morning the two men dragged the little flat boatto the water's edge. The river had risen to full flood during the nightand out of the darkness came the crash and grind of ice, the dull roarand splash of undermined banks, and the purling rumble of swift movingwater. 

After breakfast Bill and Jeanne, armed with light spruce poles, tooktheir places; Chenault pushed the boat into the current and it shotdownstream, whirling in the grip of the flood. 

There was no need for oars. Both Bill and the girl had their work cutout warding off from drifting ice cakes and the thrashing branches ofuprooted trees. 

Time and again they came within a hair's-breadth of destruction. Theeddying, seething surface of the swift rushing river seemed to hurl itsdébris toward their little craft in fiendish malevolence. Ice cakescrashed together on every hand, water-logged tree-butts snagged thembow and stern, and the low-hanging limbs of "sweepers" clawed and toreat them like the teeth of a giant rake as they swept beneath, lyingflat upon the bottom of the boat. 

Bill grinned at the thought of a canoe. In the suck and swirl of thecurrent the odds were heavily against even the stout flat boat'swinning through. 

He estimated their speed to be about eight miles an hour and devotedhis whole attention to preventing the boat from fouling the drift. Theywere riding the "run out, " and he knew that Moncrossen would wait forthe river to become comparatively free of drift before breaking out hisrollways. 

The rain ceased, but the sky remained heavily overcast and darknessovertook them while yet some distance above the log camp and skirtingthe opposite shore. 

Eager as he was to meet Moncrossen, Bill decided not to risk crossingthe river in the fast gathering darkness. Gradually the boat was workedtoward shore and poled into the backwater of submerged beaver meadow. 

Landing upon a slope a couple of hundred yards back from the river, they tilted the boat on edge, and, inclining it forward, rested it uponthe tops of stakes thrust into the ground. The blanket was spread, andwith the roaring fire directly in front the uptilted boat made anexcellent shelter. 

An awkward constraint, broken only by necessary monosyllables, hadsettled upon the two. On the river each had been too busy with theworkin hand to give the other more than a passing thought, but now, inthe intimacy of the campfire, each felt uneasily self-conscious. 

Supper over, Bill lighted his pipe and stared moodily into the flameswith set face and brooding eye. From her position at his side Jeannecovertly watched the silent man. 

Of what was he thinking? Surely not of the girl--his wife! She wincedat the word--but the tense, almost fierce expression of his face, theoccasional spasmodic clenching of the great fists, could scarcelyaccompany a man's thoughts of his wife of an hour. 

Of Moncrossen? she wondered. Of the shooting of Jacques? Of the attackupon her? Of Wa-ha-ta-na-ta? But, no--the gray eyes were staring intothe fire calmly, and in their depths she could see no gleam of hate norsteely glitter of rage. 

What was it he said the day she told him of the affair on Broken Knee?"I, too, could kill him for that. " The girl gave it up, and fell towondering what the morrow would bring forth. 

At daylight, when they poled the boat into the river, Bill gazed insurprise at the surface of the stream. A few belated ice cakes floatedlazily in the current, and many uprooted snags reared their scragglyheads as they rolled sluggishly in the water. 

But what riveted his attention were the logs. Hundreds and hundreds ofsmoothly floating logs dotted the river, and as far as the eye couldreach more logs were coming. 

He leaped to his feet and stood, shading his eyes with his hand. Far upthe stream the surface seemed solid with logs, and here and there hecould make out moving figures--tiny and frail they looked, likestrange, misshapen insects, as they leaped from log to rolling log--thewhite-water men of the North. 

"It's the drive!" he cried excitedly. "_My_ drive! Come, pole for yourlife--we've got to work her across!"

A mile farther down they swept around a wide bend, and before themloomed the cleared rollways of Moncrossen's camp, and on top of theslope, for all the world like fortifications commanding the river, werepile after pile of pyramided logs. 

The little flat boat was rapidly approaching, and men could be seenswarming about the rollways. One man with a shirt of flaming red rushedamong them, gesticulating wildly, and faintly to their ears came theraucous bellowing of his voice. At the sight of him Jeanne paledvisibly. The man was Moncrossen. 

Even as they looked the first rollway tore loose; the logs, rolling andtumbling down the steep slope, leaped into the river with a roar and asplash that sent a fountain of white spray flying skyward. Bill set hispole and fairly hurled the boat into the bank well above the rollways. 

"Good God!" he cried. "Can't he see the drive? They'll jam and my menwill be killed!" He leaped ashore and crashed through the interveningunderbrush in great bounds, closely followed by the light-footedJeanne. 

They gained the top, and while rushing along the rollways could hearMoncrossen roaring his orders--could catch the words that foamed fromhis lips amid volleys of crashing oaths. 

"Cut them toggles! Let 'em go! Let 'em go! Damn you! Foul that drive!I'll show 'em if they c'n slip a drive through me!"

And then--face to face between two high-piled pyramids--they met. Thewords died in a horrible, throaty gurgle; and Moncrossen's face, lividwith rage, turned chalky as his eyes roved vacantly from Bill Carmody'sface to the face of the girl beyond. His jaw wagged weakly, his flabbylips sagged open, exposing the jagged, brown teeth, and he passed hishand uncertainly across his eyes. 

"It's the greener, " he mumbled thickly. "It's the greener hisself. "

Another rollway rumbled into the river, and Bill leaped into the open. "Stop!" he cried. "It's murder! There are men on that drive!"

The two lumber-jacks who stood almost at his side turned at the soundof his voice. For one moment they stared into his face, and then with awild yell dropped their peavies and fled toward the bunk-house. Othermen looked, and from lip to lip flashed the word, "The greener!" Menstared at him dumbly, or turned and dashed for the clearing in a panicof fear. 

"He come up out of the river!" shrilled one as he ran. "I seen him! An'I seen him go under a year back! He come hell a rippin' up through thebushes--an' a she one a follerin'!"

Men crowded about--the bolder spirits, the matter of fact, and theunsuperstitious among the crew--and Bill turned again to Moncrossen, who stood rooted in his tracks. 

"Where is she?" he asked in a low voice that cut distinctly upon thesilence. "The mother of this girl?" Moncrossen started. With a visibleeffort he strove for control of himself. 

"Who are you?" he blurted, and the words rasped hollow and dry. 

Bill turned to the men. 

"Do _you_ know?" he asked. "An old Indian woman--did he bring her tothis camp?"

The men stared blankly from the speaker to Moncrossen and into eachother's faces. Suddenly, one stepped forward. 

"Look in the storeroom!" he cried. "A little while back--it was atnight--I seen 'em drag somethin' in--him an' Larson of the van. " At thewords, Moncrossen sprang toward the speaker with an inarticulate growlof rage. 

"You lie!" he screamed; but before he reached the man, who shrank backinto the crowd, Bill stepped in front of him. He raised his arm andpointed toward the clearing. 

"To the storehouse, " he said in the same low voice. For a fleetingsecond Moncrossen glared into his eyes, and without a word, turned andled the way, closely followed by Bill and Jeanne, while the crowd ofwondering lumber-jacks brought up the rear. 

At the storehouse Moncrossen paused. "I'll fetch the key from theoffice, " he leered; but Bill turned to a man who stood leaning upon hisaxe. 

"Smash that door!" he commanded; and a half-dozen men sprang to thetask. The next instant the door flew inward, and the men crowded intothe building to return a few moments later bearing the old squaw, gagged, bound, and wrapped tightly in a blanket, but with the undimmedblack eyes glaring upon them like a hawk's. 

The cords were cut and the gag removed by willing hands. Someone held abottle to her lips, and she drank greedily. Jeanne dropped to her kneesby the old woman's side. 

"He has come, " she whispered. "M's'u' Bill, The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die, hascome to you. " Wa-ha-ta-na-ta nodded her understanding, and her beadyblack eyes flashed. 

"She must have water!" cried the girl; "and food!"

At the words a half-dozen men rushed toward the cook-shack, returning afew minutes later laden as to victual a regiment. 

CHAPTER LI

THE PROMISE FULFILLED

Again the interest centered upon the two big men who faced each otheron the trodden ground of the clearing. Other men came--the ones who hadfled from the rollway, their curiosity conquering their fear at thesight of the dead man. 

And now the greener was speaking, and the tone of his voice was gentlein its velvety softness. His lips smiled, and his gray eyes, narrowedto slits, shone cold--with a terrible, steely coldness, so that menlooked once, and shuddered as they looked. 

"And, now, Moncrossen, " he was saying, "_we will fight_. It is a longscore that you and I have to settle. It starts with your dirty schemesthat Stromberg wouldn't touch. 

"Then, the well-laid plan to have Creed bump me off that night atMelton's No. 9; and the incident of the river, when you broke the jam. You thought you had me, then, Moncrossen. You thought I was done forgood and all, when I disappeared under the water. 

"There are other things, too--little acts of yours, that we will figurein as we go. The affair on Broken Knee, when you attacked this younggirl; the shooting of Blood River Jack, from ambush; the second attackon the girl at the foot of the rapid--and the brutal starving ofWa-ha-ta-na-ta. 

"Oh, yes; and the little matter of the bird's-eye. I have the logs, Moncrossen, all safely cached--the pile of ashes you found was a blind. Quite a long score, take it first and last, isn't it, Moncrossen?"

The silence, save for the sound of the voice, was almost painful. Menstrained to listen, looking from one to the other of the two big men, with white, tense faces. 

At the words, the blood rushed to the boss's face. His little, swinisheyes fairly blazed in their sockets. He was speechless with fury. Thecords knotted in his neck, and a great blue vein stood out upon hisforehead. The breath hissed through his clenched teeth as the goadingwords fell in the voice of purring softness. 

"But it has come to a show-down at last, between you and me, " thegreener went on as he slowly and methodically turned the sleeves of hisshirt back from his mighty forearms. "They tell me you are a fightingman, Moncrossen. They tell me you have licked men--here in thewoods--good men, too. And they tell me you have knocked down drunkenmen, and stamped on their faces with your steel-calked boots. 

"Maybe--if you last well--I will save a couple of punches for thosepoor devils' account. I think you will last, Moncrossen. You are big, and strong, and you are mad enough, in your blind, bull-headed way. 

"But I am not going to knock you out. I am going to make you _liedown_--to make you show your yellow, and quit cold; for this is goingto be your last fight. When I am through, Moncrossen, you won't beworth licking--no ten-year-old boy will think it worth his while tostep out of his way to slap your dirty face. "

With a hoarse bellow, Moncrossen launched himself at the speaker. Andjust at that moment--swarming over the bank at the rollways--came themen of the upper drive. The leaders paused, and sizing up thesituation, came on at a run. 

"A fight!" they yelled. "A fight! H-o-o-r-a-y!"

Then came Appleton and Sheridan with their wives, and beside themwalked a slender, girlish figure, whose shoulders drooped wearily, andwhose face was concealed by a heavy, dark-blue veil. 

The two lumbermen guided the ladies hurriedly in the direction of theoffice, when suddenly the shrill voice of Charlie Manton broke upontheir ears. 

"Whoo-p-e-e! It's _Bill_! Go to it, Bill! Swing on him! Give him yourleft, Bill! Give him your left!"

They halted, and obeying some strange impulse, the girlish figureturned and made straight for the wildly yelling men, who stood in theform of a great circle in the center of which two men weaved and milledabout each other in a blur of motion. 

Old Daddy Dunnigan was the first to see her hovering uncertainly uponthe edge of the crowd. Brandishing his crutch he howled into the earsof those nearest him:

"Give th' lady a chanst! Come on, miss! He's _her_ man, an' God bepraised! she wants to see 'um foight!"

The men made a lane, and scarcely knowing what she did, Ethel foundherself standing beside the old Irishman, who had wormed his way to thevery front rank of the crowding circle. She stared in fascinatedterror, throwing back her veil for a clearer view, regardless of themen who stared at _her_ in surprise and wondered at the whiteness ofher face. 

Bill Carmody met Moncrossen's first rush with a quick, short jab thatreached the corner of his eye. With an almost imperceptible movement heleaned to one side, and the flail-like swing of the huge boss's armpassed harmlessly within an inch of his ear. 

Moncrossen lost no time. Pivoting, he swung a terrific body blow whichglanced lightly against Bill's lowered shoulder, and the greener cameback with two stiff raps to the ear. 

Again and again Moncrossen rushed his antagonist, lashing out with bothfists, but always the blows failed by a barely perceptible margin, andBill--always smiling, and without appreciable effort--stung him withshort, swift punches to the face. 

And always he talked. Low and smooth his voice sounded between the thudof blows and the heavy breathing of the big boss. 

"Poor business, Moncrossen--poor judgment--for a fighting man. Saveyour wind--take it easy, and you'll last longer--this is a _long_fight, Moncrossen--take it slow--slow and steady. "

The taunting voice was always in the boss's ears, goading him to blindfury. He paused for breath, with guard uplifted, and in that momentBill Carmody saw for the first time the figure of his wife. For aninstant their eyes met, and then Moncrossen was at him again. ButBill's low, taunting voice did not waver. 

"That's better, " he said, and moved his head to one side as a viciousblow passed close. "And now, Moncrossen, I'm going to hit you on thenose--I haven't hit you yet--those others were just to feel you out. "

With an incredibly swift movement he swung clear from the shoulder. There was the wicked, smashing sound of living flesh hard struck. Thebig boss staggered backward, pawing the air, and the red blood spurtedfrom his flattened nose. 

"That one is for trying to get Stromberg to file a link. " Bill ducked alunging blow without raising his guard. "And now your ear, Moncrossen;I won't knock it off, but it will never be pretty again. "

Another long swing landed with a glancing twist that split the ear inhalf. "That is for the Creed item--and this one is for the river. "

The boss's head snapped backward to the impact of a smashing blow;again he staggered, and, turning, spat a mouthful of blood which seepedinto the ground, leaving upon the surface several brownish, misshapennuggets. 

"God!" breathed a man, and turned away. "It's his teeth!"

The yelling had ceased and men stared white faced. This was not thefighting they were used to; they understood only the quick, frenziedfighting of fury, where men pummel each other in blind rage, fightingclose--as tigers fight--gouging and biting one another as they rollupon the ground locked in each other's grip. 

The men gazed in awe, with a strange, unspoken terror creeping intotheir hearts, upon the vicious battering blows, the coldly gleamingeyes and smiling lips of the man who fought, not in any fume ofpassion, but deliberately, smoothly, placing his terrific blows at willwith a cold, deadly accuracy that smashed and tore. 

Moncrossen rushed again. 

"And now for the other things, " Bill continued; "the attacks upon thedefenseless girl--the attempted murder from ambush--and the starving ofan old woman. "

Blow followed blow, until in the crowd men cried out sharply, and thosewho had watched a hundred fights turned away white lipped. 

Moncrossen fought blindly now. His eyes were closed and his face onesolid mass of blood. And still the blows fell. Smash! Smash! Smash! Itwas horrible--those deliberate, tearing blows, and the lips that smiledin cold, savage cruelty. 

No blow landed on the point of the jaw, on the neck, on the heart, orthe pit of the stomach--blows that bring the quiet of oblivion; buteach landed with a cutting twist that ground into the flesh. 

At last, with his face beaten to a crimson pulp, Moncrossen sagged tohis knees, tried to rise, and crashed limp and lifeless to the ground. And over him stood Bill Carmody, smiling down at the broken andbattered wreck of the bad man of the logs. 

Gradually the circle that surrounded the fighters broke into littlegroups of white-faced, silent men who shot nervous, inquiring glancesinto each other's faces and swore softly under their breath--thefoolish, meaningless oaths of excitement. 

Minutes passed as Ethel stood gazing in terrible fascination from thebig man to the thing on the ground at his feet. And as she looked, ahideous old squaw, apparently too weak to stand, struggled from herplace of vantage among the feet of the men, and crawled to the limp, sprawled form. 

Leaning close she peered into the shapeless features, crooning andgurgling, and emitting short, sharp whines of delight. Her beady eyesglittered wickedly, like the eyes of a snake, and the withered lipscurled into a horrid grin, exposing the purple snag-toothed gums. 

Suddenly the bent form knelt upright, the skeleton arms raised highabove the tangle of gray-black hair, the thin, high-pitched voicequavered the words of a weird chant, the clawlike fingers twitched inshort, jerky spasms, and the emaciated body swayed and weaved to thewild, barbaric rhythm of the chanted curse. 

Terrible, blighting, the words were borne to the ears of the girl. Bearded men looked, listened, and turned away, shuddering. The sunburst suddenly through a rift in the flying clouds, and his goldenradiance fell incongruously upon the scene. 

Ethel gazed as at some horrid phantasm--the rough men with gaudy shirtsof red and blue and multicolored checks, standing in groups with tense, set faces--the other man--_her_ man--standing alone, silent andsmiling, by the side of his blood-bathed victim, and the old crone, whose marcid form writhed in the swing of the thin-shrieked chant. 

And then before she sensed that he had moved he stood before her. Sheraised her eyes to his in which the hard, cold gleam had given place toa look of intense longing, of infinite love, and the long-pent yearningof a soul. 

He stretched his arms toward her and she saw that the bruised andswollen hands were stained with blood. Suddenly she realized that thisman was her _husband_. A sickening fear overcame her, and she shrank, shuddering, from the touch of the blood-smeared hands. 

A look of terror came into her face; she covered her eyes with herhands as if to shut out the horror of it all, and, turning, fledblindly--she knew not where. 

As she ran there still sounded in her ears the words of the high, thinchant--the blighting curse of Yaga Tah. 

CHAPTER LII

THE BIG MAN

Darkness settled over the North country. The sky had cleared, the windgone down, and the air was soft and balmy with the feel of spring. Amillion stars sparkled overhead and above the intense blackness of thepines the moon rose, flooding the timberland with the mystery of hersoft radiance. 

Ethel tossed uneasily in her cot and glanced across to where her auntand Mrs. Sheridan slumbered heavily. Then she arose and stood at thewindow gazing out on the moonlit clearing with its low, silentbuildings, and clean-cut, black shadows. 

Noiselessly she dressed and stole into the silvery world. Utterlywretched, dispirited, heartsick, she wandered aimlessly, neitherknowing nor caring whither her slow, dragging steps carried her. 

Somewhere in the distance, sounding faint and far, came the shouts ofmen. Unconsciously she wandered toward the river. On the edge of a highbluff overlooking the rollways and the rushing waters she paused, leaning wearily against the bole of a giant birch. 

Thanks to the quick action of Bill Carmody Moncrossen's scheme offouling the upper drive had taken no toll of human life. The fewrollways that were broken out, however, were sufficient to cause anasty jam, and far below where the girl stood the men of both crewsworked furiously among the high-piled logs. 

Weird and unreal it seemed to Ethel as she gazed down upon the flare ofhuge fires built upon the bank, the tiny flash of lanterns and theflicker of torches, where the men swarmed out upon the uncertainfooting. 

Rough calls of rough men sounded above the crash and pound of logs andthe roar of the rushing waters. Now and then a scrap of rude chanteyreached her ears, a hoarse oath, or a loud, clear order in a voice sheknew so well. 

It was like some eery fantasy, born of an overwrought brain. And yetshe knew it was real--intensely real. Down there among the flashinglights men played with death--big, rough men who laughed loud as theyplayed, and swore mighty oaths, and sang wild, full-throated songs. 

From the shadow almost at her side came the sound of a half-stifledsob. She started. There was a soft footfall on the leaf-mold, andbefore her stood Jeanne Lacombie. The soft moonlight touched withsilvery sheen the long hairs of the great, white wolf-skin which thegirl wore thrown loosely across her shoulders. 

As Ethel gazed upon the wild, dark beauty of the Indian girl her tinyfists clenched, and her breath came in short, quick gasps. 

Why was she here? Had she followed to taunt her to her face? A mightyrage welled up within her, her shoulders stiffened, and as she facedthe girl her blue eyes flashed. 

And then the Indian girl spoke, and at the first words of the soft, rich voice, the rage died in her heart. She looked closely, and in thedark, liquid eyes was a look the white girl will never forget. 

She listened, and with few words and all the dramatic eloquence of thepure Indian the half-breed girl told of the rescue from the river; ofher own love for M's'u' Bill, "The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die"; of his firmrejection of that love; of her pursuit of him when he started for theland of the white man; of the scene at the camp-fire when oldWa-ha-ta-na-ta called him "The One Good White Man"; of the brokenknife; of The Promise; of her peril at the hand of Moncrossen, and ofthe cold-blooded shooting of her brother. 

And then she told of Bill's all-absorbing love for her, Ethel. And ofhow he always loved her, even when he believed she hated and despisedhim; of his deep hurt and the misery of his soul when he believed thatshe was to marry another. 

Until suddenly there in the moonlight the girl of the city saw for thefirst time the bigness of the man--_her man_. She saw him as he was nowand as he had been in the making--the man who had been dubbed "BroadwayBill, the sport"; the "souse, " who had "soaked a cop" and then "beat itin a taxi. "

And then the man who, without name or explanation, had won the regardof such a keen judge of men as Appleton, and who, under the stigma oftheft, held that regard without question; the man who beat the boozegame after he had lost his heart's desire, and had been sneered at as acoward and a quitter; the man who having gained his heart's desire, inthe very bigness of him, had unhesitatingly risked wrecking his wholelife's happiness to keep his promise to an old, toothless, savagecrone; and who, in brute fashion, bare-fisted, had all but pounded thelife from the body of the hulking Moncrossen in defense of a woman'shonor. 

And _this_ was the man who, eighteen short months before, hadturkey-trotted upon the sidewalk in front of a gay resort, and had"pulled it too raw even for Broadway!"

The flood-gates of her soul opened, as is the way of women in all theworld. The great sobs came, and with them tears, and in thetree-filtered moonlight the two girls--the tutored white girl and thehalf-savage Indian--women both--wept in each other's arms. 

 * * * * *

Up the trail from the river, almost at their feet, wearily climbed aman, dog-tired from physical exertion; and worn out with responsibilityand heart-rack he toiled slowly up the steep ascent. 

At the top he paused and removed his cap to let the cool air blowagainst his throbbing temples. At the sight of the two forms he drewback; but at the same moment they saw him. 

With one last, long look, and no word of farewell save a dry, chokingsob, the Indian girl glided silently into the darkness of the forest, which was her home, and the home of her people. 

On the edge of the bluff the other stood silhouetted against thestar-flecked sky. She, too, gazed at the man who stood motionless inthe moonlight. Then with a lithe, quick movement she opened her arms tohim, her lips parted, and in the blue eyes blazed the love of all theages. 

As her body poised to meet his the man sprang toward her. His armsclosed about her, their lips met; and for a long, long time they lookeddeep into each other's eyes. 

Then slowly the tiny fingers closed about his, the girl raised themreverently to her lips and covered with kisses the great, bruised, andswollen hands. 

THE END